How would things have been different if Marisol had survived? She was the beginning of Horatio's redemption, and if she hadn't died I think he would have become a very different person. And she gave writers so much latitude with that line, "He is not the same man you see at work." So I feel that gives a lot of latitude, without going to OOC. I do try to keep them in character, but since these are "behind the scenes" I hope to bring that Horatio out a little. This is AU from the shooting in 4x24 Rampage.

After that funny, awkward moment in front of the Lab building all sense of discomfort about Marisol faded away. And later, Horatio knew he was in trouble at the jolt of joy and then sorrow that struck him when Eric gave them his blessing, and warned him about the severity of her illness. But in keeping with his own philosophy of living life to the full, due to its uncertainty, Horatio resolved to give all he could to the budding…relationship? Later that day he called her, and made a dinner date for late the next day. That set the tone for the next week or two. They would see each other, every other day or so. Then they started speaking on the phone, every night before bed.

Finally, Horatio admitted to himself that he was falling for the girl. And he knew he was placing her already precarious life in further jeopardy. The Mala Noche were still circling the edge of his life. And he had not been careful when he agreed to meet Rachel for dinner. Resden must have followed him to her house. Since then he had developed a routine of checking for surveillance when he left work. He resolved to give Marisol a free choice. So, one night, he suggested she come to his house for dinner.

Marisol knew that Horatio was a very reserved person, and didn't invite emotional displays, although he stayed calm and patient through them. Nor did he invite physical closeness. At first this was a relief, that she could date a man, and just enjoy his company, and truly get to know him, without the expectation of having to sleep with him. And she noticed right away the layers of complexity to him. She could see he had an old soul, and that he was deeply scarred by life.

She noticed that he would only hold her hand, or hug her, in the privacy of her apartment, when he brought her home from a date. She began to wonder what else was holding him back. When he invited her to his house she felt they were crossing over into some new territory. She was meticulous with her appearance that evening.

All thought of the serious discussion he wanted to have with her fled his mind when he first opened the door to the vision on his doorstep. She was breathtakingly beautiful, in a blue silk sheath dress with accents of gold at the hem and neck. The material shimmered in the light. In her heels, she was almost even with his height. Her hair was a beautiful cloud around her perfect face. He stood there, gazing at her. He had seen eyes like that in famous paintings, but never in real life had he seen eyes like hers.

"Horatio," teased Marisol.

"Yes, Marisol," he responded.

"Can I come in?" she asked, dimpling.

"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry. You look amazing!" he confusedly replied. Marisol was delighted to have shaken his usually iron composure. He conversely looked a little bemused, and not quite cross.

He took her bag and her wrap, and put them in the front closet. Then he showed her his home. It was neat, and she noticed, not quite as spartan as his office. A tall bookcase, full of books on a variety of subjects, and a cd tower of a variety of music showed her a bit of his tastes, which were very eclectic.

He had prepared a simple but tasty meal, and she noticed that as they ate he became gradually quieter, almost withdrawn. He was dreading the coming conversation, and realized that he was already deeply attached to Marisol. She was becoming concerned, and when she decided she couldn't take the tension anymore, she spoke.

"What's troubling you, Horatio?" she asked. "You're obviously worried. Is something wrong at work?"

"Not exactly, but it is my work I want to talk about," he replied, setting down his fork. "Marisol, I have really enjoyed the last two weeks with you. I don't think I have relaxed this much, or opened up this much with anyone, in over a decade. And there are valid reasons for my isolation. I need you to know some things, before we continue, to give you the freedom to choose, now, before our emotions get too wound up in each other."

"Ok," she replied simply. She was a little alarmed, but she knew this was the famous Horatio Caine, the legendary lieutenant of the police force, and the head of Miami-Dade crime lab. She knew from her brother Eric that Horatio was a complex, intense person. She had seen that right off, when he had helped her through her own legal issues.

"You may have heard of the Mala Noche," began Horatio. "The media call them a gang, but they are really a criminal cartel. They have tried to break into Miami with gun running and assassination multiple times, but the police have been fairly successful at holding them back. Because of my involvement with some of those cases they have put a price on my head." He said nothing more about his involvement with this police effort.

Marisol flinched at these words and recoiled slightly. Internally Horatio died a little, he could easily believe she would retreat from him now. But she leaned back toward him, and laid both her hands on his arm.

"I'm not telling you this to frighten you," he continued. "I guess, really, I am trying to make you afraid a little, but for yourself, not for me. I would understand if you didn't want to see me anymore, knowing this."

