It's been a month since I posted CSIM fic, which is probably a record for me. I just had to share this one with you because I've enjoyed writing it too much to keep it to myself. If nothing else, it may win someone a game of Trivial Pursuit someday. In the world of my Fearful Symmetry series, More Deadly is completed and only lacks being written down. It is on hold until I have time to write down a multiparter and finish posting it over some reasonable time span for you. I'm still aiming for September on that. It won't go anywhere in the meantime. Hope you enjoy Honor, and if the mood and muse strike me, I might give you one or two more of these little one-part popcorn stories that pop out of my summer break. We shall see.
Title: Honor
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: CSIM is not mine. Neither is the poem.
Spoilers: Best Defense.
Pairing: H/C, of course.
A/N: As Laeta remarked recently, inspiration does come from unexpected places. This odd little story has three roots. The first was the gift about two weeks ago of a book titled Anthem for Doomed Youth. This is an anthology of poetry from World War I, about 300 pages worth, poetry that was written by the soldiers themselves, on both sides, during the war, not by commentator authors at a distance. The soldiers were actually writing poetry in their trenches and foxholes. Two-thirds of it is on the dark side, of course, but I think it's amazing that one-third of it isn't. There is humor, as well as parody and poems of love remembered and friendships present. The full spectrum of life, in a microcosm. I love poetry, and I have enjoyed reading all of them, even the darker ones, but one poem in particular reached out of the book and seized me. The second root came about a week and a half ago. My next older brother is a major in the Army, and this last year, he was sent to the Command and General Staff College. Since he usually tends to be overseas when he gets promoted or earns an achievement, some of the family decided to take a day off this time and go see the CGSC graduation exercises (only 10 hours round trip – quite close by Army standards). Officiating at the ceremony was General Schoomaker (4 stars), the Chief of Staff of the Army. He's a very good speaker, coming across as intelligent and sincere without having that fake, glossy polish speakers can get. A few points in his speech linked up with some of my thoughts after reading the poem and developed those thoughts much further. Also, he did remind me somewhat of Horatio, not at all in appearance but in bearing and quiet but vivid authority. So that speech managed to get my previous thoughts sparked by the poem attached firmly to CSIM. The third root came later that day, just after the ceremony. I was in a bathroom on the fort, and somebody had left a military magazine in one of the stalls. So of course, I picked it up and leafed through it for a minute. The article it fell open to was about the military protocol for guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Quite intricate and fascinating. I read that, and immediately, the case appeared, full-blown, only leaving the characters to be slotted in around it. Thus was this fic born. To the best of my knowledge, this information herein is accurate, but I did not have time then, nor have I since, to do further research on it. If inaccuracies creep in and cause you to lose that game of Trivial Pursuit, I'm sorry. This is, I must admit, the first story I've written where the entire case research was conducted in two minutes in a public restroom. First time for everything. Enjoy the story.
Dedication: To Ewart Alan Mackintosh, MC, 4th Bn Seaforth Highlanders, killed in the Battle of Cambrai, November 21, 1917, at age 24. I hope you were wrong. Rest in peace.
Calleigh Duquesne surreptitiously got out of her car and with infinite care pushed the door gently closed until it caught. Ahead of her was Horatio, already halfway across the lot to CSI. She could have called out to him, but she chose to follow at a distance, to watch him unobserved, carefully trying not to call his attention to herself at the moment. It was that still hour of morning when the world seems full of possibilities, and for that brief walk, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she wanted to savor them.
He moved like a gymnast, with a tightly-muscled grace, balanced, poised, ready for any emergency should it come. She stayed well behind him, admiring the easy stride, the set of his shoulders, the impulsion and strength of character that swept with him toward the building. Horatio, setting forth into the day, challenging it by the very upright posture of his head to hurt people or cause destruction in his city. She pictured herself alongside him for a minute, fitting perfectly under his chin. The thought brought a shiver down her spine, in spite of the Miami sun that was already preheating the day.
