Chaptered Fic: No Other One, Chapter 4
Title: No Other One, Chapter 4
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Yelina Salas, Horatio Caine, the whole Caine family
Author's Note: WARNING: SPOILER FOR SEASON 6.
Summary: Almost two decades ago, Horatio made a decision that would change his family forever. Will they ever be able to get past it? And will he ever tell Yelina how he feels? Spoiler for season 6 premiere. HY romance in the future. Fulfills
alphabetasoup prompt, R is for Ravana, and
fanfic100 prompt #028, Children.
Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
No Other One
Chapter Four: Mirrors
By Duckie Nicks
“If I had my child to raise all over again… I’d take my eyes off my watch and watch with my eyes.” - Diane Loomans
Even an hour later, Yelina was absolutely furious. Having briefly glanced in the hallway mirror, she had seen the way her eyes had morphed into a telling obsidian, a perfect reflection of the red-hot anger flowing inside of her. She could still feel the scowl marring her features, just as she couldn’t miss how every fiber of her being seemed to thrum on her fury. And though she had taken to scouring Ray Junior’s bathroom, the mother couldn’t help but notice the way her hands, encased in yellow latex gloves, shook.
Horatio had picked the wrong day to be overbearing.
After what had happened with the waiter earlier in the day, Yelina had wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to have some personal space. And though she could usually tolerate her brother-in-law’s penchant for trampling on her privacy, she hadn’t felt gracious enough to put up with it today.
Clad in old jeans and a black t-shirt with a neck high enough to cover her new bruise, Yelina scrubbed angrily at the dirty, should-be-porcelain-white tub. Her son was filthy. The mother rarely if ever wished she’d had a daughter instead, but surely a girl would have been easier to clean after, she thought.
Yelina had already finished cleaning the bathroom mirror and sink; she’d long since taken her frustration out on the tile floor and the toilet, but it had done little to relieve the anger coursing through her body. Now, only the bathtub, covered in God-only-knew-what, lay between her and succumbing to the overwhelming desire to punch something.
And given how long it had been since Horatio left her house, Ray Junior would be back from school soon. Which made the need to calm down seem all the more important. He was at times a very observant teenager, and like his uncle, Ray would want to know what had happened, and that would only make things worse.
Not that she would ever take her anger out on her child, Yelina told herself. She had more control over herself than that and much more respect for her son than she had control.
Even if that wasn’t the case, the brunette understood her own family dynamic. Anything horrible she could say to Ray Junior would inevitably be followed up with something equally cutting said back to her. They’d fight and say things they didn’t mean, but neither would ever remain mad for long. Because above all, she loved him, and he loved her.
It was that simple in the end: they could say or do anything to one another because there was an inherent knowledge - an absolute trust and faith in one another - that he would always be her child and she his mother.
And Yelina wasn’t sure if this dynamic qualified as an unhealthy codependency or a natural unconditional parent-child love. She had never really made many friends who were mothers. Other women were traditionally intimidated by her, though Yelina never really understood why, and as a result, they stayed away from her. Or they would speak of their home lives as if they had the perfect children and husband, which she couldn’t believe to be true. Though maybe it had been the truth, and her family really was the oddity. Certainly in her own experience, her mother had never had this kind of relationship with her. The brunette couldn’t even imagine saying some of the things Ray had said to her (God help her if she had).
Maybe it was bad parenting on her part, she concluded as she cleaned the showerhead. But Yelina had admittedly no desire to change things. Even if it was wrong, it was nice to have something immutable like her love for him. And maybe Ray Junior felt the same way. At least she hoped he did.
Their lives had never been teeming with trustworthy people or the ability to believe in much of anything…
Her anger gave way to a palpable sadness. Her life had… not turned out as expected, and no doubt her child had missed out on many things because of that. Including having a dependable father - or at least the kind that stayed dead, anyway.
But the melancholy eased as she heard the front door shut. She had made some bad choices in the spouse department perhaps, but Yelina also knew that looking at her son as though he were missing out wouldn’t help matters. Ray already missed his father, and her pity wouldn’t help; it would only make her husband’s absence all the more prominent. And there was no way she could fix that.
Not that she would if she could.
As she heard Ray Junior walking down the hallway, the mother forced herself to turn her attention away from the past and back to the bathtub in front of her. The brunette had saved the worst part of her task for last - the tub’s drain.
Taking the time to mentally prepare herself for the horrors that lay within, she carefully unscrewed the bath stopper with her gloved hand.
“Mom,” Ray said, his voice carrying through the tiled room.
But still focused on her task, Yelina didn’t turn to face him. Only a “Hmm” escaped her pursed lips to let him know she was listening.
Setting the stopper aside, she shoved two fingers into the drain - and shuttered, despite wearing the gloves, as she felt the hairy gooey mess stuck in between the crosshatch of metal.
