A/N: This was started back in April 2004, but then I never got around to finish it. Until this day :) Now, with all that's happened on the show in the meantime, this fic qualifies as AU. Just be aware of the fact that all characters who were alive back in season 2 are alive in this fic. And vice versa :) I just can't re-write something that was already shaped in my mind, sorry. Enjoy anyway. This fic is supposed to be a light-hearted piece of entertainment and doesn't take itself seriously.

This is dedicated to Geena. She provided me with gorgeous H/C artwork, custom-made, even. Check out her work if you haven't already. When I told her about this particular plot bunny, she told me to go for it and then also worked as a beta. Her support and suggestions have been invaluable. This fic was partly inspired by her, and partly by my mother, who went and got herself a new Hyundai Santa Fe. Black, with tinted windows, it looks like a smaller version of a cross-breed between a Hummer and a hearse. I had to get a car-centered story out of my system after driving that one.

Be warned – I've only been to the Everglades once. Briefly. When I was about twelve years old. So we can safely assume I don't know much about that place. I remember however, that I was thrilled by the scenery. Research for this fic consisted of watching the beginning of "Slow Burn" again and skimming through old photos of the aforementioned trip to Miami. Any mistakes I made are mine and due to the fact that memories are unreliable, as Horatio will be keen to explain to you. Also, I'm aware of the fact that some things in this fic don't make sense. Well, some things on the show don't either. Turn to any scene with Yelina in it for examples.

Rating: Will be M, eventually.

Pairing: H/C, naturally.

Summary: Her: cool. Him: hot. Their car: stuck in the middle of nowhere. Now you do the math.

Stalled

The Everglades: a 50-mile-wide, slow-moving River of Grass, flowing from the 730 square miles of Lake Okeechobee southward toward the ocean. One of the harshest habitats on earth, conditions change from one extreme to the other, as seasons vary between dry and wet. Where nature is abundant and plentiful one moment, it's scarce and scant the next.

"Talk about backwater," Calleigh stated, taking in the environs with a sweeping glance around. "And people say crime's an urban problem."

"Crime," a deep voice to her right prompted, "is a ubiquitous problem."

Calleigh smiled secretly. Leave it to Horatio to turn a light-hearted remark into a textbook chapter heading. Much as she adored his intensity and passion for his work, she couldn't help insisting, "But where crime scenes are concerned, this is as remote as they get."

A low "Hmm…" in the affirmative was the only answer she got, since Horatio's attention was already required elsewhere. Frank Tripp strolled over to them, notebook in hand, and Calleigh decided to get back to work.

"We're done here," the detective informed the head of the Miami crime lab. "How about you guys?"

"Almost," Horatio told him, "Just need to stow away the evidence."

"Listen, we just got another call in. I'm needed back in the city. Do you guys mind if we head off without you?"

Horatio shot a glance over his shoulder to where Calleigh was currently carrying a crime scene kit to the Hummer. They had bagged everything they could, taken pictures of everything they couldn't, and then had proceeded to subject the photographed objects to all the tests the textbook listed. "No, I think we're almost finished. I'll keep you posted on this."

"Good," Tripp nodded. As he strode off, Horatio turned in the opposite direction towards Calleigh. She was just stowing some camera devices in their respective cases, but straightened up to watch Tripp speed off in the police car.

Now it was just the two of them in the back of beyond.

Tripp had requested them to process this scene. The detective currently held a suspect in custody who had taken his best friend to this location in order to shoot him over some money issues. The perp had then opted to do the dumb thing and, instead of dumping the body in the 'gator-ridden swamps, never to be seen again, had stuffed the corpse in the trunk of his car and tried to sell it off as an accident. Of course his story had featured some major plot holes, and it hadn't taken Tripp long at all to elicit the truth. Now all the detective needed was some court-proof evidence, so he had asked Horatio to bring a crime scene unit to the primary crime scene – aka this secluded place on the outskirts of the wetlands.

Horatio, in turn, had decided to assign this case to Calleigh (since it involved collecting bullets and casings, it seemed the logical choice) and for an encore went on to assign Calleigh to himself.