As Horatio approached the building, he checked suddenly, his stride faltering slightly like a hunting dog that suddenly crosses a trail. He swung around smoothly, his gaze fixing on a woman sitting on a bench outside the headquarters complex. She was crying in that helpless way that does not even care or notice that the world is watching. And the world was watching. The intermittent stream of people into the building glanced over curiously, some hesitating, some briskly walking on. She never even looked up.
Horatio diverted, approaching the bench. Calleigh's path automatically continued following his as she picked up stride a little, drawn by two purposes now instead of one.
Horatio sat down on the bench beside the woman, not forcing her to look up. "Ma'am, can I help?" He did not ask her if anything was wrong, already accepting that as the starting point and not giving her a chance to deny it.
She looked at him in mild surprise, wondering where he had appeared from. "I don't know that anyone can. Or wants to."
Horatio noticed Calleigh approaching at that point. His eyes never left the woman's, but his body tightened slightly. She could almost see the attention waves expand to include her in this encounter. She paused about five feet away, not wanting to distract the woman, letting his magnetic empathy establish the connection. "Try me," he suggested, the tone itself magnetic but with infinite patience, inviting yet waiting.
The woman sniffled slightly, trying to become more coherent, though she made no effort to wipe away the unashamed tears that wet her cheeks. "I'm Marjorie Blankenship. My husband Charles . . . " She hesitated as the voice started quivering, then went on. "He died last night. In a car accident."
Horatio reached out and touched her with his personality, though not yet his hands. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Blankenship." Common words spoken with uncommon feeling.
She looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring on her finger, then looked back up at him. "The police said he'd been drinking and driving. I told them that wasn't possible, and they called it an open and shut case. I came down here this morning to speak to a detective, to try to make someone see that they need to investigate. But the man I spoke to just wouldn't listen. Hagen, I think it was." Calleigh stiffened, and Horatio's eyes did shift to her then momentarily, then back to the woman.
"Mrs. Blankenship, why is it impossible? What makes you think there's more to it?"
Her tone was suddenly fierce, almost spitting the words out. "He never drank. He had taken an oath not to. On duty or off duty, no alcohol whatsoever, for life. It was a vow of honor. He would have died before he would have broken it." She sniffled again. "That detective just laughed when I told him that."
Horatio didn't, though a flame of anger, quickly hidden, appeared in his blue eyes. "On duty or off duty," he repeated thoughtfully. "What sort of a vow of honor? Was he in the military?" Horatio knew that military people still drank, but her phraseology made him think military.
She nodded and straightened her slumped shoulders, opening her body to face him fully for the first time. "He served as a guard for two years at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. It's part of their vows. They can never take a drink under any circumstances for the rest of their lives. They lose their service pin from the Tomb if they ever break that vow. So you see, he never would have taken a drink, not one. There's no way he was drinking and driving."
Horatio reached out then and put one hand on her arm. "Mrs. Blankenship, would you come up to my office with me and my colleague?" Calleigh stepped up to join them at his nod. "I need more information about your husband and about last night. So that I can investigate this case."
Her wavering, tearful smile of gratitude warmed him more than the sun as she stood. Framed protectively between Horatio and Calleigh, she walked into the building.
The woman glanced at Calleigh, who gave her a full-blown smile of Southern sympathy and nodded encouragingly. Her eyes returned to Horatio. "The guards serve for two years. During that time, they live in a barracks there. You've got to understand how seriously they take this, Mr. Caine. For the first six months, they can't speak to anyone. Throughout their term, all of their free time is devoted to studying the lives of the people buried at Arlington. They aren't allowed to watch television. Their entire life is the Tomb and the heritage behind the cemetery. It takes five hours a day just to tend to their uniforms, and each guard takes care of his own uniforms. Everything has to be just perfect for their turn. One perfect way to do it. On guard, they have to take 21 steps across the Tomb, then pause 21 seconds after turning. Always 21."