“I’m home,” he told her as the mother pulled out the tight ball, made of fallen strands of dark brown hair held together with leftover shampoo, conditioner, and soap.
Yelina turned and showed him what she had found. “This is absolutely disgusting, Raymond,” she said, using his full name to show her disapproval. And unceremoniously, she tossed the hairball into the trash.
“No one said you had to clean it.” But before she could even respond, Ray continued, “Besides, it’s not my fault I got this friggin’ mop for hair.” As if to emphasize his point, the moody teenager raked his hand irritably through his dark brown locks.
As a baby, he had favored his father in terms of looks. But as Ray got older, Yelina could see her genes triumph (at least in this respect). He’d gotten her full lips, her olive skin, and her thick, dark hair (though thankfully, he didn’t have as many curls). He was in so many ways her baby.
But the surge of maternal pride didn’t last. Screwing the bath stopper back in place, Yelina lamented, “Too bad you didn’t inherit my hygiene.”
Her task now complete, she stood up then, and peeled off her gloves, throwing them in the trash. And as she washed her hands, the brunette looked over to the teenager still blocking the doorway. “Stay out of your room,” she told him. “I’m cleaning that next.”
This was something else that probably made her a terrible mother. At his age, Ray should be doing these things for himself. But… the truth was she enjoyed taking care of him, if only because it meant she could deny how old he really was. And in any case, if left to her son, his room would never be clean, and it certainly was her job to make sure her child didn’t get scurvy or anything else.
He stepped aside as she walked past him to put the bathroom cleaning supplies away. But Ray was very clearly not going to let her carry on her with her task; following her, the teenager said, “You know I think I’m old enough to decide when my room needs cleaning.”
She pushed open his door, and they both stepped inside the unnaturally humid room that smelled of dirty gym socks. But Ray seemed not to notice as he rushed to put a few things into a desk sitting across the dank room. Obviously, he was trying to hide things from her, and all he had done was foolishly pique her curiosity.
But for today, the mother decided, she’d respect his privacy and pretended not to notice what he was doing. Instead, Yelina stepped over a pile of dirty clothes to the empty laundry hamper. Holding the black plastic container up, she quipped finally, “And yet all evidence points to the contrary.”
He frowned but clearly gave up when he said, “Fine. Do what you want.”
Ray started to walk away, and she sighed at the mess before her. But just as Yelina picked up a pair of dirty jeans, her son popped his head back in the room and revealed, “I failed my chemistry test, and you need to sign something saying that you know I failed.”
The jeans in the hamper, the mother looked at her son sadly. Most teenagers, Yelina thought, would hide such a fact from their parents. But not her son because he knew that she believed his failures were a reflection of her own parenting skills. In the end, Ray had told her only to hurt her, and it had worked perfectly.
“And before you say it,” he added, “I’m not asking Uncle Horatio for help.”
She could only sigh as he walked away. That too was another quality he’d inherited from her; Ray would rather suffer than ask for help. Even when it was obvious that he needed help.
And she knew then, more so than ever, that given his stubbornness, his smart mouth, and his love of secrecy, Ray Junior didn’t need to look like her for her to know he was without a doubt her son.
----------------------------------
Driving back in his Hummer, Horatio thought that his fight with Yelina had gone as well as he could have expected. No doubt she was angry, but… he couldn’t do anything about that.
Of course, the redhead would have preferred to know the exact details of what happened. Naturally, he had hoped that getting his sister-in-law to talk would be easier than pulling teeth. But he supposed her anger couldn’t be helped, and the little she’d said had been more than enough. And Horatio was determined now more than ever to get the truth out of Kyle Harmon.
His hands gripped the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white, as he thought of the boy.
Perhaps, Horatio realized then, it had been a mistake to go to Yelina’s because sitting by himself in his car, there was absolutely nothing to distract him from what had happened. All alone, he could only dwell on the bruise forming on her skin.
And he could feel himself gearing up for a fight, which wasn’t all that terrible, he thought. But if left unchecked…
Stuck at a stoplight, his foot firm on the break pedal, Horatio took a deep breath. He needed to calm down, but the oxygen filling his lungs didn’t help. He exhaled and decided to try again.
Three attempts later though and now parking his car, Horatio was still tense.
As he entered the building, the lieutenant thought for a moment that maybe he shouldn’t do this. At least until he was calm, he should stay away for now.
But there was a time factor involved in every arrest and when he saw through the interrogation window Kyle sitting, Horatio felt his ire increase. And he hadn’t been anywhere near this angry since a year ago when he’d killed Riaz.
It was true that Horatio had seen many depraved acts over the years. The longer he spent doing his job, the more people seemed intent on selling their freedom, seemed comfortable with doing things the redhead couldn’t really understand. It angered him, of course.
