I've been reading the old entries on this site, because that's how cool I am; I spend my Saturday nights reading my journal. Yeah! No, because my episode reviews really do entertain me, and nobody else is posting much of anything. [Edit: Or at least, they weren't until about 10:00 PM my time, and THEN suddenly everybody had big long posts up...by which point I had already put together half this post, so I didn't feel like throwing that all away.]
Anyway, since they only go back to the end of April and even then, the earlier ones are very short, I went combing through my personal blog on Xanga for TV related entries, and started to stick a few relevant ones into the LJ archives. I was in short order distracted by some end-of-season CSI Miami posts, specifically as they pertained to Marisol. As often happens on this show, my "deluxe transcripts" of scenes tend to reveal more about my reactions than my actual journal entries do. And because I'm in a sharing mood...I've compiled several episodes' worth of Marisol scenes into one delightful post. (delightful for me, anyway. You probably won't care. That's perfectly fine; causes me to lose less sleep worrying about what people think when they read it) They're serious, written in as much detail as possible since their purpose is for me to read them instead of having to cue up tapes all the time, but they also have a habit of ending up with commentary and/or snark mixed in. I think they're an acquired taste. Anyway. These were all written at various points in 2006, mostly within a week of the episode's air date.
THE SCORE (yes, I know it's full of Marisol scenes. I haven't gotten around most of them yet, so for now it's just the ending one):
[A/N: May 1, 2006: "Deluxe Transcripts, meet Marisol Delko. Marisol, meet my Deluxe Transcripts. You'll become very well acquainted with each other over the course of the next several episodes. ]
“Lieutenant Caine? Lieutenant!” a woman’s voice calls as she approaches. He turns, surprised, and removes his sunglasses as Marisol rushes up. He greets her by name, with a nod.
“I don’t understand – they’re letting me go,” she says, confused.
“Well…it can’t happen again, can it?” he reminds her, with a significant look.
“Point taken,” she mutters, looking down at the ground. He nods. She looks back up at him imploringly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Well, ma’am, there’s no need,” he says simply. She begs to differ. Biting her lip, she asks hesitantly (although somehow I doubt this only just occurred to her), “Could I…make you dinner?”
Because grateful single women are always throwing themselves at him (and the saddest part is I'm not sure I'm being entirely sarcastic), he has plenty of practice letting them down easy.
“I don’t…I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” he says gently.
She nods slowly, as if expecting an answer like this. “Because my brother works for you,” she figures out. Well, that, plus Stetler would love to cry “sexual favors” right along with evidence-tampering to explain how Marisol avoided being charged. Horatio doesn’t get into that aspect, though, simply agreeing “That’s a part of it.”
BUT: Marisol is not to be deterred. She sizes him up, and decides she can get away with it.
“It’s just dinner,” she points out, tone nonchalant, but her smile quite confident, suggesting that she has him exactly where she wants him and she knows it. “I make a mean ropa vieja.” [a/n: Dear writers: is that the only Latin dish you know?]
One look at her pretty little face, and he promptly loses the last of his resolve. “You do?” Wearing a cat-ate-the-canary grin, she nods.
“Okay…umm…what time were you thinking?”
Marisol’s smile broadens. “?”
“8:00. Okay. I’ll see you then,” he agrees.
“Great!” she beams. “I am looking forward to it.” She hitches her purse up and saunters off, leaving Horatio standing there with a disbelieving look on his face as the fog lifts from his brain. It is, unmistakably, “Did that just happen?” However, he can’t keep a smile off his face. Methinks he is suddenly looking forward to it, too.
SILENCERYou know how you know it's going to be a good episode? When it opens on Marisol standing outside CSI, unaware that Horatio is standing a few feet behind her, pausing a moment before calling her name. She turns with a broad smile.
“Hey! I thought I might find you here. I was just hoping to talk to you for a second.” He steps closer, trying unsuccessfully to control the smile playing around his lips. “Sure. What’s going on?”