She hesitated a bit, and Calleigh spoke up. "Is that after the 21-gun salute?"
"Right. To honor the soldiers. Last year, when Hurricane Isabelle was coming, the guards were given permission to suspend the patrol. Normally, it's 24/7, but they weren't asked to do it in the hurricane. They refused to stand down, Mr. Caine. They still did their duty, every hour of that storm. That's how much it means to them. That patrol has gone on since 1930 without stopping. They weren't about to break that record of duty just for a hurricane."
Horatio was impressed. Dedication in anything appealed to him. "And when the two years of service is over, they have lifetime rules they must still live by?"
"Yes. They can never swear. They can't get in fights except in self defense or defense of others. They can never do anything to disgrace the uniform or the Tomb. And they can never drink. Not one sip, at any point, for life. They lose their guard's lapel pin if they violate that." Her eyes suddenly filled again. "If he goes on the record as a drunken driver, Mr. Caine, they'll revoke the award. He can't be buried with that pin on his uniform. It just isn't possible that he was drunk. He called the guard the greatest honor he ever had as a soldier. He never would have broken that oath."
This was all fascinating, but the central case couldn't be avoided any longer. Horatio apologized with his eyes and voice as he went for the heart of the matter. "Tell me about last night. What do you know about the accident?"
"Don't you . . ."
"I believe you, Mrs. Blankenship. But we have to investigate from the facts. It gives us a starting point to find what really happened. From this point in this investigation, I am accepting his innocence as proven. He will be buried with his honor intact, I promise you."
His conviction reached through her grief, and she gave him another wavering smile and took a minute to collect herself. Calleigh squeezed her arm warmly. "I wasn't expecting him home for supper. He was meeting some business associates at a restaurant. I fell asleep waiting for him. About 11:00, the police came and woke me up. They said he had been drinking and driving, and the car had run off the road. They wouldn't believe me. He had alcohol spilled all down his shirt, they said. Just another drunk driver, as far as they were concerned. And that detective this morning . . . no one would listen." The tears started to fall again. Calleigh put her arm comfortingly around the other woman's shoulders, and Horatio leaned forward and placed a hand on her arm, tightening his grip just enough that her swimming hazel eyes lifted to meet his infinitely compassionate blues.
"I'm listening," he said.
Alexx frowned at the body on the table. "Blood alcohol was 0.330. That's drunk in any state."
"But he never drank," Horatio countered. "So tell me, Alexx, how do you get drunk without drinking?"
She considered it. "He could have been forcibly intoxicated. Held down, maybe. No signs of a struggle, though. No skin under his nails. No bruising on the arms. I wonder . . . " Her voice trailed off as her sensitive fingers began to comb through the man's hair. "You know, Horatio, there is something that feels wrong about this one. He had eaten his last meal about two hours before death, but there was no alcohol in his stomach."
"And the food would have slowed down the absorption," Horatio mused. "You know, 0.330 is awfully high even for a drunk. For someone who never drank, who wasn't used to it, he would have been unconscious from the alcohol anyway. He wouldn't have been capable of driving at all."
"Found it!" Alexx exclaimed with satisfaction. Her exploring fingers had paused at the back of the skull. "He wasn't unconscious from alcohol, Horatio, although that might have kept him unconscious. Someone hit him in the back of the head."
"Even Hagen would have a hard time accepting that he did that to himself." Horatio was still annoyed at Hagen. First his recent confrontation with Calleigh over her father's case, now actually laughing at a woman who had come to him for help, a woman who hadn't even been a widow 12 hours at the time.
Alexx interrupted his thoughts. "No skin breakdown. No visible wound. He has thick hair, too. That probably just knocked him out so they could get him drunk."
"But he didn't have any alcohol in his stomach," Horatio reminded her. "They couldn't have poured it down his throat."