And yet he could always look at the crimes and the victims through cool blue eyes. He would be outraged and angered, sure, but in the end, they weren’t people he loved. Horatio fought for the victims, cared for some of them even, but once the case was solved, they ceased to need him, and he’d learned that it wasn’t wise to care too much about them.
Someone hurting Yelina wasn’t something he could so easily compartmentalize. She was someone he knew incredibly well; she was the woman who had given birth to the only person he could come close to calling “son,” and that made anything Kyle Harmon did to her completely unforgivable.
It was in that moment that the image of the bruise surged forward, pushed past all rational thought, tipping his mind beyond the point of caring about what he should do as a CSI. Horatio couldn’t stay away if he tried.
He stalked the short distance to the interrogation room, throwing the door open. The visibly bored teenager looked up at the noise, and his brown eyes immediately widened in surprise, shock, and maybe, to Horatio’s delight, in fear.
The door rattled in its frame as the redhead closed it loudly behind him. Methodically, he proceeded to draw the curtains close in the room. It had practical implications of course, but the darkened privacy would only heighten whatever fear the boy was surely feeling.
“What’re you doing?” Kyle asked loudly, and Horatio knew he had hit home. And though he was sorely tempted to answer, “making sure there are no witnesses,” he said nothing; from years of interrogation, he knew that a wall of silence was more unnerving than any answer he could concoct.
Finally, with no one able to see in, Horatio turned to face Kyle, who had stood up by now.
“You’re gonna want to sit down for this,” he told the boy. And when Kyle made no move to sit, Horatio stalked over to him. His fingers gripped the teen’s shoulder roughly, pinching, forcing the kid back into the metal chair.
“Oh I get it,” Kyle said. “You’re going all bad cop on me now, right? Just so I’ll talk.” The blond turned his head around to look at Horatio, and the older man could see the smarmy expression play on the boy’s features.
But for his part, Horatio merely cocked his head and grinned. It struck him as odd in that moment that he should only really smile in situations like this. He should get out more, he bizarrely thought for a second, before focusing back on the task at hand.
By this time the boy’s confidence had visibly faltered.
“Let me tell you something, Kyle. Every contact leaves a trace, and I just found yours.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” the teenager demanded.
Horatio’s eyes hardened. “I saw the bruise on her. I know what you did to the P.I. I hired.”
The accusation hung in the air for a moment, before Kyle’s laughter replaced it. This was… not the reaction Horatio had expected or hoped for, and yet here the blond was, chuckling derisively.
“Did I say something funny?” the redhead asked in a warning tone.
And this time it was the teenager’s dark eyes that hardened. “It’s just that… you’ve got it all wrong, old man. I’m surprised they let you work here, that’s how wrong you got it. I didn’t do jack to the lady.”
They stared at one another silently, assessing what the other would do. Kyle spoke up first. “Too bad I didn’t though cause she was hot.”
Horatio could feel his jaw clench and couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers began to twitch; he was aching for Kyle’s blood, but the blond didn’t have enough smarts to stop. “Especially her rack. Now that,” he said, sounding impressed, “could make me believe in God.”
The redhead looked away, afraid of what he might do.
“C’mon. Like you haven’t noticed? She’s hot - and has that look like… like,” Kyle paused searching for the words. “Like she’d screw you anyway you wanted.”
“Son,” Horatio started. “You don’t -”
“Hell, she probably has screwed you anyway you want.” There was another brief pause before Kyle added, “She sure doesn’t look like the kind with standards.”
And Horatio wasn’t sure if it was the kid’s attitude or the memory of the bruise that had him grab the boy. But the next thing he did was wrench the teen out of the chair, the metal legs scraping violently on the floor.
Kyle’s brown eyes widened in fear once more, but he wasn’t out of fight as the teenager’s clenched fist connected with Horatio’s skull.
His head rattled, the dull pain exploding in full force, and Horatio didn’t think twice about fighting back. He pushed the kid roughly, and amidst the fists flying towards him, the older man’s hand swiped the kid’s still injured face. The wounds from earlier in the day reopened in a slick trail of crimson, and Kyle’s breath hitched, contrasting the redhead’s panting.
And the sight of blood gave the CSI pause, but he didn’t stop fighting for more than a minute.
Kyle punched at him again, but missed, and the lieutenant used the opportunity to slam the kid down on the metal table. He held him there, the boy trapped between the steel surface and his body.
They said nothing then, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing, and Horatio wasn’t sure who should be more embarrassed by that fact.
The blood trailing from Kyle’s gaunt cheek onto the table, and their war continued with the blond trying to push the older man off of him. But it was only the “Oh my God” uttered in surprise and Calleigh’s features contorting in shock that had Horatio retreat.
