Chapter Text
Frank had had enough of the Miami-Dade Police Department. After years and years with his second wife, MDPD, he finally resigns. He forgets to tell his best friend; rather, he decides not to. There wouldn't be a point in telling the stubborn ass anyway.
Frank feels old as dirt, Horatio has a glorious track record of dead partners, and Frank just wants to get the hell out. Frank knows he hurt him. He knows Calleigh will miss him, her southern charm reminding him of his home. Delko and his problems with bad luck. Ryan and his, everything. Boa Vista and her way of making him smile. The late Speed and Jesse for their sarcasm.
Frank loads the last of his life into the car. He can feel eyes on him. He turns and sees that damn redhead. Frank wanted to see him years from now, not right this instant when he was leaving. The man he wanted to see was a tired older man with another wife.
The hurt is evident in Horatio's eyes, and he says, “Frank.”
Frank doesn't want to be ‘Frank’d. He turns back to the car and shuts the trunk.
“I know you are leaving, Frank, just.” Horatio pauses, “Just know that you can always come back.”
“I’m sorry,” Frank says, hopping into the car and peeling off toward US-1.
He looks in the rearview mirror and sees Horatio without his sunglasses. Then Calleigh comes and comforts him. Frank looks back at the road.
What the hell was he thinking? He wasn't, really.
Frank arrives at his new home in Islamorada. The view is phenomenal. He almost forgot Horatio's face as he left. Before thinking of that further, he rushes to move his stuff in. The smell of the sea hits him in waves as the breeze picks up.
Later he joins a church, finding comfort in a Baptist church. Horatio might like that. The man is a devout Catholic, after all. Frank shakes his head. Enough thinking about that man.
He then gets hired by the Bass Pro Shop, folding men's shirts till eight. Meeting a few celebrities, one including Reba and another being a local Jimmy Buffett.
He adjusted a little too fast to the new life he had created. Though Frank was waiting till the shoe would drop. And it would eventually.
He had gotten off of work and popped a beer open from the fridge downstairs. Then sat down on his recliner.
As he sat down, he felt a cold, hard object on the back of his neck. The click of a safety being released. Did he leave the door open? How did he let his guard down? Damned Keys and their low crime rate.
“Frank,” The unknown attacker says. However, Frank realizes that the man isn't unknown. A man he put behind bars with Horatio.
Frank sets his beer down and turns around, and punches the man. The other man points the gun at him, and Frank grabs at the gun. They battle for it.
Frank ends up with the gun. The man charges at him, coming out with a machete. The gun misfires twice, hitting the man in the foot. And the man comes after him, knocking into a radio.
Frank Sinatra fills the room.
The man catches up to him, slashing at his hand. Frank drops the gun and screams, collapsing to the floor and gathering up the gun again. Before he can do it, the man falls to the ground dead.
A figure at the end of the hall says, “Hello.” as Frank Sinatra sings Hello.
Frank passes out.
When he comes to, he's in a hospital bed. And by God, does he hope Horatio will pay the bill because folding shirts ain’t gonna cover this.
“Frank?”
“Frank?”
“I hear you, H,” Frank grumbles. “Why were you in town?”
“I was tracking down the man that attacked you when he was released. I had a feeling he would come after you.”
“Did you track me?”
“I’m sorry, Frank.”
“How long? How long were you watching?”
“Ever since you left.”
“How is that possible?”
“Yelina moved down here with Susie. Once they caught word of your departure, they suggested that I would come down and spend the weekend with them.”
Frank rubbed his face, “You saw me this entire time?”
“Yes, I watched from afar. You looked happy.”
“I don't know if you could call this happy.”
“Why, Frank?”
“You know how criminals come to Miami to forget? It's the same here, but a million times worse. Tourists come down here to get drunk. Some even come down here to die.”
“I don't blame you, Francis, for wanting to forget the Miami-Dade Police Department. I wish you didn't want to forget me.”
Frank rubs his eyes, “H, you are a pain in the ass.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are the others coming down too, or just you?”
“Just me. I have you all to myself.” Horatio squeezes his hand and cracks his small smile that can melt the person it's directed towards.
“Horatio, can I kiss you?”
Horatio chuckles, nodding, “Yes, forever, if you would like, Detective.”
Horatio leans in, and their lips touch. Horatio smiles into the kiss.
“So, will you be moving back to Miami?”
“Unfortunately, yes, because there's brain matter I need to clean up. No thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome, Frank.”
Frank rolls his eyes, “Thank you.”
After being released from the hospital, Horatio guides Frank into the Hummer.
“How many homicide detectives did you go through, H?”
“A hundred? I don't know; all I know is none of them were Frank Tripp.”
“Not even Jake?”
“No, he’s too into being the bad cop.”