As soon as I heard he might be it trouble my heart did this little flip flop. It flutters sometimes, when I think about what we had and how easily it went to Hell, not just because of me. But still, it was a shame, and I'll admit, I still have feelings for him. One doesn't just walk away from Horatio Caine. The Horatio Caine.

I went there to warn him, to try to talk some sense into him, maybe to salvage some of his beauty and courage, something the world so desperately needs. Or to selfishly keep the life in those eyes, so they can keep focusing on me. Then he asks, in that perfect sexy yet sad voice of his, the one that makes me want to kiss it better and then ravage him:

"Do I detect a personal concern Rick?"

A lump in my throat rises and I want to say: Yes, yes. Of course you idiot! I love you still, no matter how badly we fucked this up, what we could've been. You can't die Caine, Horatio, not on my watch.

But I have to swallow my desires and put my job first, the reputation I've built for myself. Can't be seen weak or caring at all. Not Rick Stetler.

"The Department is feeling very exposed."

In my mind I'm screaming: And you're likely to stupidly expose yourself because you're still pining over Speedle. Why do you think I was so hard on him? He had what I wanted; he fixed what my clumsy hands broke. I wanted to kiss you then, put more spark in your dull eyes, coax you back, bring back the Horatio I knew and loved. Where have you hidden him?

But that can't happen, not in this life. We screwed up to badly, both our souls are to far gone. It won't happen, not here, not now, not in the real world.

"Oh so we're back to reality."

Yes, yes indeed.