The three words hung in the air, no one sure of what to do or say next.
And it was finally Calleigh who broke the silence. Her voice was quiet and unsure. “Um… Valera’s looking for you,” the southerner said, her words chosen as carefully as possible. “DNA’s back.”
At this Kyle slumped back down into the chair he’d sat in earlier, and Horatio knew he needed to weigh his options. He could take the exit Calleigh was offering, leave, and see what Valera had for him. Or, and this seemed much more compelling, he could stay and go for round three with the boy.
But another quick glance at his colleague, and he could see her green eyes filled with silent orders. Technically he supposed he could do what he wanted in this situation, but instead, he nodded his head towards her in deference and left the room.
As he once more made the trek to the elevator, Horatio had to admit that Calleigh was only trying to protect him. She’d meant well, and if he hadn’t listened to her, I.A.B. would surely come skulking around his door.
Not that he’d really done anything wrong, the lieutenant thought. A suspect had assaulted him, and he’d retaliated. But as the elevator doors closed, Horatio noticed his own reflection then. And he couldn’t ignore the bruise beginning to form on his pale face. Nor could he miss the small droplets of blood staining his hands.
Niggling doubt hit him then, and he thought that maybe he really had screwed up. Maybe he had been wrong to talk to Yelina, to come back to work afterwards… to go back into that interrogation room.
Out of the elevator and now rounding the corner to Valera’s part of the lab, Horatio tried to reassure himself. Even if he hadn’t been smart about the whole thing, the boy was there for a reason.
And now, pushing the glass door to the DNA analysis area, Horatio hoped that the science would prove him right. Valera was sitting in front of her computer, focused on what she was doing.
“Ma’am,” he said to get her attention. When she looked up at him glumly, however, Horatio knew that the test results hadn’t helped their case. “No match then?”
But Valera hesitated to respond, which the redhead thought was odd. She sighed and stood up. Grabbing a manila folder, the brunette handed it to him. He greedily flipped through the first few pages to see the test results.
“There was, actually. The epithelia found on the duct tape matched Kyle Harmon.” And looking down at the page, Horatio could see the nice identical columns. Some people would find his job boring, and there were times when the lieutenant could agree with that, but right now… reading the test results filled him with relief.
“Thank you,” he said politely - which was probably bizarre, Horatio thought, given his appearance.
He turned to leave then, but Valera told him, “Wait.” Facing towards her once more, Horatio watched curiously as she hesitated once again. “There’s something else.”
That was decidedly bad - “something else,” and the redhead could only wait to hear what she had to say. She shifted on her feet a few times before saying, “The prosecutor on the case - Rebecca Nevins. You’ve met her before right?” But it seemed like as soon as Valera had uttered those words, she remembered. “Never mind,” she said immediately. “Of course you have… well, she wanted me to do see if his family had any history of violence, mental disease, the usual.”
“Kyle doesn’t have any family,” Horatio said plainly.
“I know. She wanted me to see if we found any relatives in C.O.D.I.S.”
The redhead frowned. Their databases weren’t technically supposed to be used for that purpose. But if there was one thing Horatio was keenly aware of when it came to his ex, it was her dedication to win. And certainly, if this kid came from a long line of pedophiles or schizophrenics, that might change how Rebecca would want to prosecute the case.
“I assume you got a hit, then.”
“I ran his DNA in all of our databases,” she explained. “And…” Her voice trailed off. “I found a match,” she said nervously. He waited for her to reveal the lucky relative was, but silence filled the air instead.
Clearly something wasn’t right about what she’d found. Still, it’d be in the report he held in his hands, so the redhead smartly flipped through the pages. But what he found on the sheet of paper was something he could have never predicted.
Below Kyle’s DNA sequence was his own. HORATIO CAINE written in large letters and beside it, “a match.” His head began to spin at the implications, or maybe it was because his new family member had punched him in the head only moments before.
And yet… it didn’t seem to register with Horatio. Surely, this kid wasn’t his own… Valera had to have screwed up or maybe, just maybe, this was the result of another indiscretion Raymond had had. Obviously if his brother had cheated on Yelina once, he’d probably done it throughout their marriage, the lieutenant thought negatively. But there was no way this kid was his own.
Horatio looked up at Valera, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones. But he couldn’t see the truth, couldn’t understand what was going on.
Quietly, the analyst told him, “I ran the test four times. I collected fresh samples from Kyle Harmon. And… it all came back the same.” She took a deep breath before saying, “Horatio, he’s your son.”
And at those words, Horatio knew that he didn’t need I.A.B. or the blood - his child’s blood - under his fingertips to know just how badly he’d screwed up. The file in his hands said it all. And reading over it once more, Horatio had to admit that Kyle Harmon was, without a doubt, his son.