"It would be hard to pour that much down an unconscious person's throat without asphyxiating him, anyway. We're talking at least a bottle, probably more unless it was really high proof." She left the head and returned her attention to the arms, probing with infinite detail. "Ah ha! A needle mark. Pretty well hidden, but it's there when you look for it. They gave it to him IV. That's a new one."
"We never stop learning on this job," Horatio said smoothly. "You think they infused it into IV bags?"
"More likely ran it straight in from the bottle. You could rig it up. Direct drip. Or put it in some sort of large syringe and pushed it in, not just letting it drip. We're on a tight time table if he ate two hours before his death. They had to give it to him IV push, undiluted."
"And that, he certainly didn't do himself," Horatio said. "Thank you, Alexx."
"Any time," she replied, but he was already out the door. She returned her attention to the body, continuing her catalogue of the actual injuries from the accident that had killed him. She gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "At least, you never felt it. Don't you worry, now. Horatio will sort out what happened."
Speed looked at Calleigh in disbelief across the front seat of the car they were processing. "So let me get this straight. You can't drink and you can't swear, for life."
"You got it." She continued dusting her side of the car for fingerprints.
"Look on the bright side, Speed," Eric put in from the back of the vehicle. "After your active duty is over, you get to watch television again."
Speed shook his head, unwillingly envying the ability to care that much about anything. "Damn."
"You just would have lost your service pin," Calleigh pointed out.
"He never would've earned it. He wouldn't last the first week," Eric stated.
"Neither would you," Speed retorted.
Eric flashed his easy grin. "Did I say otherwise? You gotta admire somebody, though, who could take a vow like that and keep it forever."
Calleigh's thoughts wandered off on a well-traveled mind path to Horatio, who could take a vow of honor and keep it for life. He guarded the city like his own Tomb, diligently patrolling in front of the memory of his own notables who were buried there, determined to fight to prevent their number from growing, or at least to force it to grow as slowly as possible.
"What do you think, Calleigh?"
"Huh?" She snapped back to reality. Horatio was reality, but not her reality, unfortunately. Or only at work.
Speed frowned at her. "Earth to Calleigh. I said, there should be more fingerprints."
Her thoughts firmly fixed on the case again. "Yeah, I'd noticed that. I think the perp wiped the car down."
"Try the back of the rearview mirror," Eric suggested. "If the perp drove to the place the car went off the road, he might have adjusted the mirror. I doubt he would have remembered to wipe that."
"Good thinking." Speed started dusting the back of the mirror. "Yep, somebody's been here. Several somebodies." He sighed and fished out the lifters.
Calleigh went around to the back of the car. "Any handprints on the rear bumper?"
"Nope," Eric replied. "That was wiped down, too. I did find a fiber caught in the trim, though. He used something as a pad when he pushed the car off, to keep his hands from touching it after he wiped it down. Couldn't just wipe it down after the wreck. He might have missed something with it bent." He demonstrated his fiber in triumph, then tucked it firmly into an envelope."
"Calleigh." The voice behind them startled them both, and Calleigh and Eric swung around to face Hagen. He looked annoyed, as he usually did lately. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"
"Of course, if it's about the case," she replied smoothly. Eric glanced at her, asking a silent question, and she gave him a reassuring nod. "It's okay, Eric. Come on, Detective, if you want to discuss this case, let's get it over with." She stalked off through CSI to the privacy of Ballistics, not even looking to see if he followed, actually hoping he would not. She wasn't about to have another confrontation with him in full view of several of her coworkers this time, though. Oddly, having Horatio interrupt the last one had not annoyed her. Perhaps because she had seen him standing there for several minutes first, with nothing but pride and warmth in his eyes, watching her deal with it, not questioning her ability. Horatio. A smile crept across her face, instantly wiped off as she turned to face her former, ever-so-briefly boyfriend.
Hagen planted himself like a tree in the middle of Ballistics. "You're wasting your time."
