Title: Time Between
By: Caroline Crane
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Pairing: Speed/Bernstein
Rating: R
Summary: A brief history of Speed and Bernstein.

He's not exactly sure how it started. All he remembers is Bernstein apologizing for the girl whose name Speed can't even remember anymore, something along the lines of 'sorry that didn't work out' and then 'you're better off anyway'. Considering she was a murderer Speed had to agree, but all he'd said was 'she wasn't my type'. Bernstein had laughed like he knew exactly what Speed meant, then tilted his head a little and asked if Speed wanted to get some dinner.

He'd felt underdressed, sitting across a table from Bernstein in his tailored suit and tie. When he caught himself picturing Bernstein in casual clothes -- in nothing at all -- he blushed, ears bright pink for no reason, and Bernstein just laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd seen in ages. He didn't even know what he was laughing at -- he couldn't -- but he sounded like he knew, and that was enough to make Speed wish he'd never heard the name Bernstein. That's how he still thinks of him, when he lets himself think about it, as 'Bernstein' or 'detective', even though Speed knows now how he looks without his clothes on.

It took him awhile to find out. It didn't happen that first night -- in fact, it wasn't until he got home that he even let himself think the word 'date'. As in 'I just had a date. With Bernstein'. He spent the rest of the night in sort of a fog, playing over every detail of the evening and trying to decide if he'd done anything that would rule out the possibility of a second date. It took him until midnight to convince himself he'd imagined the whole thing, so it came as more of a surprise than it should have when Bernstein asked him out again.

They were standing over a body at the time, and Speed remembers thinking that it was appropriate in a really twisted way. There's never been much about his life that isn't just a little off-center, so at the time it felt...right. He probably should have taken it as a sign of impending doom.

Instead he'd said yes, nodded when Bernstein offered to pick him up and spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to look like he was panicking. It wasn't like he'd never been on a date before, but this was someone he worked with, and anyway Speed had a rule about sleeping with anybody who put their life in danger on a daily basis.

He slept with Bernstein anyway, that second night after a first kiss that could have been awkward -- should have been -- except that it was Bernstein, and he had a way of making everything feel like it was happening exactly the way he'd planned. Maybe it was. Speed never did get around to asking.

He's pretty sure he's the one who suggested they go inside. He remembers mumbling something about coffee, but in the end it didn't really matter what he said, because Bernstein just smiled and followed him in like that had been the plan all along. He's almost sure now that it was, even though Bernstein took his time getting to the point. He let Speed make coffee, wandered around his living room picking up books and magazines and asking inane questions about why he'd chosen his career and what had brought him to Miami. Speed hated that question -- still does -- but he's been answering it for a long time, so he fed Bernstein the same line he tells everyone else.

If Bernstein didn't believe him he didn't say -- instead he 'hmmed' in that low, rich voice and put down his coffee, stretching that long, long body across the couch until he was right in Speed's personal space, and kissed him again. His hands were big -- they felt even bigger on Speed's skin than they looked, dark against pale and warm from the coffee cup. Long minutes later Bernstein pulled back, smile all teeth and innuendo, like he had all the time in the world. "I've been waiting a long time to do that."

Speed thought about saying something sarcastic in return; his mind ran down an entire list of possible answers in the space of a few seconds, but none of them were right. None of them could equal the revelation that Bernstein had thought about this -- thought about him -- for a long time. He didn't ask how long exactly because it didn't matter -- nothing mattered except pulling Bernstein close again, tongue in his mouth and hands pushing at that suit until it was hopelessly wrinkled and lying in a heap on his living room floor.

And even naked he was the picture of confidence -- he had every right to be, Speed remembers thinking when he pulled back long enough to take in all that dark skin stretched across muscles Bernstein's suit didn't do nearly enough to show off. He looked like he belonged there, like he'd been kneeling between Speed's legs all his life, eyes dark and cock pressed flat against his stomach as he slowly slid Speed's jeans down. He was all about taking his time, mouth and hands everywhere at once until Speed's eyes rolled back and when he came he couldn't stop himself from gasping Bernstein's name -- Aaron, as it turned out -- and digging his fingers into the couch so hard he was sure he'd ripped a hole right through the upholstery.

There were other times after that -- other dinners, other conversations about work and people they both knew, all of them infused with a new spark, different from the vague attraction Speed had ignored for so long. Because he knew now, know how Bernstein's -- Aaron's -- mouth felt on his, knew the sound of his laugh, low and rumbling in the dark, knew about his secret weakness for old sci-fi late at night on cable.

Speed knows a lot of things he wishes he didn't, like the way people die and the things they do to each other when they think no one's watching. He knows what it's like to kiss someone and wonder if it will be the last time he gets the chance, and he knows what it's like to watch something fall apart and not even lift a finger to stop it.

He tells himself it's for the best. He even believes it most of the time, because when it comes right down to it Bernstein's a cop and Speed's not sure he can live with that. He might have been willing to try, but there are things about him Bernstein can't live with, and in the end that's what it comes down to.

He doesn't know how many times they slept together before it started to fall apart, how many mornings he woke up next to another person and didn't feel just a little sick about it. A few nights turned into a few weeks, then a month and before he knew it they were them, not Speed and Bernstein but Tim-and-Aaron, and even though they never said it Speed could tell where it was going.