She bites her lip before beginning, “I had a wonderful time last night.” [a/n: Dear fic writers: Go! Write me that scene!]
“So did I,” he nods, studying her thoughtfully.
“I was just…worried about you,” she admits.
This certainly wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “Me? Why?”
Sweet little Marisol is ever so wide eyed with sincerity as she explains, “You made my arrest go away. I’m just…I’m afraid that somebody could twist that, turn it into something ugly.”
“First of all,” he reassures her, looking down and then up to meet her eyes, “I don’t want you to worry about that, all right?” She smiles faintly. “And Marisol…what’s bothering you?”
“It’s my brother. Eric,” she fesses up. Horatio nods and smiles. He gets it. She tries to explain anyway. “I just…I don’t want to do anything to interrupt/disrupt what you guys have. I mean, you are his boss.”
“OK. Um…” Horatio says. “Tell you what. How about, if I talk to Eric?” She beams. “You would do that?”
“Of course I would.” She looks hugely relieved, and he smiles again. “OK then…we’ll talk later.” She agrees, laughs nervously and excuses herself, leaving Horatio staring after her with a vaguely goofy smile. I do believe our little CSI leader is in love.
Aaaand, end the ep right back where we started.
“H,” Eric nods as he walks up to his boss. “Guess everyone’s out for one of their own today.” [empty lab]
“Looks that way,” Horatio nods, then begins, “Eric…”
Eric is nice enough not to make his boss squirm, helping him out immediately. “I heard. Marisol made you dinner last night.” [Heard from who? The lab mole?]
Horatio sizes Eric up for a bit, studying him, and then affirms with a dip of his head, “She did.” He can’t help but smile a little. Eric's smiling too, if a bit more uneasily.
“Yeah. Look, I was a little freaked out about my boss seeing my sister. But seeing how happy she is…I can’t argue with it.”
“No concerns?” Horatio checks one last time.
“No, none for her,” he answers, more soberly. “But you need to know she’s a lot sicker than she looks.” Horatio looks saddened by this reminder, bowing his head.
“The doctors think…months,” Eric explains. “Can you live with that?” H’s eyes are still sad, but his voice is firm .
“I can.” Awwww, I think it’s the sweetest romantic sentiment I think I have ever heard on this show.
DRIVEN: H is looking to talk to witnesses from the spa robbery…and Frank is stalling instead of answering, so he finally just flat-out asks "What's going on?"
“Horatio…” Tripp says hesitantly. “Something you oughta know. Now, she’s okay – but one of the witnesses was Marisol.” There are no words for that expression. There’s just sort of a blank look of disbelief, and then he’s at her side first thing. [a/n: And, I notice, still refusing to so much as touch her arm... -.- This needs to be remedied soon.]
She smiles sheepishly as he approaches. “The one day I decide to pamper myself, right?” He doesn’t respond to that, but scrutinizes the cut on her forehead.
“Marisol, I don’t like the look of that. I’m going to send you to the hospital, have you checked out.”
“No, I’m fine, I-I just fell,” she says quickly. He digests that for a minute, and then,
“Marisol, what happened?” Nice to see he’s still most interested in questioning a witness. Besides, have you met this girl? She does NOT handle crisis all that well. Her big wide doe eyes say so.
“I don’t know, it just happened so fast. They were just – suddenly there and…” She shakes her head, dipping into Helpless Woman Mode. “I keep seeing them. Those masks...” Marisol shakes her head and doesn’t finish, but simply begs, “Horatio. You get them, okay?”
You know what he says next, right?
Sometimes I crack myself up more than usual. Like in this scene:
“Horatio!” Eric snaps, breezing up. “Where’s my sister?”
“She’s at the hospital, she’s going to be fine.” His attempt to head off the upset underling and calm him down fails miserably, as you might expect.