"I don't see why that should concern you," Calleigh replied. "You certainly aren't wasting yours. How could you actually laugh at that poor woman this morning, Hagen?" She deliberately withdrew the name of John and saw that shot hit the mark, although it did not penetrate far. His spirit was too hardened to be vulnerable. How had she ever missed seeing that?
Hagen assumed the posture of a parent instructing a young and rather slow child. "Calleigh, the man had a BAL of 0.330. He had alcohol spilled all down his shirt. A drunk, plain and simple. Good thing he only checked himself out and not anybody else. You ought to know something about drunks."
She flinched but held the focus firmly on the case. "He wasn't a drunk. He took a vow of honor to never drink for the rest of his life."
Hagen gave her a condescending smile. "A vow is simply words. Easy to say, Calleigh." Horatio moved in on cat feet behind him, then stood quietly, his eyes fixed not on Hagen but on Calleigh, and again she saw pride and trust in her, as well as contempt for Hagen, a contempt she fully shared just then.
"How charming. Are you planning to tell your wife that on your wedding night? Assuming anyone ever would be desperate enough to get hitched to you, that is."
Anger lit in his eyes. That shot had penetrated a little further. "I'm telling you, you're wasting your time, Calleigh." This time, he wasn't referring to the case.
"What do you mean?"
"Waiting for things that will never happen. Do you really think . . . " Horatio cleared his throat slightly, again silencing the conversation effortlessly, just like a few weeks ago. Hagen swung around in startled déjà vu.
Horatio's voice was quiet, deadly silk. "Actually, Detective, I believe you're the one wasting Calleigh's time." He didn't qualify it. Hagen's eyes fell first.
"Let me know, Calleigh, if you come up with anything."
"I'm sure you'll see the reports," she replied. Hagen slipped sideways past Horatio, who again didn't yield an inch, and left Ballistics to the two of them.
Calleigh gave Horatio a half smile, which he returned, but she was relieved that he didn't pursue the immediate topic. Actually, oddly, he looked as uncertain for a moment as she felt. He retreated to professionalism. "I've got the names of the business associates Blankenship ate with last night, Cal. Let's go find some answers."
She preceded him out the door and toward the exit, but her mind was traveling at a full gallop ahead of her body, questing for its own answers. Such as why had Horatio chosen that moment to interrupt her conversation with Hagen? A few weeks ago, she could understand. Hagen had been bordering on physically intimidating, and while she had seen the trust in Horatio's eyes, she knew that he was incapable of standing aside and watching that confrontation escalate further. But just now, Hagen's attitude had been resigned disgust. Had Horatio simply been in a hurry to question the witnesses? Or had there been a deeper motive? Could he share her aversion to having Hagen mention something as precious as their two names joined together? As much as she wanted to believe it, she was afraid to.
The voice of her dreams interrupted them. "Aren't you getting in, Cal?" They were at the Hummer, and he was holding the door open.
Slightly flustered, she took a seat, hiding behind excessive courtesy. "Thank you, kind sir."
His eyes touched hers briefly. "Any time, Calleigh." As he walked around the front of the Hummer to take his place, her mind skittered briefly off the case again, just long enough to wonder if any time would ever, could ever become now.
She rolled over and stared at the clock. 1:00 AM. She would be needing coffee tomorrow, but she felt totally awake now. Her thoughts kept trekking back to Horatio, and she finally decided to go out for a drive, just to see if he perhaps was unable to sleep himself. She wouldn't stop, just drive by and look for lights. If he was awake chewing over that conversation himself, that might tell her something. Of course, he could also be awake chewing over the case. With a sigh, she pulled on her sweats and left her apartment building. As she pulled out, she did not notice Hagen's car coming the other way, nor did she notice it fall in behind hers.