Eric was the first person to notice, which struck Speed as strange because he was usually the last one to pay attention to what Speed was doing. Maybe he just got tired of Speed turning him down when he needed somebody to go to the clubs with at the last minute, or maybe he was just bored and needed someone to annoy. Either way, he was the first person to say 'what's up with you?' and 'something's different' and then, finally, 'you got a new girl you're keeping secret?', laughing like he thought maybe Speed was afraid Eric might steal his 'new girl' out from under his nose.

If he knew -- if he knew he sure as hell wouldn't be laughing about it, and that was the first time Speed realized how far in over his head he'd gotten. For just a second he considered telling Eric the truth, telling him that yes, there was someone new, and Eric was never going to believe who. He came to his senses while Eric was still laughing at his own stupid joke, shaking his head and reminding himself of just how much he had to lose. Not just a friend, and not so much his job. He didn't think Horatio would fire him, although this was Florida and he could get away with it. it was more a matter of people acting differently around him, treating him like he was marked somehow, damaged goods.

He'd gotten enough of that in high school to last a lifetime.

It didn't take long after that for him to start backing off, and it took even less time for Bernstein to notice that something was different. He still remembers the first time it happened, when Bernstein showed up for a case and caught Speed alone in the trace lab. His voice changed when he said 'Tim', and for the first time Speed noticed the lines between work and...whatever they were doing starting to blur. Bernstein's hand had pressed against the small of Speed's back, just for a second, so quick no one would have noticed. He'd flinched anyway, and Bernstein hadn't missed that. He didn't say anything at the time, but he'd pulled back instantly, all business again and just for a second Speed regretted it.

The conversation came later, in Speed's car, of all places. It still makes him a little queasy just thinking about it, picturing the angry lines around that incredible mouth and the hard look in Bernstein's eyes when Speed asked him what would happen if the department found out about them.

"I don't advertise," Bernstein said, bored like he'd had this conversation before, "but the people who need to know already know. This isn't the 50s, Tim. We've got nothing to hide."

And it was weird, sitting there getting lectured on sexual politics by the one guy Speed would have expected to want to keep it quiet. He never would have guessed Bernstein might want more than just a fling, like holding hands in public and letting the world -- and the Miami-Dade police force -- know about them. That they were a couple. Only they weren't really -- they were on their way, sure, but Speed put a stop to that with just a few carefully chosen words.

"I like spending time with you, Tim. I think we've got a good thing here, and I'm ready to let people know that."

"Well I'm not." He'd looked right in Bernstein's eyes when he said it, made it sound like he regretted it a little, even, but that he was sure. Only he didn't regret it, not then and maybe not even now, because he likes Bernstein, but he's not sure he's ready to come out for him. He might have said more, maybe explained about the team and how important it was to his job that they trust him, but he never got the chance, because Bernstein got out of the car and just walked away.

Speed knows that if he'd gone after Bernstein he could have fixed it. All he had to do was stop Bernstein, tell him that he'd try and that he wanted this to work. He could have made promises he'd never keep to stretch things out a little longer, bought himself another month, maybe, of warm skin and an incredible laugh, and some of the best sex he'd ever had. Another month, maybe two and then Bernstein would want more, so it was better to end it now before things got messy.

He didn't go after Bernstein then, and when they saw each other again they were almost painfully professional. The intimacy was gone, but so was the comfortable sense of being able to anticipate what Bernstein was thinking before he said it. And it wasn't that Speed didn't know what Bernstein was thinking anymore, but there was an awkward sense that he shouldn't.

He told himself it would pass, that he'd just ignore the tension and eventually they'd be fine again, just Speed and Detective Bernstein. He was willing to wait it out, but when Bernstein stopped showing up at crime scenes Speed figured out that he wasn't the patient type. Another thing he should have predicted, considering, but then again, he'd been trying pretty hard not to think about it at all.

"Speed."

His head jerks up at the sound of Horatio's voice, and Speed flushes when he realizes how long he's been zoning. All it took was a mention of a name he hasn't heard in months and he was gone, lost in memories of something he tells himself he doesn't regret.

"Sorry, H. What was that?"

Horatio smiles tightly, an expression Speed learned awhile ago to interpret as 'I know something's up but I don't have time to deal with it right now'. Speed's never been grateful for a murder before, but if it stops Horatio from asking what's on his mind, maybe this person didn't die in vain.

"I was just thinking that Detective Bernstein might be able to shed some light on our dead drug dealer. He's working Narcotics these days, isn't he?"

Speed shrugs because he doesn't know -- when Bernstein stopped showing up on murder investigations he didn't ask why. He didn't have to. "Beats me. I know a guy, though. I'll give him a call."

Horatio nods and just for a second Speed wonders if maybe he brought up Bernstein just to see how Speed would react. When he catches himself thinking it he just shakes his head and reminds himself that nobody knows. That was the whole point of ending it when he did, and by the time he gets back to the crime lab and makes the call he almost believes it.

"Narcotics."

"Yeah, is Detective Bernstein in?"

"He's on vacation this week," the receptionist says. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"No," Speed answers. He can feel his ears burning and he's glad there's no one around to see; he's not even sure what made him ask for Bernstein, or what makes him think the other man would want to hear from him now. "What about Detective Sikes?"

"One moment," the receptionist says, and Speed closes his eyes while he listens to the hold music and tells himself it's better this way.