“She has a gash over the eye, and I think she may have a concussion, but she’s gonna be fine.” Despite the extra stress on that last part, I don’t think the word “concussion” helped Eric’s state of mind all that much, mmkay?
“I’m going to the hospital,” he mutters, spinning on his heel, but Horatio calls him back. “Eric! She’s gonna be okay. I need you here. I’ll call you from the hospital when I get something.” He exits.
Eric’s smoldering eyes burn a hole in his back, his expression reading Why the hell do YOU get to go to the hospital?! Why can’t YOU work the damn scene for once? When was the last time you even snapped on a latex…oh. Bad thoughts. Oh God. Okay, the camera may have cut away after the first sentence or two, but the intent was there.
Let me quickly exposit the next several scenes...Marisol can’t go home because a guy was killed there during an attempted home invasion. She looks stunned, then looks at him and asks quietly, “what do I do?”
He transitions right into, “I want you to stay at my place until this is over.” [Until what’s over, the case or the relationship?]
[Revised Version, after I learned to love this episode:
She immediately shakes her head; “You’ve done so much for me; you don’t have--”
He cuts her off. “I know that, but I think it would be a good idea.” Chauvinist. But I’ll forgive him, due to the way that when she gives up and asks in a small voice, “Are you sure?”, he just smiles confidently, reassuring. “Mm-hm. I am.” Scuse me, I have to go explode from glee now.
Back - what we will later refer to as Cheesiest Schmaltz Scene Ever, which nonetheless flipped me fully on to the Marisol ship and made me start taping the series. It comes in two parts, the original (starting with “I’ve never traveled,”) and the first part addition, written later on, in July.
Setting: Random room with large picture window; I choose to believe it’s the office of his we’ve never seen.
“Marisol?” he asks in surprise, entering the room. “I thought you were at home.” Oh, damn, it’s the simple things in life that bring me such joy, you know? Just the phrase “at home.” She nods soundlessly; doesn’t answer or turn around. He frowns in concern and walks closer, though keeping a respectful distance behind. “What’s going on?”
She gazes at a point out the window.
“You know, it’s funny. I’ve been fighting this…stupid cancer, and…I don’t know, I guess I never really thought about things.”
“Like what things?” asks Dr. Horatio Caine, playing psychologist. You know, speak softly, ask leading questions, guide the patient into telling her own story. No, I’m kidding, it’s touching. Especially his expressions in the background, slightly out of focus but still readable.
“Like what I’d be missing,” she says, her voice somewhat detached in the face of reality. Seriously…his face is so sad. A swallow. *pause* Also a lot of blinking. Marisol’s voice continues, a little retroactive shell-shock, I guess.
“You know, this morning…that woman, she was shot. Right in front of me. I don’t know, sometimes I think…I’ve been trying so hard not to die” – she stumbles a little over that word, but gets it out – “that I forget to LIVE.” Cheese factor is creeping higher. Horatio’s expressions are still incredible; it takes two viewings. Disappointed with Rampage? Splice in this scene.
“There’s so much that I’ve never done. You know I’ve never traveled? REALLY traveled.”
…she’s got tears in her eyes.
“You can do those things now,” he points out rationally. [fiddling nervously with his damn sunglasses] She isn’t listening.
“I’ve never had a baby…” she sniffs, and I would like to reiterate that the reason I like her so much is that she looks about 25. Horatio then walks right into the trap. At least, I hope he walked into and wasn’t being deliberate.
“It’s not too late,” he says gently. Now she’s listening. She spins around.
“What did you say?” Marisol whispers, eyes wide. And then I shut off the TV and go E-YEW! EW! EWEWEW…I mean, it’s not really gross, it’s just…that is too embarrassing for words if he didn’t mean it like that but she takes it as an offer. I mean, really. OK, I’ll watch it now.
“I said it’s not too late.” OK, apparently my fears are unfounded, and now I’m sort of disappointed.
“When you say that…I believe you,” she smiles faintly.
“That’s because it’s true.”