"Oh, Horatio," cried Marisol. "It's too late for that. We both have uncertain futures, don't we? Shouldn't we just live to the full? You have only mentioned my illness a few times, but you've always focused on the positive, the hopeful, even though your own life has been so hard. Can't we just do that? Just do what we want, what feels right for us?

At these words, something snapped in Horatio, he surged up and took her in his arms. Marisol found herself the recipient of one of the most intense kisses of her life. Horatio kissed with the same single-minded intensity he invested in anything he did.

"Marisol, Marisol," he exclaimed. She loved the way he said her name, with the extra accent on the o, and the little note of surprise, as if he couldn't believe he was entitled to see her, or say her name.

Marisol wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. They kissed rather frantically for a moment, then Horatio came to his senses and began to gentle it. He led her from the dining room to the living area, and pulled her down next to him on the couch. They sat together, her head on his shoulder, while they caught their breath.

"Well, now I guess I understand why you never kiss me in public. That could get embarrassing." she said lightly. He chuckled. She felt a little thrill of victory at shaking his composure, and getting him to laugh. He didn't laugh enough, she knew. "And I remember, when I first offered to make you dinner, you said that my brother being your employee was only a part of what made you hesitate."

"Well, yes, public displays of affection are never going to be part of my personality," replied Horatio. "But part of the reason for that is to protect you. I need you to understand, being involved with me means risk to yourself. You may need to change the way you do things, how you travel to any work you do, where you shop, the patterns you have in daily life."

"And the rest of the reason?" she asked, not distracted by the alterations in her daily life he was suggesting.

"Marisol, I led a nightmarishly bad childhood and youth," hesitantly explained Horatio. "Eventually, I did terrible things, to get free of that life. My whole adulthood, from then till now, has been in atonement, as a form of penance, for sins I committed as a teen" She stirred, but he forestalled the question on her lips. "I'm not…ready to talk about that yet. Perhaps sometime soon, I'll be able to tell you. Can you accept that?"

She did him the courtesy of pondering her answer carefully before replying. "Horatio, I know you are an honorable man, and a man of integrity. My brother admires you and looks up to you. He may have a little hero worship going on." At this Horatio tried to negate what she was saying, but she stopped him with her fingers on her lips. "These weeks with you have been so refreshing, so positive. I can see your reserve, caused in part by these terrible scars on your soul. It's there in the weariness in your shoulders in the evenings, the pain in your eyes, when you don't realize I'm watching. I'm honored that you let me in that far. If there's more, I'll wait till you are ready to tell it. For now, just know that I trust you to do the right thing, now and in the future. You've learned from your past, and you're trying to make amends for it. I can at least understand that."

He thought he might actually weep for her gentle understanding, but he contained himself. Instead he drew her close and kissed her again. They both felt they had crossed a barrier holding their emotions back.

That evening was followed by several delightful weeks. He would arrange to see her whenever his schedule allowed. Sometimes it was with little or no notice, which was partly the nature of the job, and partly by design. It made their appearances in public unpredictable. Horatio took some gentle ribbing from Eric and Frank, but they both knew better than to cross any real lines.

He was amazed at how she seemed to know what he was feeling at any given moment. He didn't realize that he had so relaxed in her presence that she had learned to read the tiny expressions around his eyes and mouth. He wasn't a very talkative man, but when he listened she had learned to watch his face.

Marisol was surely falling in love with him and knew it. Horatio was gentleman through and through, and Marisol relished this. And she loved getting to see the man beneath the reserve. He loved humor, and she found she really enjoyed finding ways to make him chuckle or laugh. One of the things she didn't understand was his physical restraint. She knew she wanted to be with him, and she felt that he wanted to be with her, but he would never cross that line.

When he arrived at the spa and Frank told him that Marisol had witnessed the shooting he managed to stay calm on the outside. Inside he was gripped with a cold fear. It eased when he saw her sitting up on the gurney, but was quickly replaced with a cold rage. He knew he would have to work to keep a level head as he progressed through the case. Then it became a race to protect the other women from the spa as well as Marisol. He felt a little relief when she agreed to wait at his place. He wanted to be with her, he was sure she was more traumatized than she was willing to let on.

He wasn't entirely surprised when she showed up at the office. At first, he was a bit floored by her comment about a baby, but he said the only thing that came to his mind. She spun around, shocked by both her blurting out such a personal comment, and by his response. Hope soared in her heart. She wanted desperately to kiss him, but restrained herself. They stood together, staring out at the Miami skyline.

