A breath-stealing wind cruised in off the ocean. Catherine clutched the starboard rail of the powerboat as it took to the open waters of the Atlantic. She stood on a wooden platform, her body buffeted by the combined impact of wind and speed. Her senses hummed with anticipation as land faded fast.

This was going to be a thrill.

The skyline of Miami became a sparkling backdrop of glass and steel as the boat pulled further and further away. At that point Catherine found herself making eye contact with Calleigh Duquesne. She liked Calleigh a lot. Felt a sisterly kinship to her. Calleigh was gorgeous - petite, perfectly proportioned with huge blue eyes. The 30-ish blonde was an absolute ballistics wiz with the Miami-Dade Police Department's CSI unit. Currently sliding her sunglasses to the top of her head, Calleigh watched on with an expression of amusement.

"I warned you, Catherine," the southern beauty drawled, "we're fanciful down here in Miami. Welcome to our world!"

"Yeah. Death on a string," Catherine quipped with sass, hiding her nerves, giving Calleigh what she hoped would pass for a brave, non-terrified smile. "Real fanciful, Duquesne."

"Awww - you're gonna love it. After all, you sure as hell can't find this kind of scenery in Vegas," Calleigh bent down, reaching into a nearby duffle for her single-use camera. "Relax and enjoy the ride."

Lieutenant Horatio Caine, head of Miami-Dade's CSI unit, eyed the proceedings of the boat crew. Tall, lean of build, Horatio's most striking physical characteristics were his head of thick red hair, and a pair of keen, deep violet eyes. Those eyes, Catherine had witnessed first-hand, could heat a person's blood, or turn it to block ice with nothing more than the intensity and passion they conveyed.

He was a handsome man, charismatic ­ but incredibly intense. For now, though, the Lieutenant was relaxed and happy, obviously enjoying the company of his colleague as he stepped close to Calleigh, in a manner almost protective, but looked at Catherine in playful speculation.

"Hang on, Willows," he warned in that whisky rough voice of his. "You're headed for heaven."

"Oh, Christ, Horatio ­ could you ease up on the death metaphors?"

Horatio and Calleigh shared a knowing look. Then, he barely nodded to the two appointed crewmembers who held Catherine in place by tethers.

The burly, uniformed men let go of the reins ­ allowing the multi-colored parachute behind her to fill with air. In seconds, less than that really, Catherine lifted off into a sky of pure, dazzling azure.

Her first ever parasail.

Catherine squealed. Now, Catherine Willows was by no means a squealer, but she couldn't help the reaction. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking there was nothing in place to protect her life except thin wire, rainbow patterned silk, and a harness that she clung to as if her life depended on it.

Because temporarily, it did.

"Catherine" Calleigh yelled over the din of engines and wind and gulls, "open your eyes!"

In gleeful, giddy release, as winds rocked her world and propelled her hundreds of feet into space, Catherine screamed at the top of her lungs ­ then laughed like hell.

"Wooh!" she yelled, obeying Calleigh's command.

At once she was enthralled by the view.

Catherine, open your eyes.

The words, like a conviction of sorts, echoed through her mind.

It must have been the absolute, pure freedom of dancing on air that left Catherine contemplating that phrase ­ contemplating it in a completely different context than Calleigh Duquesne had ever intended.

She settled into her harness as though it were a makeshift chair, watching the boat become smaller and smaller as she drifted upward. Calleigh snapped pictures. Catherine rode the wind, wrapped up in a world of multi-blue colored water, shimmering skyscrapers of glass and steel, sailboats and kites. Lift off had taken her away from the violent winds of the speedboat to a much calmer breeze that she rode like a rollercoaster of sorts.

Parasailing was like being a bird, free and unencumbered.

The freedom, in fact, worked clear through to her spirit, allowing thoughts to flow free. Thoughts that centered on Gil Grissom.

"Catherine, open your eyes," she found herself thinking. Then came the words of her parasail guides, now some 300 feet below: "Don't fight the winds, don't resist them. Work with them and relax into it."