He had worked far too many cases without her lately. And try as he might, he could not help being more fascinated by her than he should be, considering the fact that she was working for him.

Right now, his ballistics expert was pushing back some damp strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Okay, that's it," she concluded, "We're good to go."

Horatio helped her taking down the last of the yellow crime scene tape – it had been pointless to put up in the first place. No one ever came here. At least no one who would be stopped by yellow plastic.

They reached the car and Horatio slipped behind the steering wheel while Calleigh made a grab for the A/C control. As the car kicked into gear and the venting system began its work, she exhaled audibly.

"Sun's merciless out here," she sighed in answer to Horatio's raised eyebrows. It would forever remain a mystery how Horatio Caine managed to pull off his daily stunt of working tirelessly through the crime scenes of Miami Dade without so much as unbuttoning his collar. He had decided the heat was not to bother him, it seemed, and so the heat didn't. Mind over matter. Simple as that.

Calleigh wished for his self control. If she couldn't have that, a nice cold shower would make a good second place. As soon as they were back she'd match the bullets they had recovered to the perp's gun, do some paperwork on it, fend off John Hagen's ill-delivered requests to give priority to his cases and call it an early day.

She would not spend another evening at the shooting range, entertaining notions about Horatio. Hoping that he'd need her for something and come find her. Waiting for him as she so often did these days, all the while happily keeping up the self-deceiving idea that his approval and concern for her went anywhere beyond the realm of professionalism.

She would get a grip on herself, focus entirely on her work, and for a change not linger around when she was done just so there was a chance for him to run into her when everybody else had already left.

Or maybe she wouldn't.

For suddenly, the mighty car lurched beneath her. It spluttered and coughed, and Horatio's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He remained in control of the vehicle and stayed perfectly on track. Not that this was helping, though. With one last gurgling complaint, the engine died. The heavy machine rolled on for a few short moments, coming gradually to a halt.

"What happened?" Calleigh asked after a moment of silence, surprised herself at the unsteady sound of her voice. Horatio was looking slightly astonished, as if he could not quite accept the fact that this tank of a car had apparently failed him.

"I don't know," he offered, turning to look at her. "Didn't sound like we lost a tire, did it?"

"No," Calleigh agreed. "Didn't feel like it either." The adrenaline rush was over. The trouble, however, was only starting. "We haven't run out of gas, have we?" She leaned over to the driver's seat to have a look at the dashboard, using one hand on the middle bracket for support. No, the filling looked fine. She chided herself mentally for even making the assumption; Horatio would certainly not take her out into the boondocks with a car running on reserve. She caught a whiff of aftershave and realized how inappropriately close she had positioned herself to her boss. Turning her head to look at him, she offered sheepishly, "Sorry," meaning her intrusion on his personal space as well as the silly supposition.

Horatio did not exactly seem to mind. He gave her a comforting half-smile and opened the door as she pulled back.

Getting out, both of them started cycling the car. Horatio repeatedly stepped back, put his hands to his hip and eyed the truck with the same suspicion he usually reserved for unreliable witnesses. It failed to crumble under his gaze the way most witnesses did, though.

There was nothing visibly wrong with the Hummer.

It still had four tires attached, still had one bumper at each end and when Horatio tried the ignition again, it still refused to even budge.

Finally, Horatio seemed to give up. He just stood back and glared at the car broodingly.

Calleigh came over to him and snapped her cell phone open. "I'll call Alexx," she told her boss, "And tell her we have a DC – dead car."

He couldn't stifle a smile. "I think we're going to need a mechanic to do this post, not an ME."

"Oh uh!"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Maybe that mechanic could bring a radio engineer along." She held up her cell in a gesture of defeat.

"You're kidding," Horatio said, in a tone that clearly indicated he wasn't amused.

"No such luck," Calleigh replied, "We're out of range."

Horatio got his own cell phone up in a lightning quick movement as if he were drawing a gun. Calleigh didn't have time to admire the smooth action, though. In a rare gesture, her boss took off his shades. He blinked in the bright sun, but Calleigh could still read the message in his eyes. No connection.

They were stranded.