And now it seemed as if they were racing toward momentous events. The trial loomed. Marisol decided to accept only one more round of chemotherapy. Horatio dazedly agreed with her, but found himself now whispering prayers in the dark.

That night, after he brought her home from her chemo, she was suddenly, acutely ill. She tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn't go until she knew she was going to be ok. She fled to the bathroom, and he could hear violent retching. He wanted to go into her, but didn't want to invade her privacy. He went to the kitchen, and got some crushed ice from the fridge. Then he found her linen closet and got a washcloth. He approached the bathroom door, and was going to knock, when she opened the door herself.

"Oh, Horatio," she cried. "You can go, you don't want to see me like this."

He steered her toward her room, and helped her sit on the bed. He handed her the cup of ice chips and went back to the bathroom to wet the cloth. When he got back to her she was still sitting on the edge of the bed, head hanging down. He sat next to her, and stroked the inside of her wrists with the damp cloth. Then he lifted her hair away from her neck and cooled it as well.

Marisol gave a little hiccup, and Horatio realized she was crying. He cleared her hair away from her face and asked, "Hey, what's this, sweetheart?"

Her face, usually so perfect, was blotchy, eyes red-rimmed, and tears making little colored tracks of eye makeup run down her face. Without thinking about it he took her chin in his hand and wiped her face gently with the damp cloth.

"I told you I was high maintenance," she sobbed. "You don't have to stay, I'll manage till Eric gets here."

"Tell you what, I'm going to step out of the room, and you're going to put on something comfortable. I am not leaving until Eric gets here, so just put that thought out of your head," replied Horatio. He took the cup of ice chips and put them on the nightstand. "Go on, now, get cleaned up, and get into bed. I'll be back in a few minutes."

When he tapped on the door and went into the room ten minutes later she was sitting up, propped by pillows. She had clipped her hair back and her face was scrubbed clean, and now she was horribly pale. Horatio had found a sturdy pot in the kitchen and handed it to her. He apparently was just in time, as she immediately leaned forward and vomited into the pot. There wasn't much left in her, and she retched miserably, while he gently stroked her back.

"Is it always this bad?" he asked compassionately, when it seemed that the worst was over.

"Usually, this is the worst of it," she replied. "By tomorrow, with a little help, I'll be able to cope." She and Eric had decided that Horatio would never be present when she "medicated".

Horatio took the barf pot away, rinsed it, and brought it back. She was looking a little less peaked, and very sleepy. He sat on the other side of the bed, toed off his shoes, scooted next to her and pulled her against his chest. He gently let her hair down and stroked it.

She sighed and then she giggled. He took this as a good sign.

"Horatio, you do realize, we're in bed together," she smiled at him.

"Only until you fall asleep, or until Eric gets here," he replied firmly.

"Um, hmm," she murmured, sleepily. She snuggled into him and began to play with his shirt buttons, but she really was almost asleep.

When she was still he disentangled himself, and went to the living room. He started to scan her bookshelves. He heard someone at the door and had started to step that way when Eric let himself in.

Eric was startled to see him there, but relaxed in an instant. "Hey, H, how is she?" he asked.

"Is she always that sick after?" asked Horatio worriedly. "She was very sick, about an hour ago, but she's sleeping now."

"Yeah, about 5 hours after chemo she is usually really sick. It's great that she's asleep, that should carry through for another hour or so. She'll be up and down all night," he answered.

"Eric! Have you been coping with that for the past 10 months?" interjected Horatio. "You should have told me. I could have helped you."

"H, she's my sister, I didn't want to bring my home issues to work, especially after we found the marijuana was the only thing that helped," answered Eric.

Horatio's lips pressed together, which Eric took as a sign that H was controlling anger. Horatio was angry, but at himself, for not seeing Eric's struggle. "I'm sorry, Eric," said Horatio, regret coloring his voice.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," said Eric. "Why don't you go home, get some rest. Come back tomorrow around lunch time. She should be a bit better by then, and it would cheer her up."

"Are you sure?" Horatio asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, but H, you're gonna need your shoes," said Eric, gesturing at his feet.

"I left them in Marisol's room," said Horatio, turning back to her bedroom. He went down the hall in his stockinged feet. Eric was nonplussed, what had H been doing in there?

Horatio went into the room as quietly as he could and went around the far side of the bed. He slipped his feet back into his shoes just as Marisol murmured, "Horatio?"

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I just came in to get my shoes, I didn't mean to wake you," apologized Horatio.