Horatio was definitely up thinking about something. His house was lit up like a Christmas tree, excessively lit, even. When Calleigh turned on every light in reach, it was because she felt lonely. What was his motive? She circled the block once, twice. On the third time, she saw him. Just a moment of his silhouette through the front window, but the set of the shoulders jumped out at her. Not at all his usual, poised, confident self. Discouraged, at the least. Drawn irresistibly by his possible pain, she pulled her car over to the curb and got out. Hagen waited long enough to insure that she was going up to the door, long enough to insure that, unbelievably, she still hadn't noticed him right behind her. She never had really noticed him. Even when she was with him, her mind had been on another. With a low growl of insulted manhood, Hagen drove on past her parked car.
Horatio opened the door, looking courteous but puzzled. And yes, definitely, there was a faint shadow of some pain beneath it. "Calleigh? Is anything wrong?"
"I couldn't sleep," she replied. "I happened to be driving by and saw that you were up, too. Are you going to let me in?"
His mouth half-quirked at the double meaning she had deliberately left exposed, but he took refuge in the literal. "Of course. Make yourself at home." He backed away from the door, and she stepped into his living room. "Would you like a drink?"
"That would be nice, thanks." He disappeared into the kitchen, and she wandered slowly around the room. It was like him, gracefully strong, neatly efficient. The only thing looking even slightly out of order was a book on the coffee table, with a bookmark neatly holding the place. He must have been reading it tonight. Otherwise, it would have joined the others in the bookcase. She walked over and sat down on the couch, picking it up curiously.
Anthem for Doomed Youth, the cover announced. The subtitle was Poetry from the Great War. She opened it to the bookmarked page and started reading, instantly swept back 85 years, yet left painfully in the present, too.
Death
Because I have made light of death
And mocked at wounds and pain,
The doom is laid on me to die –
Like the humble men in days gone by –
That angered me to hear them cry
For pity to me in vain.
I shall not go out suddenlyAs many a man has done.
But I shall lie as those men lay –
Longing for death the whole long day –
Praying, as I heard those men pray,
And none shall heed me, none.
The fierce waves will go surging onBefore they tend to me.
Oh, God of battles, I pray you send
No word of pity – no help, no friend,
That if my spirit break at the end
None may be there to see.
Ewart Alan Mackintosh
Horatio entered the room with a glass in each hand and paused at the tears brimming in her eyes. "Calleigh?" His eyes fell to the book, and he instantly understood. He sat down on the couch next to her, and she faced him, the book still open in her lap.
"That is one of the most pitifully lonely statements of bravery I've ever read in my life."
He nodded in full agreement. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? How it was for him."
"He died, then?" She already knew, really. He had known when he wrote it, and the knowledge dripped off every line.
"Yes. Very shortly after that." He reached across and touched the book lightly. "He wrote other poems, too. There are several in there. He did some very good parodies. But none of his others are even remotely like that one. It must have been a premonition of some sort." His eyes focused on the distance. "He still went into the battle, though, even knowing. He still did his duty. I hope he didn't die like that, but he died with his honor intact."
Calleigh reread it, shaking her head slightly on the last stanza. "So lonely, though. Wanting to shut people out, so they wouldn't see his vulnerability." Honestly, it reminded her of Horatio. Then, when she reread it, it reminded her of herself. Were they that much alike?
"He shut them out all along," Horatio said. "Look at the first few lines. That's the part that comes through in his other poems. Not callousness, but the refusal to take it seriously, so he won't be hurt. It reminds me of Speed, at the beginning, anyway."
"It's a defense mechanism," Calleigh said. Somehow, either the poem or the hour had erased any awkwardness between them. They sat side by side on the couch, talking easily, talking about things she wouldn't have believed they could talk about.
He saluted her with a half smile. "That it is. I can understand it."
"You've never been callous or sarcastic toward people, Horatio. I've never met anyone in my life who cared more."
He studied her for a moment like he was memorizing her face. "Thank you, Calleigh. I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." His eyes went back to the book. "I can understand the end, though, even better than the beginning."
She nodded. "It's frightening, isn't it? On the one hand, you think it's absolutely pathetic to be that isolated. On the other hand, you understand perfectly why he wanted it." They sat there in silence for a minute. "Why were you reading this tonight, Horatio?"