Go to next Chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Yelina Salas, Horatio Caine, the whole Caine family
Author's Note: WARNING: SPOILER FOR SEASON 6.
Summary: Almost two decades ago, Horatio made a decision that would change his family forever. Will they ever be able to get past it? And will he ever tell Yelina how he feels? Spoiler for season 6 premiere. HY romance in the future. Fulfills
alphabetasoup prompt, R is for Ravana, and
fanfic100 prompt #028, Children.
Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
No Other One
Chapter Four: Mirrors
By Duckie Nicks
“If I had my child to raise all over again… I’d take my eyes off my watch and watch with my eyes.” - Diane Loomans
Even an hour later, Yelina was absolutely furious. Having briefly glanced in the hallway mirror, she had seen the way her eyes had morphed into a telling obsidian, a perfect reflection of the red-hot anger flowing inside of her. She could still feel the scowl marring her features, just as she couldn’t miss how every fiber of her being seemed to thrum on her fury. And though she had taken to scouring Ray Junior’s bathroom, the mother couldn’t help but notice the way her hands, encased in yellow latex gloves, shook.
Horatio had picked the wrong day to be overbearing.
After what had happened with the waiter earlier in the day, Yelina had wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to have some personal space. And though she could usually tolerate her brother-in-law’s penchant for trampling on her privacy, she hadn’t felt gracious enough to put up with it today.
Clad in old jeans and a black t-shirt with a neck high enough to cover her new bruise, Yelina scrubbed angrily at the dirty, should-be-porcelain-white tub. Her son was filthy. The mother rarely if ever wished she’d had a daughter instead, but surely a girl would have been easier to clean after, she thought.
Yelina had already finished cleaning the bathroom mirror and sink; she’d long since taken her frustration out on the tile floor and the toilet, but it had done little to relieve the anger coursing through her body. Now, only the bathtub, covered in God-only-knew-what, lay between her and succumbing to the overwhelming desire to punch something.
And given how long it had been since Horatio left her house, Ray Junior would be back from school soon. Which made the need to calm down seem all the more important. He was at times a very observant teenager, and like his uncle, Ray would want to know what had happened, and that would only make things worse.
Not that she would ever take her anger out on her child, Yelina told herself. She had more control over herself than that and much more respect for her son than she had control.
Even if that wasn’t the case, the brunette understood her own family dynamic. Anything horrible she could say to Ray Junior would inevitably be followed up with something equally cutting said back to her. They’d fight and say things they didn’t mean, but neither would ever remain mad for long. Because above all, she loved him, and he loved her.
It was that simple in the end: they could say or do anything to one another because there was an inherent knowledge - an absolute trust and faith in one another - that he would always be her child and she his mother.
And Yelina wasn’t sure if this dynamic qualified as an unhealthy codependency or a natural unconditional parent-child love. She had never really made many friends who were mothers. Other women were traditionally intimidated by her, though Yelina never really understood why, and as a result, they stayed away from her. Or they would speak of their home lives as if they had the perfect children and husband, which she couldn’t believe to be true. Though maybe it had been the truth, and her family really was the oddity. Certainly in her own experience, her mother had never had this kind of relationship with her. The brunette couldn’t even imagine saying some of the things Ray had said to her (God help her if she had).
Maybe it was bad parenting on her part, she concluded as she cleaned the showerhead. But Yelina had admittedly no desire to change things. Even if it was wrong, it was nice to have something immutable like her love for him. And maybe Ray Junior felt the same way. At least she hoped he did.
Their lives had never been teeming with trustworthy people or the ability to believe in much of anything…
Her anger gave way to a palpable sadness. Her life had… not turned out as expected, and no doubt her child had missed out on many things because of that. Including having a dependable father - or at least the kind that stayed dead, anyway.
But the melancholy eased as she heard the front door shut. She had made some bad choices in the spouse department perhaps, but Yelina also knew that looking at her son as though he were missing out wouldn’t help matters. Ray already missed his father, and her pity wouldn’t help; it would only make her husband’s absence all the more prominent. And there was no way she could fix that.
Not that she would if she could.
As she heard Ray Junior walking down the hallway, the mother forced herself to turn her attention away from the past and back to the bathtub in front of her. The brunette had saved the worst part of her task for last - the tub’s drain.
Taking the time to mentally prepare herself for the horrors that lay within, she carefully unscrewed the bath stopper with her gloved hand.
“Mom,” Ray said, his voice carrying through the tiled room.
But still focused on her task, Yelina didn’t turn to face him. Only a “Hmm” escaped her pursed lips to let him know she was listening.
Setting the stopper aside, she shoved two fingers into the drain - and shuttered, despite wearing the gloves, as she felt the hairy gooey mess stuck in between the crosshatch of metal.