Marisol sat up, "Are you leaving? Is Eric here?" she asked.

"Yes, and yes," he replied. He went around the bed, to give her a quick kiss, but she grabbed the pot and started to retch. He sat down next to her, and held her hair back, murmuring, "I'm here, sweetheart, it's going to be better soon, I promise." He felt helpless. He could scarcely believe she and Eric had coped with this on their own for the last 10 months. He offered her the cup of partially melted ice chips. She cleaned her mouth and spit into the pot.

"You can go Horatio, you don't have to stay and see me like this," she whispered.

"Marisol, I'm not here because I have to be, but because I want to be, because I love you," he blurted out, as he held her. He was shocked at himself. He realized the instant he said it, that it was true.

As far as romantic declarations of love went this was pretty far down the ladder, but Marisol knew that she had never heard one more sincere. If he could tell her he loved her while she was practically barfing in his lap, he must mean it. She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around him, praying that she could hold off barfing for a while. "I love you, Horatio," she replied. "I have for a while now."

On the far side of the door Eric stood as still as stone. He felt like he was intruding on a very private moment. He had been coming in to tease H about hanging out in his sister's bedroom, but he wasn't prepared to deal with this. He backed away silently, and took up a seat in the living room, not reading a paperback in his lap.

"We're going to be ok, Marisol," Horatio assured her. "I'll be back tomorrow." He gently kissed her temple, and retreated from the room. He stood outside the door a moment and tried to compose himself. He turned toward the living room, and recalled that Eric was out there.

"I see you overheard that," he said cautiously. "That or you have developed a talent for reading books upside down." He gestured to the book in Eric's lap.

"Yeah, H, sorry about that," Eric replied, with only a slight edge to his voice. "Aren't you guys moving a little fast? She should be focusing on getting better."

"Eric, fast is all we've got. If the chemo doesn't help her, how long will she last? Let me make her happy, for the time that's left," Horatio begged. His eyes were bright. He hung his head, hating himself for what he perceived as weakness.

"Man, you have got it bad, haven't you," stated Eric. He stood, and went over to Horatio. He felt awkward, this was Horatio after all. But he gave him a man-hug, shoulder to shoulder. "Yeah, I know you make her really happy, I don't get why, but you do."

"She brings out the best in me," replied Horatio, with that quick, small grin.

"So, get going, you can come back tomorrow. She should be feeling better by noon," hinted Eric. '

Horatio went home, but he scarcely slept. He pondered how he had come to such a pass. He was in love with Marisol, Eric's sister. She might be dying of leukemia, while he had a death mark from the Mala Noches. He resolved to squeeze all the happiness he could, out of a seemingly hopeless situation. And again, he found himself whispering half-forgotten prayers in the dark.

The next day at noon he was at her door. He and Eric had agreed that if there wasn't a body drop they would switch off. He knocked, but it was a while before Eric answered.

"Hey, H, thanks for coming," said Eric. He looked tired.

"Rough night?" asked Horatio sympathetically. "Where's Mari?"

"No rougher than usual," replied Eric. "She's in the shower. I've got to get going, I want to put in at least a half day. Oh, and by the way, she should be coming down, soon. She ate a little this morning, too."

"Will the nausea come back?" asked Horatio.

"Yeah, but it won't be nearly as bad as last night," he answered. "She should be able to hold down small amounts of plain, simple food as the day goes on."

Eric grabbed his things and hurried off to work. Horatio set to work to make some simple tea, and he brought out a cinnamon muffin from a bakery he knew she liked. He cut it into quarters and set in on a plate.

A few minutes later Marisol came out of her room, dressed in a thin pair of sleep pants and a tank top. When she saw Horatio, she rushed forward and threw her arms around him.

"Horatio!" she cried out happily. She kissed him enthusiastically. Horatio kissed back, but her demeaner was not normal, so he pulled back and looked into eyes. Ahh, yes, she was still a little high from her morning "medication". He was glad that she seemed well and happy, but he knew he would have to be the responsible one for the next little while.

She pouted prettily when he ended the kiss, and looked up at him through her eyelashes. He grinned at her, he knew that she knew he found her eyes delightful.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said lightly. "I brought you a little snack." He put her arm through his and escorted her to the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair for her and placed the muffin in front of her.

"Oh, yummy," she said gleefully. "I'm really hungry!" She hungrily started in on the muffin and tea.