Double meanings came alive, took on the countenance of Gil Grissom, took on the form of feelings she found harder and harder to ignore, or compartmentalize. She had become well schooled in both those avoidance techniques over the past several years, but they weren't working anymore.

Increasingly she found it impossible to remain impassive. Simple friendship with him was a treasure, but not nearly enough.

Don't fight what you feel for Gil, her inner voice advised. Don't resist what your heart tells you. Relax into your emotions and find a way. Life won't always let you down, Cath. It won't always beat you up. In fact, the law of averages is damned well with you by now, baby.

And Gil, a friend of the ages, was her constant. Her stronghold. Gil Grissom was her fortress against so many of the storms that life had sent her way. Well, Gil the friend was great, but inadequate. Gil the lover, the partner and soulmate, is what now fit the call of her heart.

So Catherine opened her eyes. Opened them wide. She felt. She literally flowed into the air and atmosphere.

And her emotions.

Deal, that little voice inside her head encouraged, enticed. Deal with it all and find a way. You always do, girl, for better or worse. And Gil Grissom would be the ultimate heart keeper.

She looked out upon lush tropical terrain. Vibrant pastel colors were everywhere, so were vivid greens, and every shade of blue imaginable. Miami captivated her. During the investigation of the Rittle case she had enjoyed the city, and the people she had met here.

But this time, this place, was not Gil Grissom. Her heart was hundreds upon hundreds of miles away, in Las Vegas. Her vision was Miami, but her thoughts were of the Mojave. Of fiery desert sunsets, mountains and the non-stop neon glitter of the Strip.

And her heart was all about Gil ­ and one fundamental question.

How do I ­ how do "we" ­ move forward?

"Oh, sweet Lord do I need a drink."

That was the opening gauntlet from Catherine once she was back on solid ground, or solid sand, to be more precise. Parasail successfully accomplished, the trio of friends returned to the beach and promptly hit a quaint, thatched cabana packed three to four bodies deep by tourists and natives alike.

"Allow me," Horatio said, moving into the fray. He captured the attention of the bartender. "Three Mojitos, please."

The smooth inflection he put into that lone Spanish title made Catherine smile. While he paid and awaited their orders, she couldn't help but notice the way Calleigh kept an eye on him. Oh, it was easy for Catherine to relate to the emotions she saw so clearly displayed on the features of her face.

Calleigh, who thought she was unobserved, let her emotions come alive and unhidden.

"Let's find a place to sit," Catherine urged, linking her arm though Calleigh's to both connect, and more importantly, provide for privacy as they walked away. There was a final, reluctant glance backward, to Horatio, but Calleigh followed Catherine's lead.

"I hate to see you leave," Calleigh said warmly. They progressed slowly, soaking up humid warmth and sand and tangy sea air. Sunglasses were returned to place and now shielded the younger woman's eyes. A stray breeze sent strands of golden hair rippling across her cheeks.

"Well, Horatio and I had actually said our good-byes last night, when the Rittle case wrapped, but I phoned home, as it were, and opted for a vacation day so I could relax and enjoy this place. It's incredible."

Calleigh's smile was proud and loving. "Miami grows on you, no denying it. I come from Louisiana myself, but I became a native the day I moved here."

Catherine nodded, let a bit of silence play. "And how much did Horatio have to do with that attitude, I wonder?"

Calleigh stumbled to a stop, turned to stare. "Excuse me?"

Catherine couldn't help but laugh at the obvious, blushing reaction. She kept them moving forward, away from the cabana where Horatio might overhear this heart to heart. "Calleigh, you and I are so much alike it's scary."

"Well thanks for that big ol' compliment, Cath, but could you explain what you're getting at? What does Horatio have to do with anything?"

Playing dumb was not something Calleigh Duquesne did well. Catherine squinted into the sun, put on her own pair of shades as she spied three available fold-up chairs on the beach and headed for them.

She gave her counterpart a wry grin. "You know, nearly losing my life just now got me to thinking."

