Black and White

Chapter 1: Disjointed

I watched Season 1 to Season 9 (courtesty of my library, Amazon, and Spring Break). I desperately want a Season 10 so CSI: NY can have a proper closing with the writers giving the finale a huge plot twist that somehow eliminates Christine from the picture and makes my sinking ship canon... While I'm dreaming, I also want a pony.

Slightly AU with Christine never coming into the picture and...well you'll find out the rest.

Please enjoy!

In the marines, Mac Taylor's world was colored in night-vision green while being married to Claire was like seeing color for the first time. After Claire's death, Mac saw the world in black and white, cold and grueling and painfully empty. Then he met Jo Danville and Mac began to see in color once again. But now, as he frantically tried to stop the steady gush of blood with his fingers, his newly awakened world was drowning in a sea of red.

"I need you," Mac told Jo, reaching out to cover her hand with his own.

She, through the haze of pain, looked up from the cold pavement to give him a comforting smile, but her brown eyes were sad. Jo's fingers rubbed circles into the back of his hand, her brown eyes tired, her cheeks becoming more and more wan.

"I know." Jo laughed weakly. "I need you too."

He saw the unknown perpetrator fire at them, gun blazing red in the night. Heard Jo cry out and push him down onto the wet pavement. Saw the small trickle of blood drop from Jo's mouth.

Remembered – dreamt – remembered – fumbling for his gun and loading it, remembered – dreamt – remembered hearing the reassuring click of the trigger and seeing Jo doing the same. The two pushing themselves up and aiming at the son of a bitch who was doing this…

He clenched her hand more tightly. "You're going to be fine, Jo."

"We both know that's not going to happen," Jo said wryly. "I have intensive internal bleeding and the bullet—"

"Don't." Mac cut her off, unable to listen to it anymore. "You're not going to die, Jo."

She gave him a wry grin. "But everyone does, Mac."

"You're not supposed to," Mac whispered, cradling her head in his lap.

–then the sound of gunfire and sudden stabbing rush of pain and the screams of people as they fell to the pavement bleeding –

–and the fury. How dare they, how could they and-

There was blood, so much blood, and some part of him was praying to an indifferent God from above to just save her – please – because in three years, this woman had become his entire world. If only he could stop this pain-

–and he saw more blood, more shots creeping together as the rain began to fall, felt the steady thrum of Jo's heart against his. If he could only push himself up and get a clean shot… and -

– he shouted – did he shout? - "Drop the gun!" –

–and then Gunfire –lots of gunfire: his, Jo's, and the perp's- was the only response –

"You're supposed to live to a ripe old age of a hundred, spending the rest of your life with your handsome hunk of a husband—"

Jo playfully rolled her eyes, weakly punching him in the shoulder. "Oh dear Lord."

"–and your beautiful grandkids and your family at the NYPD Crime Lab. And by the time you die at a hundred years old, your husband's going to have died the day before, so he'll never have to live a day without you."

"You know," Jo pointed out, "you could just die a second before I do or both of us die in our sleep so I wouldn't have to live without you. Better yet—"

"Jo." He leaned down to gently pressed his lips to hers, effectively silencing her. Mac pulled her close, reveling in the warmth of her skin, the uneven rise and fall of her chest, and her soft lavender scent tinged with metallic copper. She was still alive, if only barely, and Mac knew that she wouldn't be here with him for very long.

–And the world began to tilt out of proportion as Jo pushed him down out of the line of fire –

-And there was blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers to fall to the ground, blood that wasn't his-

–but hers, and when he realized that all he could see was red-

–and suddenly it didn't matter if the asshole got away. That his worst nightmare was coming to life–

"Mac," she murmured, winding her mouth next to his ear, "I'm going to miss this. Maybe not this so much." Jo gestured to the flashing lights of the ambulance and police cars and the injured perp. She turned to nuzzle her head in his lap, her hand working its way up to gently brush his face. "But this. Working with you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she pressed a mischievous finger to his lips, winking in a very Jo-esque style. "I think what you do is amazing. I wanted to tell you that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Mac Taylor. I just thought I'd let you know that."

-and his mouth moved on its own accord, his hands turning her over to look for her injuries, fingers scrambling to stop the blood. "JO! JO! JO! Goddamnit! Don't you dare die! Don't you dare die!"-

-and she whispered something that made him remember who he was, refocused him, but the pain in his heart and in his head was coming to a fever pitch –

–and he was losing himself and her in a field of red and he couldn't, wouldn't be able to stop it if he started and-

"Jo, I—"

He barely got the words out when she was gone with her last smile etched on her face.

Detective Mac Taylor woke up screaming here. Chest heaving, he turned over to the side of the bed, frantically searching for her beside him. Mac sighed in relief as he draped his arm over the other figure on the bed, pressing his face to let the scent of lavender submerge his senses.

"Jo," he murmured, running his hand through her whisper hair. She muttered something unintelligible as she tangled herself more in his arms and the sheets, nuzzled his chest, and promptly went back to sleep.

Smiling, Mac followed suit.

Sorry about the semi-violence/disjointedness. It's meant to be that way and you'll understand once you hit Chapter 2.

Thanks for reading!

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