“I’m home,” he told her as the mother pulled out the tight ball, made of fallen strands of dark brown hair held together with leftover shampoo, conditioner, and soap.
Yelina turned and showed him what she had found. “This is absolutely disgusting, Raymond,” she said, using his full name to show her disapproval. And unceremoniously, she tossed the hairball into the trash.
“No one said you had to clean it.” But before she could even respond, Ray continued, “Besides, it’s not my fault I got this friggin’ mop for hair.” As if to emphasize his point, the moody teenager raked his hand irritably through his dark brown locks.
As a baby, he had favored his father in terms of looks. But as Ray got older, Yelina could see her genes triumph (at least in this respect). He’d gotten her full lips, her olive skin, and her thick, dark hair (though thankfully, he didn’t have as many curls). He was in so many ways her baby.
But the surge of maternal pride didn’t last. Screwing the bath stopper back in place, Yelina lamented, “Too bad you didn’t inherit my hygiene.”
Her task now complete, she stood up then, and peeled off her gloves, throwing them in the trash. And as she washed her hands, the brunette looked over to the teenager still blocking the doorway. “Stay out of your room,” she told him. “I’m cleaning that next.”
This was something else that probably made her a terrible mother. At his age, Ray should be doing these things for himself. But… the truth was she enjoyed taking care of him, if only because it meant she could deny how old he really was. And in any case, if left to her son, his room would never be clean, and it certainly was her job to make sure her child didn’t get scurvy or anything else.
He stepped aside as she walked past him to put the bathroom cleaning supplies away. But Ray was very clearly not going to let her carry on her with her task; following her, the teenager said, “You know I think I’m old enough to decide when my room needs cleaning.”
She pushed open his door, and they both stepped inside the unnaturally humid room that smelled of dirty gym socks. But Ray seemed not to notice as he rushed to put a few things into a desk sitting across the dank room. Obviously, he was trying to hide things from her, and all he had done was foolishly pique her curiosity.
But for today, the mother decided, she’d respect his privacy and pretended not to notice what he was doing. Instead, Yelina stepped over a pile of dirty clothes to the empty laundry hamper. Holding the black plastic container up, she quipped finally, “And yet all evidence points to the contrary.”
He frowned but clearly gave up when he said, “Fine. Do what you want.”
Ray started to walk away, and she sighed at the mess before her. But just as Yelina picked up a pair of dirty jeans, her son popped his head back in the room and revealed, “I failed my chemistry test, and you need to sign something saying that you know I failed.”
The jeans in the hamper, the mother looked at her son sadly. Most teenagers, Yelina thought, would hide such a fact from their parents. But not her son because he knew that she believed his failures were a reflection of her own parenting skills. In the end, Ray had told her only to hurt her, and it had worked perfectly.
“And before you say it,” he added, “I’m not asking Uncle Horatio for help.”
She could only sigh as he walked away. That too was another quality he’d inherited from her; Ray would rather suffer than ask for help. Even when it was obvious that he needed help.
And she knew then, more so than ever, that given his stubbornness, his smart mouth, and his love of secrecy, Ray Junior didn’t need to look like her for her to know he was without a doubt her son.
----------------------------------
Driving back in his Hummer, Horatio thought that his fight with Yelina had gone as well as he could have expected. No doubt she was angry, but… he couldn’t do anything about that.
Of course, the redhead would have preferred to know the exact details of what happened. Naturally, he had hoped that getting his sister-in-law to talk would be easier than pulling teeth. But he supposed her anger couldn’t be helped, and the little she’d said had been more than enough. And Horatio was determined now more than ever to get the truth out of Kyle Harmon.
His hands gripped the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white, as he thought of the boy.
Perhaps, Horatio realized then, it had been a mistake to go to Yelina’s because sitting by himself in his car, there was absolutely nothing to distract him from what had happened. All alone, he could only dwell on the bruise forming on her skin.
And he could feel himself gearing up for a fight, which wasn’t all that terrible, he thought. But if left unchecked…
Stuck at a stoplight, his foot firm on the break pedal, Horatio took a deep breath. He needed to calm down, but the oxygen filling his lungs didn’t help. He exhaled and decided to try again.
Three attempts later though and now parking his car, Horatio was still tense.
As he entered the building, the lieutenant thought for a moment that maybe he shouldn’t do this. At least until he was calm, he should stay away for now.
But there was a time factor involved in every arrest and when he saw through the interrogation window Kyle sitting, Horatio felt his ire increase. And he hadn’t been anywhere near this angry since a year ago when he’d killed Riaz.
It was true that Horatio had seen many depraved acts over the years. The longer he spent doing his job, the more people seemed intent on selling their freedom, seemed comfortable with doing things the redhead couldn’t really understand. It angered him, of course.