“I’ve never had a baby…” she sniffs, and he makes a sort of “a-hah” face and appears to come to a swift decision.
“It’s not too late,” he says, quietly, after a moment. Now she’s listening. She spins around.
“What did you say?” Marisol whispers with breathless hope, eyes wide and searching his face.
What I find most telling, now that I’m not distracted by her and am watching him, is the way he reacts to her spin. He almost flinches, as if afraid he’s just overstepped his bounds, but keeps his gaze fixed on her.
Now on much firmer ground. “I said it’s not too late.”
Her worried expression changes to an adoring smile, eyes shining. And then the episode goes into
“When you say that…I believe you.”
“That’s because it’s true.” Good God, she might as well be talking to her brother. And he might as well be talking to any one of the 600 women he comforts every year. Ah well. She beams and nods happily, then slowly turns to look back out the window, for reasons unknown. A lovely setting sun? They’re still standing six feet apart. And on that intimate* pose, the scene closes. * = See if you can catch the sarcasm there.
DEAD AIR: [According to the preview on ET, part of this scene was cut. Damn the editors. I will include cut lines anyway, in brackets like this.]
Hey look, Marisol's waiting at CSI! I squealed with delight upon seeing her. Yes, I did.
“Marisol,” he says, surprised. “Our appointment’s at 6.” (*purrs* "Our")
“I needed to talk to you,” she says, looking distressed, and he’s immediately concerned.
“Okay…what’s going on?”
[“Do you remember what the doctor said about having children?” she asks. “That every cycle hurts my chances of conceiving.”
“I remember.” [Side Note of Irritation: Yeah, but every cycle also DELAYS YOUR DEATH so it’s an even trade-off. Side note 2: You’ve been talking to doctors together already? Seriously, this relationship is on like warp-speed.]]
Marisol: After tonight…I want to stop my chemo. (This is news to him. He frowns) I know I’m gonna get sick, and…I’m scared. (She looks extremely worried, begging him to say he understands)
Horatio: (flabbergasted) Marisol –
Marisol: (forcefully) I just don’t want to take that chance.
Horatio: I understand, but if – (frustrated, he breaks off and tries again) “If we lose you,” he reminds her gently, “Then nothing can happen.” (She looks disappointed, still beseeching. He shifts in place a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. He clearly doesn't like it, but he also seems incapable of saying no to her.)
"Well, if this is your decision…you have my full support."
She smiles, mostly relieved, yet is still hesitant when she asks, "And you’re still coming?
"Of course I’m coming with you." He sounds genuinely surprised that there is any reason he wouldn’t.
“Good,” she nods. “As long as you’re with me, I know I’m…I’m gonna be fine.”
“And you will be,” he agrees, now on much firmer ground.
And then we have the usual awkward banter about seeing each other at 6, and guess-I’ll-be-going-now; these two are so reluctant to part company. Given the ticking clock, I guess it’s understandable. But when she walks away, he shakes his head in disbelief, like “what just happened?” and still looks troubled. All of a sudden, I’m mad at Marisol. He’s not going to get enough time with you as it is. Don’t shorten it just so you can have the non-fun of being pregnant and living with a baby for a couple of months. Seriously, if I’d just found the love of my life in the final stages of cancer, I wouldn’t want to spend our last few months together a) waddling about pregnant and b) dealing with a baby prone to screaming and other fits. I know she’s going to die next month so neither of those will be an issue, but still.
Marisol is getting her arm tied off for some kind of horrible IV drip thing, I can’t watch. I’m not even sure where she is. If it’s a hospital, they’re like in the middle of a giant and empty room. She bites her lip and nods, trying to concentrate on something else. A shadow falls over her (all right, not really, but it sounds cool in text), and she looks up to see Horatio smiling down at her. Oh, he did come in time!
“You ready?” the nurse asks. She takes a deep breath, sighs, and nods, then reaches out to Horatio…who, without a moment’s hesitation, slips his hand in hers.