The spirit of the night was still there, and he answered her honestly. "I was thinking about honor, and keeping promises, and I was wondering if it always had to be so lonely for me to do my duty. Why is there such a wall? I've built it myself. Am I like him, Calleigh? Do I really shut people out to that extent?"
She hesitated. To answer truthfully might make him retreat from this amazing openness; to lie to him was inconceivable. She considered, then realized that a lie was unnecessary. "No more than I do."
He weighed that. "The people are there for you, if you want them, Calleigh. You're like the sunshine of the lab. The entire place radiates when you're there."
"The people are there for you, too, Horatio. I'm there for you. As a friend, and as more, if you want it." She startled him with that. His incomparable eyes met hers, probing, measuring what he saw there. When he spoke, his voice was even softer.
"I want it, Cal. I'm just not sure how to let you in."
She gave him a tentative smile. "Maybe we can both learn together."
He returned the smile, a little less tentative. "Maybe so. You'll have to be patient, though."
"You, too. I push people away myself."
He gave her a full smile that time, dazzling her soul. "Patience I've got. You're worth it."
"So are you."
He picked up the book from her lap. "I was just thinking this afternoon, standing there, listening to Hagen, I couldn't stand having him be the one to tell you I cared about you. That's why I interrupted. But I couldn't quite tell you myself, even then. Besides, we were in the middle of working the case. I had promises to keep there myself."
She reached over and touched him, letting him feel her presence but letting him set the pace. "Honor doesn't have to be lonely to be uncompromised, Horatio."
He tapped the book lightly. "That's what I was trying to convince myself of. That's why I was reading this tonight. I don't want to wind up like him, Calleigh. With honor but not accepting love. I don't want to die alone." His eyes met hers. "And then, in the middle of thinking that, you knocked on my door."
She smiled back at him. "Actually, Handsome, I circled the block three times, trying to work up the nerve. But I don't want to end up like him, either."
He slid his arm around her, trying out the fit. "No danger."
She leaned against him. "No danger on your part, either." They sat there quietly together after that, both digesting the revelations of the past hour. It would take time, she knew. But he was worth all the effort, and maybe so was she. Perhaps now was closer than she had thought. They eventually fell asleep together there on the couch, each thinking about the future, each finally convinced that it contained the two of them.
"Did you hear about Hagen?" Eric's voice stopped Calleigh and Horatio as they walked past the video analysis room.
"Do I want to?" She sighed. She had had better things to think about this morning.
Eric swung around to face them. "He's in the hospital. Went out drinking last night, then tried to drive himself home early this morning and totaled his car."
"Did he hurt anyone else?" Horatio asked quickly.
"Nope. Just a light pole. He did a good job of hurting himself, though. Two broken legs, one arm, several ribs, ruptured spleen. It'll be months before he's able to work again."
Calleigh glanced at Horatio, seeing a mirror of her own thoughts. For a moment, she wondered if she was partly to blame, because of yesterday's confrontation, but then she realized that the thought was ridiculous. She had not made him drink and pick up the keys. That had been his own choice. She and Horatio arrived at that silent conclusion together, then turned back to face a slightly smiling Eric. Like any CSI, he was trained to be perceptive.
Horatio switched the conversation onto professional tracks. "Anything on the parking lot video, Eric?"
"Yes. We've got him. Look at this." He rewound the tape, and Horatio and Calleigh pressed in behind him to watch, their bodies slightly touching, focused on the screen yet aware of each other, too. The camera coverage of the parking lot was excellent. Blankenship entered the lot with his three business associates, and they split their separate directions and got in their own cars. One of the cameras had a good view of Blankenship's car. He dropped his keys as he was about to get in and went down on hands and knees for a resigned scramble under the vehicle. Just as he emerged with the keys clutched triumphantly, his cell phone rang, and he pulled it out, answering it while standing beside the car. His body language spoke volumes. Puzzlement, then disbelief. The call ended abruptly. He stared at the cell phone like he'd never seen it before, then started working the buttons, probably scanning the list of recent calls. While he was utterly occupied with that, one of the three men he'd eaten with came up behind him, then stopped, judging the posture. When the man stepped forward again, his steps were sinister, quietly closing the rest of the distance. He hit Blankenship on the head, pocketed the cell phone, folded him into the back seat of the car, and got in the front himself, adjusting the mirror as he pulled away.
