Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: Miami or any of its characters; I just borrow them occasionally. Any inaccuracies regarding profiling are my own fault.

A/N: Special thanks to my beta Morgaine for loving this story so far. Thank you Debbie, Susan, Cilica and Zhene for your support and encouragement; you gals rock! This is my first ever fanfic so please R & R!

Chapter 1:

Horatio Caine had been spending a lot of time in hospitals lately. He had become a familiar site in the corridors; the sombre red-haired man in the dark suit who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Now the normally immaculate suit was creased and his normally confident face-the-world-straight-on stance required the support of the wall behind him. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, clear blue shot with red. What time was it? What day was it? He'd lost track after she'd been brought in.

Horatio grabbed an uncomfortable chair from the corner of the room and pulled it as close to the bed as he could, thinking there was probably a special level of hell for those who designed hospital furniture. He cradled her right hand in his, feeling the calluses that came from holding a gun on her palm and fingertips; noticing for the first time the line of faint scars running from wrist to elbow on her inner forearm. He felt a knot develop in his stomach, as his mind analyzed the information. Shit! Everything was beginning to make sense.

Ross lay unconscious, her mahogany red hair leeching the colour from her face, leaving it as white as the pillow her head rested on. A person could be forgiven for thinking that Alexx had misplaced one of her "patients" in the hospital instead of the morgue; if it weren't for the sound of her breathing; she hadn't been when he'd found her.

He reached into his jacket pocket for a small plastic envelope and dumped the contents into his palm. A round silver pendant on a twenty-inch matching chain gleamed dully in the light. The pendant was a reproduction of an antique wax seal engraved with a torch-bearing cherub perched on a wave borne anchor. Inscribed around the edges were the words L'espoire me reste dans l'orage – my hope remains even in the storm.

"Well that make two of us, doesn't it?" he whispered, placing the necklace into her palm and folding her fingers over it. Her pulse was steady underneath his thumb. "You hang in there sweetheart."

The sound of footsteps in the corridor made him turn. Calleigh Duquesne stood in the doorway, a duffle bag in her hand. "I swung by her house and packed a few things; collected her mail, fed her cats."

"Thank you Calleigh – I thought you didn't like cats."

Calleigh felt torn, he looked so lost – had been through more emotional upheaval in the past year than most people experienced in a lifetime; and she wanted to shield him from further pain. But this whole martyr/saviour complex of his had to stop, and here was the wake up call.

"Who'd you hear that big fat lie from? Was it Ryan? I love cats Horatio, had quite a few growing up." She gave him a dimmer version of her usual dazzling smile, opening the room's pathetic excuse for a closet and placing the bag inside, closing the door with a brisk motion. "In fact, I've appointed myself cat-sitter until further notice. The poor things are scared to death; it would be cruel to hand them over to Animal Control."

Calleigh crossed the room and placed her hand on Horatio's shoulder. "I won't lie to you and say that everything is going to be fine, but you're not responsible for what happened. Horatio, you've been here for forty eight hours. Go home and get some sleep. I'll call you if the lab needs you or anything changes here."

Horatio had learned early on that it never paid to mess with Calleigh Duquesne; she was a true steel magnolia. The look in her eyes told him that she was fully prepared to frog march him out the door if need be; there was an image that made him smile. "Yes Ma'am." His voice was strained, not the usual calm silky purr that Calleigh was used to, a clear sign that events had worn him down.

"So why are you still here?" Calleigh rolled her eyes heavenward seeking divine assistance. "Go. Home." The last statement punctuated with a thumb over her shoulder towards the door.

In the face of such determination, it was best to concede. Horatio left Calleigh to her vigil and walked to the parking lot. Climbing into the Hummer he headed for the lab, just to pick up his personal vehicle; after all, the Hummer didn't exactly fit in his condo's parking space, the black Focus sedan was another story.

Forgoing the A/C in favour of fresh air through the driver's side window, he drove home. Traffic was moderate and blessedly trouble free, meaning that he arrived home in half the usual time it took to commute; if you were gridlocked, at least the scenery outside the car window was spectacular. The Miami Chamber of Commerce missed an opportunity by omitting that little factoid from their brochure.

Horatio made the trip up to his condo on auto pilot. If his neighbours thought it unusual that A) he was coming home at noon and B) wearing his sunglasses indoors and the same suit he had on two days ago, they didn't say so. The last thing he remembered doing after unlocking the door was plugging his cell phone into the charger before collapsing on his living room sofa and finally surrendering to unconsciousness.