*5 hours later* Ahem. I fainted. I’ll recap now that I’ve overcome my shock. And oh my, it’s just perfect, her dainty, smooth-skinned hand with its gleaming, polished nails grasped in his rough and weathered yet still gentle and protective one. The IV thing I refuse to look at must hurt like hell, according to what I've read in various novels about characters enduring chemotherapy, but having him there makes it better.
“OK, it looks fine. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything,” says the woman in green scrubs. “Okay,” Marisol nods, rubbing her thumb over his hand. “Okay, thank you, Nurse,” he adds, before reluctantly releasing her hand to take a seat in the chair beside the bed…I mean…not a bed exactly...what the hell, she looks like she’s sitting in a big leather chair. OK. Whatever. [Still Irritated Side Note 3: Could his chair be any farther away from her? Come on, H! Pull it up right NEXT to her, would ya??]
She eyes the drip, biting her lip in either pain or uncertainty, or both. “Here we go.”
“Here we go,” he agrees, reassuring, and his whole face changes when he smiles at her that way. It’s really quite touching. Hell, I feel reassured, and I’m on the other side of the screen. She smiles back; it’s sort of sad, but in her eyes is Thank you.
Short time cut/fade. “You know what? We’re going to be here for a while. Why don’t you get some rest, okay?” he suggests.
“Yeah,” she whispers, nodding.
Marisol shifts a little in her…I’m not freaking kidding, it’s a chair…turns her head to the side, and shuts her eyes. Finally, she looks like a proper cancer patient; without the makeup her skin is paler than usual, and she looks tired. A beautiful song, all vocals and piano notes, plays in the background as he just gazes at her. [Fanfic writers! Someone else take up the pen!] He shakes his head a little…at her courage? At how unfair it is that she’s sick? That he still can’t believe he has her in his life? Shut up and let me pose my cheesy questions. He sits there for quite some time, by her side, as she sleeps.
Silence is empty, filled with breaths from mouths that never move no more
She talked some more, she talks now
And all the lights went out in empty rooms
and now the empty hall
I talk alone; I talk now
And all I wanted was a chance to see you anyway
Hold me; fold me up in your arms
[Eventually, he reaches out again and places his hand over hers, then bows his head. If you need me, I'll be over here squealing. Quietly. So as not to drown out the music.]
Hold me, my love, telling me
Don’t be afraid
Wouldn’t you want me to swim?
Wouldn’t you want me to stay?
Some time later, she quite suddenly startles from sleep, asking “Horatio?” If I may take a bit of creative license, I think she just had a dream she was lost, or they were separated, or he was just gone. She seemed to wake up with his name on her lips. But when she turns her head to the side in a panic, he’s still there, head having darted up at the sound of her voice. Visibly relieved, she sighs and sinks back against the chair. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m here. [nod] I’m here.” She manages to smile back at him as he holds her hand. Fade out. I go off to cry for several hours, because they are so clearly in love and her death is going to practically kill him. And me. It will especially kill me. Have I mentioned lately that I HATE THE MALA NOCHE?]
As usual, I squealed at seeing Marisol at CSI, because it means an extra scene I wasn’t expecting. She’s seated at one of the tables by the window, staring at her hands, and doesn’t notice Horatio approach until he says her name. “Are you okay?”
She smiles, and then looks troubled. “I – don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was brought in today for questioning,” she says slowly.
His frown deepens. “Questioned by who, Sweetheart?”
RS: *faints and dies* *gets back up and continues transcribing*
“I-I don’t know,” she stammers. “It was some federal agent, I guess the FBI?” [a/n: yeah, I guess so. Does chemo kill brain cells, ‘sweetheart’?]
“Okay, what did he ask you?”