"There weren't any calls at that hour on his cell phone," Eric said. "One about thirty minutes earlier."
"They got switched in the restaurant," Calleigh stated. "The other man must have gotten a call at the same time, and the phones were lying on the table for a minute. And in leaving, they picked up the wrong ones. That's Bannister, isn't it, Horatio?"
"Right. We talked to him yesterday. He was probably just going to switch phones back until Blankenship got his call."
"Must have been quite a call," Eric put in. "Drugs?"
"Something like that. Something big enough that it could destroy Bannister's professional position. So he decided to kill Blankenship and make it look like a drunk driving accident by giving him alcohol IV. Anyone very far into drugs could give an IV shot." Horatio tilted his head slightly, running through the events of that evening. "They were business associates, Mrs. Blankenship said. Not good friends. They probably didn't know Blankenship's background, but they would have noticed that he refused a drink at the meal. Calleigh, when somebody tells you he can't ever have a drink, what's the first thing you think?"
"That he's a recovering alcoholic," she replied instantly, and Eric nodded in agreement.
"Precisely. He probably thought it would just be put down to Blankenship falling off the wagon."
"The timing's still wrong, though," said Eric. "He should have taken more time for it. Two hours isn't realistic. We would have known something was wrong."
"That was one of his mistakes," Horatio stated. "They all make mistakes. This case is over. We've got his fingerprint, even if it isn't in AFIS, the video, and the fiber, which is probably from his suit coat. Plus the call record from his own cell phone, which should be interesting. Let's go pick him up." He pulled out his cell phone, then hesitated. "We'll have to pick another detective, Cal. We can't call Hagen."
Her eyes met his with identical amusement. "What a shame."
The soldier marched across from the coffin, presenting the folded flag to Mrs. Blankenship. She accepted it, hugging it tightly to her chest, her tear-filled eyes still fixed on the casket. Beneath the closed lid, her husband lay at rest in full dress uniform with his awards. All of his awards. She stepped forward and put one hand lovingly on the lid, then, finally, turned away.
The funeral party began to break up, and Horatio worked his courteous way through the mesh of people with Calleigh at his side. Finally, they reached the widow. Horatio took her hand, his eyes speaking volumes. "I am sorry, Mrs. Blankenship."
She returned the pressure of his grasp. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Caine." Calleigh gave the woman a warm hug, and then they backed away as her friends and family closed in. Together, they walked across the cemetery to the Hummer.
Horatio glanced at his watch after he got in. Late afternoon. "There's not enough of the day left to justify going back to CSI."
Calleigh smiled at him. "No urgent cases, either." Regardless of the hour, he would have gone back to the lab if he had been needed. That was one of his vows. "What were you going to do with this Friday night, Horatio?"
He flexed his hands on the steering wheel. "Originally, I'd planned to just go home." Alone, as always. He looked over at her then, though. "What were you going to do?"
"Same thing."
His smile was a still uncertain but definite invitation. "Could I make you a better offer?" He was not just asking permission but questioning his ability to do it.
She reached across and touched his arm lightly. "You can, Horatio. The question is, will you?"
He considered it, then relaxed, turning on the ignition. "You know what, Calleigh Duquesne? I believe I will."
"Then I believe I'll take you up on it, Handsome."
He pulled the Hummer out onto the cemetery road. "So, Calleigh, where would you like to eat?" They fell into easy conversation, planning the evening, as the Hummer carried them back toward the city together.