Right Inside

Summary:Horatio receives an unexpected visit, and an invitation from someone he once helped. Danny Sommers hasn't forgotten the police officer who told him he would be okay. The man who understood. References Season 4 Episode 17 CSI Miami.

"Lieutenant Caine." Horatio looked up as his desk phone sounded. The light indicated a call from the main desk at the front of the building.

He tapped the button. "Yes?"

"You have a visitor at the desk. He says he needs to speak to you."

Horatio frowned thoughtfully. They had no major cases. He wasn't expecting anyone. Still... "Tell him I'm on my way." He tapped the intercom button to end the call, then rose from his seat, heading for the elevator.

Thirty seconds later saw him striding into the front lobby of the Miami-Dade police department. He spotted the visitor at once. A young man, teenager or barely older from the looks of him. Lean, average height, short well-tended hair of a dark blond shade, with subtle lighter highlights. Dark hazel eyes met his, and the young man smiled widely. "Lieutenant Caine!"

"Sir." He stopped as the young man took several quick steps forward. The young man extended his hand, and he shook it. "What can I do for you?"

"No need for that." Dark eyes searched his, and a small rueful smile curled his lips. "You probably don't remember me."

Horatio shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't. What's your name son?"

The young man's smile widened. "It's okay. After all..." He chuckled. "You haven't seen me since I was, what, ten? We haven't even talked for years." He met Horatio's eyes. "I'm Danny Sommers."

"Danny..." The name evoked an image of a small, slender boy. Dark, frightened eyes, too old for the child's face, partially hidden behind blond hair. A quiet young voice speaking softly. 'You really do know what it's like...'

He remembered the case. It had been a difficult one, on more than one level, for him and his team. A young woman, run off the road by a man she'd witnessed murdering another. Then she'd been killed by her angry ex-husband, beaten to death with an empty pistol. He'd been responsible for handing over her traumatized son to the Child Welfare. But not before he'd spoken to the boy. "You know, I do remember you."

Danny's smile widened. "I hoped you would."

Horatio allowed himself a smile of his own. "So...how are you doing, Danny?"

Pride and happiness sparkled in his eyes. "I'm doing great. I...actually, I came by to ask you something." He fumbled in a pocket, then held out a sealed envelope. "I'm graduating high school next month, and I want you to come."

Horatio took the envelope, turning it over in his hands. The paper was heavy, formal. "Graduating high school. That's a big step. You have plans after that?"

"Yeah." The young man in front of him smiled sheepishly. "I'm going to Harvard, to study law."

Horatio raised one eyebrow, impressed. "Harvard. You're doing well in school."

A slight blush crossed Danny's cheeks. "I'm salutatorian. And I did pretty well on my exams, SAT and stuff. Even got a scholarship."

"That's excellent news, Danny." He turned the envelope over in his hands again, then looked up to meet the boy's gaze. "Everything else okay?"

"Yeah." There was no hint of a lie in his eyes. No sign of the terrified, shut-away silence he'd had as a child. "I got into a really good foster home. You might remember that. And I got some counseling." Dark eyes flicked away, then met Horatio's again. "Besides, Lieutenant, I had you."

Horatio blinked. Of all the things he'd expected to hear, that wasn't one of them. He remembered that he'd talked to Danny a few times. The social worker had brought him by. Then Danny had been transferred to a good foster home (he'd made sure, surreptitiously, that it was good) and been placed in counseling, with professionals. They'd talked on the phone a few times, and then Danny had slipped away, surrounded by friends and family and people who were far better prepared to help him cope. Horatio had let him go, knowing he needed to move on.

He looked up into the young man's face. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow."

Danny smiled, looked around the room, then nodded at the doors. "Can we go outside?"

"Sure." He followed the young man outside. Danny made straight for the low stone wall to the right of the steps, and settled on it expectantly. Horatio followed, sitting on the boy's left as a sense of deja vu swept over him.

Danny's mind seemed to be following his. "This is the place, you know. Where we sat and talked, right before the social services lady came to get me." He looked over the parking lot, hazel eyes warm with memory. "I still remember it."

Horatio nodded. "So do I." He remembered sitting next to a scared and frightened child, who watched him with apprehensive eyes. He even remembered what he'd said, as inadequate that it had been.

"I know it doesn't feel like it, but you're going to be okay." Horatio started to hear those words come from the youth beside him. Danny smiled at him. "That's what you said to me. And then...you told me you understood. That you'd been in my shoes. And you really did. From you, it wasn't just words." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You know, I heard a lot of that. 'I understand you're going through a difficult time'. 'I know it's tough for you'. 'I understand how you feel after such a tough loss'. And it...it made me so mad, so confused, because they couldn't possibly understand. But every time I wanted to shut out the world, to scream that no one could understand it, I remembered you. You telling me about your mom. And when it got to be too much, I could come to you, look you in the eyes, and know that someone really did understand everything I was going through." He sighed. "You know, I never asked you, but I really wanted to. Were you my age, when it...when you went through that?"

Horatio shook his head. "I was...older. Actually..." He glanced in Danny's direction. "I was about the age you are now."

The boy grimaced. "My age?" He looked away. "My father...I never went to his trial. But he tried to call me from prison. Sent me letters. I got one last week, about my graduation. I burned it, out on the driveway. I...I was wondering...did your father do that?"

Horatio shook his head. "No. He didn't. As a matter of fact...he died shortly after my mother did." He saw no reason to tell the boy that he'd accidentally killed his own father trying to protect himself and his mother from the man's violence.

"Oh. Sorry." Danny ran a hand through his hair. "It's just...I don't want to hear from him. I have a dad now, and he's a good father to me. Sometimes...I feel guilty about it, but I wish my biological dad was dead."

"It's an entirely normal response. However...it's probably a good thing you feel guilty about feeling that way. But...you shouldn't let it bother you too much." Horatio suppressed a grimace, remembering how many years he'd spent discussing that issue with his pastor at the church.

"I guess." Danny stared over the pavement, then shook himself. "Sorry. This isn't what I came to talk to you about. I just wanted to invite you to my graduation. You did so much for me as a kid, I feel like you should be there. After all...you told me I'd be okay, and thanks to you...I am." He stood, and Horatio rose with him. "You'll come, right?"

Horatio nodded. "I wouldn't miss it."

A smile warmed Danny's face, his eyes. "Good man."

Horatio felt an answering smile cross his face. "You too, partner. You too."

They shook hands, and he watched as the slender young man strode across the parking lot and hopped into car. The envelope, which he'd shoved into his jacket pocket, pressed against his chest. He reached into his pocket, pulled it out and opened it, reading the formal words of invitation, noting the time and place for the event. Danny had even included the names of his foster parents, and a picture, so he could find them. Horatio smiled, then replaced the card in his pocket, turned, and strode back inside.

Author's Note: Recently re-watched this episode in Season 4, and just really wanted to write this. A bit of happy time for Horatio, seeing the difference he made in someone's life.