Calleigh laughed, the sound bubbling up from her in a delightful way. "You did 'not' almost lose your life, you drama queen. You were perfectly safe, and - "

"Ah, ah, ah. Enough distraction from the topic at hand, Calleigh." With that, Catherine became serious. Serious and heartfelt. "I watched you and Horatio together this week. I caught vibes of what you two have together. I've watched the both of you interact, and especially today, when you're off the clock and simply enjoying down time together, it's obvious how easily you relate, and how close you are." Catherine shrugged lightly. "Observing the two of you leaves me thinking about the one I love, Calleigh. A man who is vital to me on so many different levels."

"Who is he?" Calleigh was intent on the conversation now, relaxing into shared 'girl talk.' "Do you mind me asking?"

Catherine smiled at her southern gentility and charm. "Not a bit. Like I said, Calleigh, you and I are similar in so many ways. You see, we're both in love with the men we work for."

Oh, the sunglasses shielded Calleigh's eyes, but Catherine was intuitive. She sensed Calleigh's surprise, even before she began stuttering over denials and evasion. "I don't know what would 'ever' give you the idea that ­ I mean, really ­ "

"Calleigh, let me stop you right there. I'm nobody's fool, sweetheart. It took nothing more than watching you protect Horatio like a lioness ­ in Spanish no less - once that FBI grunt Sackheim cornered him at The Shore Club. Syncopation like that is something I can easily identify and relate to. You heard Sackheim was on the premises, you got information for Horatio, and you protected him by the way you delivered it. I see it clearly, because that's exactly what I have with Gil Grissom." That said, that revelation admitted to and expressed ­ head to heart ­ was liberating. Weights lifting, courses of action coming to life, Catherine concluded, "Can I give you a nickel's worth of free advice?"

Calleigh's smile was large, beautiful. Catherine found herself thinking, Horatio Caine, you'll never know what hit you once this one gets in just a little bit deeper.

"Coming from you, I believe I'd love it."

"Here it is, then. Do yourself a favor, Calleigh. Don't deny it. Don't walk away from feelings like you have for Horatio. Denial only makes you feel horrible, and worse yet, denial will only equal back to wasted time. I've decided today that I'm finished wasting time with Gil. I'm going back to Las Vegas with my heart on my sleeve. I only hope he sees it and accepts it. I'm going to figure out a way to move forward. I hope you and Horatio do as well."

Calleigh sat down in a beach chair and Catherine joined her, making sure to leave the third chair, the one next to Calleigh, empty. That spot was for Horatio to claim.

"If Gil doesn't accept your feelings, then he's a fool. I think you're amazing. I'm so glad we've met."

Catherine beamed. "Ditto, girl, and as for Gil, well, all I can say is from your mouth to God's ear."

"Is God taking requests these days?" Horatio asked from behind, walking up at that point with their drinks.

Calleigh and Catherine exchanged a look that left them both in gales of laughter.

"We could only hope, Handsome," Calleigh replied, accepting her Mojito and a puzzled look from her colleague.

At last Horatio could only shrug at their mysterious, unfathomable interplay. He gave Calleigh's shoulder a lingering brush of contact as he walked behind her chair and sat down. "You have to let us know what you think of this drink, Catherine. It's a Miami staple."

Calleigh nodded. "Like lemonade, but with a definite kick. Before that, though, a toast." Lifting her glass, she turned toward Catherine. "A salute to you, Cath. Don't be a stranger to Miami, okay?"

Sipping in unison with her newfound friends, settling back into a world of hot sand, cool water, blue skies and liquid sunshine, Catherine sighed happily and promised,"Oh don't you worry. Vegas is home, but I'll be back."

The first thing Catherine did upon her arrival at CSI was check in with Gil.

God help her sanity he had been drop dead sexy in a dark suit, freshly trimmed hair and a demeanor that absolutely oozed confidence and charisma. She had found it so hard to leave his office after sharing a bit of repartee and welcome back flirtations about the depth of her tan. In fact, after spare details about Chief Rittle's funeral, she had even lingered in the doorway, watching him, fighting hard to break free of comfortable patterns and established bonds.

She wanted more from him, and she had never fallen so hard, so completely.

