Title: Empty Houses
By: Caroline Crane
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Pairing: Speed/Tyler
Rating: PG
Warnings: Character death, but that part, of course, is canon.
Summary: Life goes on. Takes place after the events of "Lost Son".

An empty house is like a stray dog or a body from which life has departed. -- Samuel Butler

He spends a lot of time these days composing letters in his head. They all start the same, Dear Tim, like he's going to write them down and seal them in an envelope to send off somewhere.

And he's not crazy, doesn't go around mumbling to himself until everyone at work is whispering that he's finally lost it. He acts the same as he always did – before Tim and during – only now, when it all gets to be a little too much, he pretends that Tim's still out there somewhere, and Tyler writes him letters.

He doesn't write them down. Thinks sometimes that maybe he should, that maybe it would help him get past it. Help him get over the loss and get on with his life the way his parents and his friends think he should. Only that feels way too much like letting go of Tim, and he's not unselfish enough to do it.

He knows he's supposed to. He's heard all the advice on moving on and living life, gave more or less the same speech to Tim when he found out about David. But none of that makes it feel any better, none of the advice makes it easier to forget about the one person who was always supposed to be there.

The letters don't really help either, but he composes them in his head anyway, long, rambling paragraphs about what he's feeling or just little notes about his day.

Dear Tim,

I called the realtor today. I hung up before she answered, but I'm not sure if it's because I want to stay in our house or because I'm afraid of what I'll do if I don't have it to come home to anymore.

I know I should. Half of it belongs to your parents now, and I can't really afford to buy them out. I don't need all this room, and everything here reminds me of you anyway.

I think that's why I can't make myself leave.

He met Tim's parents after it happened. Not at the funeral; he never actually made it to the funeral. He tried, put on his black suit and one of Tim's pin-striped button-downs. He drove to the funeral home, got out of the car and said hello to Matt. He got as far as the chapel, saw Horatio and Calleigh and Delko and he just couldn't go in.

It was weird, because he knew Tim better than any of them, but he knew they'd look at him like he was the stranger. Horatio would give him one of his patented looks, like he knew exactly what Tyler was feeling and he understood. But there was no way he could; none of them could, because they didn't know the Tim he knew.

They didn't know the Tim who crawled into bed after a miserable shift and buried his face in Tyler's neck, the Tim who loved bad horror movies and made the best marinara sauce in Miami. They didn't know the Tim who could swing a hammer and liked kids a lot more than he'd ever let on. They didn't know the Tim who hated guns, who hated that part of his job so much that there were days when Tyler was terrified to let him leave the house.

Dear Tim,

I think Delko's mad at me. Actually, I think he's mad at you, but you're not around so I'm the only one he can take it out on.

I think he's mad that you never told him about us. For awhile I was pretty mad about that too, but now…now I don't know what I am. Sad, mostly, that you never got a chance to tell Delko. That you never got to see that he would have been your friend anyway – could have been our friend.

I don't mind that he's mad at me. I just feel sorry for him, because I know how it feels to miss you.

Sometimes he catches himself composing letters in the middle of a shift, telling Tim about the case like he's just off on vacation somewhere. Like he'll be back any day now, sliding into their bed in the dark to press a kiss to the side of Tyler's neck. To mumble a few words about the long day he's had or the conference he's been to, then let Tyler pull him close and forget about everything but the two of them for awhile.

He knows it's not going to happen. Tells himself every day to stop, that Tim's gone and no amount of wishing is going to bring him back. And for a little while he does okay, but then something will happen – one of Calleigh's looks filled with a mixture of pity and understanding, or even one of Delko's ever-present scowls – and he's right back to thinking about Tim, talking to him inside his head like maybe, somehow, he can hear.