Author's Note: The first part of this piece takes place before Season1, before Eric Delko is hired by Horatio. The second part...well I'm sure y'all will find out if you keep reading because you will be able to tell where's it from. The theory about Kevlar might not be entirely bullet-proof (pun intended) but I have tried to make it so. ENJOY!

Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me here, is Nicolas - the sandy haired toddler. Otherwise, the characters you enjoy in this piece belong to CBS, J.Bruckheimer, A.Zuiker, et al.

Prompt #3

MARSHMALLOWS

Dead End. I left the house with a sigh and drove to the nearest park. I looked at my watch before parking and thought that I may as well take a sort of lunch break since this case was obviously going nowhere. What I really needed was a CSI from the Little Havana region. The people remained suspicious of help from authorities, including law enforcement, outside the community.

I strolled over to the nearest bench and dumped the folder onto it. My eyes linger on the file and even though I know the contents by heart I still find myself opening it and looking at the post-mortem pictures of our vic:

Teenager. Cuban-American boy.

Died 2 nights ago.

COD - blunt force trauma but also signs of sexual assault as well as the fact that the kid had taken 3 bullets.

Ballistics had come back with some messy, inconclusive results. The bullets were all mangled in a very unusual way, as if they had hit Kevlar. Only Ballistics couldn't figure out what the bullets had hit – certainly nothing in their database.

To top it off - No witnesses.

My gut feeling kept sneaking up at odd moments with the instinct that the people of Little Havana were out on a witch-hunt for the killer – mob justice. MDPD would have to be careful and stop this getting out of hand. With a sigh, I flip the folder close and lean back to take in my surroundings.

It was relatively quiet for this time of day but then given the murder, people were probably keeping away with good reason. There was a basketball game going on at one end, a couple walking their dog, and close by, a woman with a toddler.

My interest starts with the basketball game but my eyes are being drawn more often to the brunette with the toddler. I guess she felt my eyes on her because warm hazel eyes suddenly lifted up to meet my blue ones.

A hesitant smile is offered by the both of us to the other.

I feel a blush creep up my neck at getting caught and pretend to focus on the folder in my hands. There is growing irritation as my eyes keep darting back to her. She looks perfect: dressed simply in a pair of jeans that showed off her long legs, and a polo shirt that wrapped nicely against her generous curves. Thick black curls were pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck with stray curls escaping here and there. All too suddenly, I can imagine what it would be like to kiss those generous lips and feel her skin against mine. She has a broad smile on her face as she reads to the sandy-haired toddler, in a mix of Spanish and English. Some of the words drift over to me and I find myself smiling as I watch them together – so happy. Her accent is different, the Spanish and Miamian influence was there, but there was something else that gave an unusual lilt to her voice. Definitely the influence of another accent, but it's difficult to tell from where. The case begins to run at the back of my mind as I watch her open a bag of marshmallows.

She begins to count in a sing-along voice as she pokes her fingers through the fluffy marshmallows and hits the toddler's nose. He giggles in delight and claps his hands. He gobbles the first one, the second, and then the third…

I watch in amazement as the child manages to cram 9 marshmallows into his mouth before finally beginning to chew with delight. Something ticked at the back of my mind about the case but it was one of those annoying moments where what you wanted to know danced seductively at the edge of your mind…just out of reach. My brow automatically frowns in concentration as I try to capture the thought.

"Hey mister! Would you like one?" asks the toddler waddling up to me on semi-steady legs, bag of marshmallows in hand. The attractive brunette followed closely behind with a welcoming smile playing on her lips.

"Why, thank-you young man." I say, popping one in my mouth. With their close proximity, it's hard not to notice how alike their eyes were: deep pools of green surrounded by warm, woody brown. I look up catching her eye and cannot get the thought of how innocently beautiful she is out of my head.

"Hi, I'm Mari," she says, extending a hand.

I stand up quickly, trying to swallow the marshmallow in my now dry mouth, "Hi, Horatio." We shake hands. I find myself smiling at her again, in what I later cursed myself for, as it could only be called smiling idiotically.

She smiles at me again, Dear God! Did my heart just skip a beat? Or am I having a heart attack? "This is Nicolas, my nephew," I feel inexplicably glad with this knowledge and the fact that the she doesn't have a ring on. "He wanted to give you a marshmallow. He said you looked sad."

Nicolas nodded, having now clambered onto the bench and standing on it so that he could be a little taller.

"Hi Nicolas. I'm Horatio." I crouch down, "You know what, you were totally right, but now your marshmallow has made me all better. So, thank-you."

"You're welcome, Marshmallow man," he giggles, offering me another one.

"No thanks Sport. I'll skip this one."

"Your loss," says Mari, reaching for one.

Something finally clicks at the back of my mind about the case. Yes! That had to be it! Change of substance and processing – new bullets! Maybe I should eat marshmallows more often – good lord! In this instance, they had broken the case.

"Well, we have to go. Nice meeting you, Horatio. Say 'Bye' Nico."

Nicolas held out his hand solemnly, "Bye Marshmallow man."

I chuckle at the name, "Nice meeting the both of you." The frantic thought of 'is it really possible to fall in love at first sight?' scampers frantically through my brain as I try to think of a way to get her to stay for a little longer, or at least her phone number. It is a disappointing avenue of thought that, embarrassingly, yields no fruit.

She takes the packet from Nicolas' hands, "Sure I can't tempt you, Horatio? There are just two left."

She looks irresistible and I know there is no way I can say no, even if I wanted to, and I don't, "Ok," I raise my hands up in surrender, "Thank-you,"

Horatio mentally played back the scene from 6 years ago, amazed that life had given him the opportunity to see her again. She looked thinner now, slightly older but she was still incredibly beautiful and here she was now, asking him if he would like to come for dinner. And she was still as irresistible as he remembered her, that afternoon: her lips in a delicate pout, her eyes sparkling with mischief and anticipation. He heard himself asking her what time would be appropriate.

"Eight o'clock?" she asked.

He nodded, "Eight o'clock."

Her hand rested on his arm for a moment, "See you then," she leaned in, "Marshmallow man," she whispered into his ear, before walking away.

His heart raced, skipping a couple of beats and he felt his gut drop to his feet as his mouth fell open in shock and delight with the goofiest smile appearing on his face.

Was he finally, being given the chance he had so desperately wanted for so long?