Well Gil Grissom, she thought handily, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

She had made one last stop before leaving Miami, and on this expedition, Calleigh had joined her. They returned to The Hive ­ the Miami dance club that had led them to their perpetrator in the Miami case. There, at the club, Catherine and Calleigh indulged their mischievous natures by spending $500 to gift their significant others with the club's signature souvenir - crystal pots of tupelo honey.

And Gil was about to get his.

At the end of her first day back, after a quick stop at her locker to retrieve the decanter, Catherine wandered toward his office. She was nervous, but possessed an absolute degree of intent and purpose.

He was in his office, as expected. Seated behind his desk, Gil reviewed a case file with typical intensity of focus.

Catherine stood in the doorway for a moment and enjoyed the image he provided, savored it till it seeped into her spirit. This was her man. Her Gil.

Now, to go about clinching the deal.

"Hey, Grissom," she greeted, all smoky voiced and inviting. "I think of honey, I think of bees. I think of insects, I think of you."

He kept reading, but a grin tugged the corners of his full, long lips. "Droll, Catherine. Very droll. Did I mention how much I missed that particular aspect of your personality during your sojourn to Miami?"

He didn't look away from the file quite yet, but that was fine. Catherine was patient when it came to Gil. She simply lounged in the doorway and made noisy work of removing the top of the crystal pot.

The distraction worked.

Just as she dipped her index finger within, extracting a taste of the silky, ultra sweet spread, Gil looked up, and froze in place. Catherine licked the sticky residue from her finger and sighed with pleasure.

Gil, bless him, just kept on watching. Swallowed kind of hard, too.

"What have you got?" he asked.

Catherine shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, nothing much. Just a souvenir."

She had his full attention now, that was for damned sure.

"A souvenir of what?"

Catherine moved from the doorway and stood next to him. She gave him a lingering look before replying, "It's a crystal jar of honey, Gil. Tupelo honey to be specific. It's from a club in Miami called The Hive." She shrugged, looked off into space for a perfectly timed moment. "Know what they do there?"

"Not a clue," he fairly growled, continuing to stare.

Catherine smiled. "Well, see, they pour this honey, warmed, of course, over the body of a willing patron. This person wears nothing but a swimsuit and bare skin, by the way. That's when fruit slices are delivered to patrons, who use that person's body as a honey dip. You had to be there, I suppose. It was fascinating to watch." Catherine swirled her fingertip inside the jar once more then held out an offering to him in challenge. "Want to try? Best there is."

Surprisingly he did not hesitate. In fact, her fingertip disappeared an instant later, captured gently within his mouth as he laved off the thick, golden honey.

Finished, he looked her straight in the eye, murmuring, "Excellent."

From head to toe, from the inside out, Catherine tingled. She barely managing to eke out the words: "No kidding."

And Gil Grissom ­ stoic, placid Gil Grissom ­ delivered one hell of a sexy wink.

Horatio Caine entered his office, and was taken promptly by surprise at what he found there.

"What on earth ­ ?"

He muttered the words as he sat behind his desk, spying a crystal decanter of honey with an appraising, curious eye. It had been placed dead center of his glass and chrome desk, right on top of a stack of department paperwork he had willingly neglected in order to spend a day off the books, at the beach, with two incredible women. He didn't often indulge the wants of his heart, but he had done so yesterday, and paperwork could quite simply be damned. The exercise had been great fun.

He would miss Catherine Willows ­ and looked forward to seeing her again before too much time passed.

But it was Calleigh's image that haunted his mind and wreaked havoc on his senses.

There was no note, no card to identify who had delivered the very expensive, very exclusive gift. But, of course, he had one very wistful, hopeful imagining ---

Puzzled, and Horatio Caine was all about puzzle solving and analysis, he pondered this intriguing development and wondered how best to go about ascertaining the identity of the delivery culprit.

At that, his eyes happened to come up, his puzzlement still at the surface. He watched Calleigh walk by his doorway with their department's resident trace expert, Tim Speedle. In passing she looked at Horatio through the glassed in wall of his office, and their eye contact lingered.

That's when her smile spread, wide and large.

And she gave him a slow, wicked wink.

FINIS ~~~