And yet he could always look at the crimes and the victims through cool blue eyes. He would be outraged and angered, sure, but in the end, they weren’t people he loved. Horatio fought for the victims, cared for some of them even, but once the case was solved, they ceased to need him, and he’d learned that it wasn’t wise to care too much about them.
Someone hurting Yelina wasn’t something he could so easily compartmentalize. She was someone he knew incredibly well; she was the woman who had given birth to the only person he could come close to calling “son,” and that made anything Kyle Harmon did to her completely unforgivable.
It was in that moment that the image of the bruise surged forward, pushed past all rational thought, tipping his mind beyond the point of caring about what he should do as a CSI. Horatio couldn’t stay away if he tried.
He stalked the short distance to the interrogation room, throwing the door open. The visibly bored teenager looked up at the noise, and his brown eyes immediately widened in surprise, shock, and maybe, to Horatio’s delight, in fear.
The door rattled in its frame as the redhead closed it loudly behind him. Methodically, he proceeded to draw the curtains close in the room. It had practical implications of course, but the darkened privacy would only heighten whatever fear the boy was surely feeling.
“What’re you doing?” Kyle asked loudly, and Horatio knew he had hit home. And though he was sorely tempted to answer, “making sure there are no witnesses,” he said nothing; from years of interrogation, he knew that a wall of silence was more unnerving than any answer he could concoct.
Finally, with no one able to see in, Horatio turned to face Kyle, who had stood up by now.
“You’re gonna want to sit down for this,” he told the boy. And when Kyle made no move to sit, Horatio stalked over to him. His fingers gripped the teen’s shoulder roughly, pinching, forcing the kid back into the metal chair.
“Oh I get it,” Kyle said. “You’re going all bad cop on me now, right? Just so I’ll talk.” The blond turned his head around to look at Horatio, and the older man could see the smarmy expression play on the boy’s features.
But for his part, Horatio merely cocked his head and grinned. It struck him as odd in that moment that he should only really smile in situations like this. He should get out more, he bizarrely thought for a second, before focusing back on the task at hand.
By this time the boy’s confidence had visibly faltered.
“Let me tell you something, Kyle. Every contact leaves a trace, and I just found yours.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” the teenager demanded.
Horatio’s eyes hardened. “I saw the bruise on her. I know what you did to the P.I. I hired.”
The accusation hung in the air for a moment, before Kyle’s laughter replaced it. This was… not the reaction Horatio had expected or hoped for, and yet here the blond was, chuckling derisively.
“Did I say something funny?” the redhead asked in a warning tone.
And this time it was the teenager’s dark eyes that hardened. “It’s just that… you’ve got it all wrong, old man. I’m surprised they let you work here, that’s how wrong you got it. I didn’t do jack to the lady.”
They stared at one another silently, assessing what the other would do. Kyle spoke up first. “Too bad I didn’t though cause she was hot.”
Horatio could feel his jaw clench and couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers began to twitch; he was aching for Kyle’s blood, but the blond didn’t have enough smarts to stop. “Especially her rack. Now that,” he said, sounding impressed, “could make me believe in God.”
The redhead looked away, afraid of what he might do.
“C’mon. Like you haven’t noticed? She’s hot - and has that look like… like,” Kyle paused searching for the words. “Like she’d screw you anyway you wanted.”
“Son,” Horatio started. “You don’t -”
“Hell, she probably has screwed you anyway you want.” There was another brief pause before Kyle added, “She sure doesn’t look like the kind with standards.”
And Horatio wasn’t sure if it was the kid’s attitude or the memory of the bruise that had him grab the boy. But the next thing he did was wrench the teen out of the chair, the metal legs scraping violently on the floor.
Kyle’s brown eyes widened in fear once more, but he wasn’t out of fight as the teenager’s clenched fist connected with Horatio’s skull.
His head rattled, the dull pain exploding in full force, and Horatio didn’t think twice about fighting back. He pushed the kid roughly, and amidst the fists flying towards him, the older man’s hand swiped the kid’s still injured face. The wounds from earlier in the day reopened in a slick trail of crimson, and Kyle’s breath hitched, contrasting the redhead’s panting.
And the sight of blood gave the CSI pause, but he didn’t stop fighting for more than a minute.
Kyle punched at him again, but missed, and the lieutenant used the opportunity to slam the kid down on the metal table. He held him there, the boy trapped between the steel surface and his body.
They said nothing then, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing, and Horatio wasn’t sure who should be more embarrassed by that fact.
The blood trailing from Kyle’s gaunt cheek onto the table, and their war continued with the blond trying to push the older man off of him. But it was only the “Oh my God” uttered in surprise and Calleigh’s features contorting in shock that had Horatio retreat.