The words tumble over themselves in a rush to get out. “He-he asked me about you, and about Eric. He, he wanted to know everything I knew about the lab. I told him I don’t know anything, but he wouldn’t stop.” Her face takes on an even more helpless look, one that now kind of makes me want to roll my eyes because it starts to become over the top when she whispers, “It scared me.”
“No, I understand. What was his name?”
“Oh, he gave me a card,” she remembers suddenly, digging it out of her pocket and handing it over. He takes it and reads the fine black print, Robert Wynn, Special Agent.
“Special Agent Wynn,” he repeats out loud, testing out the name as if it’s something particularly nasty.
“You know him?” she asks.
“No, I don’t,” he admits thoughtfully, glowering at the print as if to say But I’m about to.
Marisol, worried, glances from the card to his face. “Hey,” she says softly. “Are you in trouble?”
“No. But he is,” Horatio growls, and sweeps off to go threaten Wynn with death. No, really. YES, REALLY.
I really only want to mention one line from his next scene, which is Agent Wynn saying that something seems fishy - “The woman central to the investigation against Officer Delko becomes your girlfriend, thus protecting her from further scrutiny…” Which, HUH? How does that protect her from anything? I understand spousal privilege, but I didn’t realize it extended to your fling-of-the-week. I mean, how could you prove someone was your girlfriend? Does just saying so make it true? Far-fetched and ridiculous, that line.
In search of his sweetheart, Horatio finds her standing on the bank, looking out over the harbor. Her back is to him; she has an oddly conflicted expression on her face, looking nervous, swallowing and trying to decide what to say. The soft piano chords and Strings of Love begin to fill the air as he pauses to gaze at her for a minute, and then approaches in his silent and sneaky way.
V: Edit that back to niceness!
RS: What do you mean, "back" to niceness? Have you read my transcripts?
"There she is," he says fondly once he's close enough, making her turn. Her smile doesn't quite mask the insecure look, something not lost on him. "You okay?" he asks.
"I just...want to be clear about something."
"Okay. Go ahead."
"Last week, during my treatment, you said that you were there for me," she begins.
"What does that mean?" she asks, apprehensively, afraid to broach the subject. Oh wait, I’ve heard this one! It’s the conversation that EVERY GUY LOVES TO HAVE! </sarcasm> Lucky thing Horatio isn’t “every guy.”
He looks down. "I, um..." he shifts, collecting his thoughts before raising his head again. "I thought we agreed that we would do whatever we wanted." Which, if I may go all TWoP on you for a minute here, sounds like an invitation to have an open relationship, date other people, attend swinger parties...you know, something creepy like that. Seriously, it sounds like...extremely non-committed. Lucky us, this is CSI, and only the victims of the week have dirty minds.
"Does that..." she begins, voice failing her as lips soundlessly form, "I mean..." She tries again, and hesitantly asks, "Does that include...marriage?"
"It does," he answers immediately, a quirk of a smile on his lips as his gaze drops to the ground again. Then he lifts his head to look directly into her eyes and repeat, more quietly, "It does." [Snark Note: That's the third week in a row where he's repeated the final words to her. "It's not too late, I'm here, it does."] [Squee Note: There is no real way to translate that look into words. Eight months later it still induces flailing.]
Cue the Slo-Mo Soft Light of Love camera work, and the Soft Piano Notes, Strings, and Vocals of Love take over as the dialogue ends.
He's wearing a most charming half-smile, and the worried look falls away from Marisol's and becomes a genuine smile...he turns back towards the harbor, and she slips her arm into the crook of his, laying her head on his shoulder. This is the stuff icons are made of. Would be nicer if he’d have maybe leaned his head towards hers instead of standing robotically, but I will take whatever I can get and change the pictures in my daydreams later.
Damn. Now I remember why I could never, ever be convinced that these two were anything less than perfect. I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy, and so I'm going to stop there. Otherwise I'll just end up at Rampage/One Of Our Own, like I do every single time I try to reminisce about the good ole' days of season 4, and it will completely defeat the purpose of wandering down the happy part of memory lane.