"Slow down, Marisol, I don't want you making yourself sick," admonished Horatio. He pulled the plate away from her. Again, she pouted at him. He broke the quarters into pieces, and began hand feeding her bites of muffin, slowly. At first she was only interested in the food, but her eyes went a little wicked and with the next bite of muffin she gently caught Horatio's forefinger in her teeth. She delicately licked the tip of his finger with her tongue. Horatio's eyes went wide, and he quickly pulled his hand back. This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

She got up out of her chair and sighed happily as she settled in Horatio's lap.

"Horatio, I seem to recall you told me something startling last night," she began.

"Uh huh," he replied. Ah, he thought, maybe he could distract her with this.

"Say it again," she asked. "So I know I wasn't dreaming."

"Say what again," he replied. She pouted and laid her head on his shoulders and began to nuzzle under his ear.

"I love you, Horatio," she whispered into his ear.

She was truly killing him. She was dissolving his restraint at an unbelievable pace. "And I love you," he replied. He kissed her, but drew back quickly.

"Don't you want me, Horatio," she asked petulantly. "I know I want you."

"Marisol, of course I want you," exclaimed Horatio. He realized he was going to have to explain himself. "Sweetheart, drink your tea, and I'll explain."

"Marisol, I spend every day tracking down people who have decided that for one reason or another, what they want is the most important thing in the world. They lie, cheat, steal, and murder, and feel perfectly justified in doing so, because they wanted something they couldn't or shouldn't have," said Horatio. "Their motivations are always selfishness and pride. Even crimes of passion are basically founded in selfishness." He took a breath. Marisol knew this must be very important to him, as he rarely made such long speeches.

"My work, what I do," he continued, "isn't just about catching the guilty, but about getting justice for the victims and their families, and protecting the innocent. And I promised myself, long ago, that I would never be on the other side of that situation again. Many things are "legal" that still cause irreparable harm to relationships and families. And you know what, people always know when they have crossed that line. They feel guilty, they try to hide their betrayals, their lack of fidelity, their thievery. So, I live to a code, and I try, hard, to stick to it. I won't violate your faith in me, or Eric's trust." He stood and turned back toward her.

He pulled her up, and stepped into her closely. "When we do make love, it will because it is right for both of us," he whispered into her ear. "It won't be because I can't wait, or I'm staking some kind of claim; or because you're high, or think you have to. It will be because we love each other and are committed to each other."

She shivered at the word "When". She was suddenly completely sober. What had she done, she wondered, to deserve such a man? She felt like a princess being courted by a knight. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Horatio."

"There is nothing you need to be sorry for," he told her. He pulled her still closer, so that they were touching from shoulder to hip. "I just need you to be patient."

He leaned his head on her shoulder and relished holding her for a moment. She hugged him, and stroked his hair. "I can wait, Horatio."

"Alright, back to your meal," he suggested. "Then let's watch a movie, until I'm sure your back to normal." They spent a pleasant afternoon. Her nausea waxed and waned as the afternoon passed. Eric came by again in the early evening. Marisol began to look a bit peaked, so Eric gently suggested that it was time for H to go.

Horatio realized he wanted to marry her, but didn't know if it was fair to ask, so soon. If she went into remission she might want to slow down, and fully consider her options. So, the next week, when she brought up marriage first, he jumped to agree. She caught the little flash of triumph and joy as she took his arm. She shook it a bit. "Did you want to ask me?" she asked.

"I didn't want to rush you, but yes, I wanted to ask," he admitted. "Marisol, would you marry me?"

"Yes, Horatio," she happily replied.

Together they filed for a license, then realized that it had to be witnessed soon. And they had to speak with Eric. And while Horatio did that Marisol's doctor called, and told her that her scans and blood work indicated she was in full remission. She could scarcely believe it. She and Horatio could actually start thinking about a future. When she told Horatio he was overjoyed, and said a prayer of thanksgiving on the spot. Then he hesitated.

"Do you want to wait, for a proper wedding?" he offered tentatively.

"No, your life is still in danger, and this is just remission, not a cure," she said definitively. "Let's move on as if nothing has changed."

The next day Eric had the surreal experience of watching Horatio, arguably the most reserved person in Miami, kiss Marisol as his new wife. They thanked him for coming, and then they left the court building together. He knew where they were going, but tried hard not to think about their honeymoon activities.

Marisol found that was all she could think about, as she sat at a dinner table in the hotel restaurant. Horatio realized later he had no memory of the food they had eaten. They gave up any thought of dessert as a bad job and retired to their luxurious room. The world fell away, as Marisol discovered that Horatio loved with his whole being, and Horatio discovered that Marisol could make him forget everything else.