The three words hung in the air, no one sure of what to do or say next.
And it was finally Calleigh who broke the silence. Her voice was quiet and unsure. “Um… Valera’s looking for you,” the southerner said, her words chosen as carefully as possible. “DNA’s back.”
At this Kyle slumped back down into the chair he’d sat in earlier, and Horatio knew he needed to weigh his options. He could take the exit Calleigh was offering, leave, and see what Valera had for him. Or, and this seemed much more compelling, he could stay and go for round three with the boy.
But another quick glance at his colleague, and he could see her green eyes filled with silent orders. Technically he supposed he could do what he wanted in this situation, but instead, he nodded his head towards her in deference and left the room.
As he once more made the trek to the elevator, Horatio had to admit that Calleigh was only trying to protect him. She’d meant well, and if he hadn’t listened to her, I.A.B. would surely come skulking around his door.
Not that he’d really done anything wrong, the lieutenant thought. A suspect had assaulted him, and he’d retaliated. But as the elevator doors closed, Horatio noticed his own reflection then. And he couldn’t ignore the bruise beginning to form on his pale face. Nor could he miss the small droplets of blood staining his hands.
Niggling doubt hit him then, and he thought that maybe he really had screwed up. Maybe he had been wrong to talk to Yelina, to come back to work afterwards… to go back into that interrogation room.
Out of the elevator and now rounding the corner to Valera’s part of the lab, Horatio tried to reassure himself. Even if he hadn’t been smart about the whole thing, the boy was there for a reason.
And now, pushing the glass door to the DNA analysis area, Horatio hoped that the science would prove him right. Valera was sitting in front of her computer, focused on what she was doing.
“Ma’am,” he said to get her attention. When she looked up at him glumly, however, Horatio knew that the test results hadn’t helped their case. “No match then?”
But Valera hesitated to respond, which the redhead thought was odd. She sighed and stood up. Grabbing a manila folder, the brunette handed it to him. He greedily flipped through the first few pages to see the test results.
“There was, actually. The epithelia found on the duct tape matched Kyle Harmon.” And looking down at the page, Horatio could see the nice identical columns. Some people would find his job boring, and there were times when the lieutenant could agree with that, but right now… reading the test results filled him with relief.
“Thank you,” he said politely - which was probably bizarre, Horatio thought, given his appearance.
He turned to leave then, but Valera told him, “Wait.” Facing towards her once more, Horatio watched curiously as she hesitated once again. “There’s something else.”
That was decidedly bad - “something else,” and the redhead could only wait to hear what she had to say. She shifted on her feet a few times before saying, “The prosecutor on the case - Rebecca Nevins. You’ve met her before right?” But it seemed like as soon as Valera had uttered those words, she remembered. “Never mind,” she said immediately. “Of course you have… well, she wanted me to do see if his family had any history of violence, mental disease, the usual.”
“Kyle doesn’t have any family,” Horatio said plainly.
“I know. She wanted me to see if we found any relatives in C.O.D.I.S.”
The redhead frowned. Their databases weren’t technically supposed to be used for that purpose. But if there was one thing Horatio was keenly aware of when it came to his ex, it was her dedication to win. And certainly, if this kid came from a long line of pedophiles or schizophrenics, that might change how Rebecca would want to prosecute the case.
“I assume you got a hit, then.”
“I ran his DNA in all of our databases,” she explained. “And…” Her voice trailed off. “I found a match,” she said nervously. He waited for her to reveal the lucky relative was, but silence filled the air instead.
Clearly something wasn’t right about what she’d found. Still, it’d be in the report he held in his hands, so the redhead smartly flipped through the pages. But what he found on the sheet of paper was something he could have never predicted.
Below Kyle’s DNA sequence was his own. HORATIO CAINE written in large letters and beside it, “a match.” His head began to spin at the implications, or maybe it was because his new family member had punched him in the head only moments before.
And yet… it didn’t seem to register with Horatio. Surely, this kid wasn’t his own… Valera had to have screwed up or maybe, just maybe, this was the result of another indiscretion Raymond had had. Obviously if his brother had cheated on Yelina once, he’d probably done it throughout their marriage, the lieutenant thought negatively. But there was no way this kid was his own.
Horatio looked up at Valera, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones. But he couldn’t see the truth, couldn’t understand what was going on.
Quietly, the analyst told him, “I ran the test four times. I collected fresh samples from Kyle Harmon. And… it all came back the same.” She took a deep breath before saying, “Horatio, he’s your son.”
And at those words, Horatio knew that he didn’t need I.A.B. or the blood - his child’s blood - under his fingertips to know just how badly he’d screwed up. The file in his hands said it all. And reading over it once more, Horatio had to admit that Kyle Harmon was, without a doubt, his son.
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