Disclaimer: Don't own them or really the idea :/

Notes: Well, all the characters are here. The thing is that Lindsay is 'dead' in this. She's still around in a hallucination/mentor way to Danny. If that's not your thing, then this fic isn't for you. It's my intention to go into depth about characters and human nature. This should be Mac centric. Also the first chapter just takes you into it all. Like always, enjoy.

Thanks to lily moonlight for helping and California-Italian for putting up with my endless rants about this story. Also she has been one of the greatest helps to me when I was coming up with the plot for this.

The title is from the Carbon Leaf song Life Less Ordinary.

Life Less Ordinary

The Taylors

He sat down wearily in the seat behind his desk, leaning back in the swivel chair. He watched Stella Bonasera walk down the hallway towards him. Taking a sip of coffee, he braced himself for whatever she was about to tell him. Something about what he did was stupid and foolish and that he was going to lose the case because the evidence would not stand up in court. He hadn't meant to cause any disturbance in the collecting of evidence, but something had happened.

He rubbed his eyes. Everything seemed out of focus. Like a camera lens without any point to look at. Her image smeared in his eyes as she came in. Then everything went black.

"Mac." He saw nothing, and her voice faded into the distance. "Mac! Maaac!"

……………………………………..

The dazzling light bounced off the fluorescent walls and onto him and his companion. He traced his hand down her arm before opening his eyes. His heart started beating faster, and his breathing deepened. No! This can't be happening. Not again. I can't lose her again. He got up quickly without disturbing her. It was not that he wanted to move. If anything, he could barely get up. Leaving her was not an option. She was not going to leave him either. Not if he had anything to say about it.

He stood up and looked around the room in shock. If it was not enough that his wife who he thought had been dead was actually sleeping next to him, he just suddenly thought that this room reminded him of some bad 70s' movie. He remembered someone talking about this show about the seventies. But he couldn't place the name of it.

Turning on the light of their bathroom, Mac turned to look in the mirror. Normally, Mac Taylor was not one to be vain and concerned with appearances, but then again he was also one that kept himself trim. Yet here he stood with several days of scruff standing on his chin. Looking hastily for his razor, it was to his utter dismay that there was no razor.

Okay, I'm an NYPD detective. Whatever is happening is obviously a dream. He splashed his face with water, hoping that this would clear away this sick trick his mind played on him. That when he opened his eyes everything would be back to normal. The apartment would be his. Claire could not be there. It was just not possible. Not logical. Therefore he had to conclude that this was, in fact, a dream.

It was not that he regretted seeing his dead wife there, but she was alive, and he was confused. And he loved his wife, but he also had eight years to piece his life back together. He had spent those years, partially mourning her loss and then getting over it, trying to find someone who could even begin to fill the massive crevasse she left in him. Something that only one person had been able to fill. Stella Bonasera. But now everything changed. Unless, this was a dream. But something felt off.

Drying off his face, he watched his wife sleep peacefully. Should he go over there? If this was a dream and he was positive that it was, the moment he approached her he would wake up. So as long as he stood here in this dream, he could enjoy this moment of pure bliss.

Yet like all good things, this did not last. He watched her sit up, yawning and smoothing the folds of a shirt that read something about Chicago. She looked at him then at the clock. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"What time is it?"

"Five, but you wanted to be there before seven so you could meet the team," she strained to remember the exact details of what he had said the night before. Of course, at five in the morning details were trivial compared to getting back to sleep.

Mac was about to say something about what team when he stopped himself. "Go to sleep, Claire. I'll wake you up before I go."

She waved him off as she crashed back into the pillow. He looked confused. He ran his hand through his hair as he debated what to do. He was sure this was a dream. It had to be. There was no other logical explanation. There couldn't be. Yet everything felt so real. Even in his worst dreams he always knew it wasn't real. He always seemed to know, but now, now he felt so lost. But maybe if he played along this dream would last instead of most dreams where he was left grasping for just a moment longer. Just a moment.

So he played along. He finished getting ready. He had no idea if it was 2001, 1987, or 1965. The only thing he knew is that he was not in 2009. He was somewhere else. What an interesting dream…

Interesting was to say the least. He looked at himself. He finally properly looked at himself. And then he saw. It wasn't just how many years he was back in time. He had aged backward, and he then pieced it together. He looked like he had two years after he had married Claire. Four years before she died. Four years…

He looked in his closet next because that was always the next part of the routine and the next part of this 'game'. He looked at his options, and was confused. This was the weirdest dream he had ever had. And his mind kept wandering back to his wife who shouldn't have been there. She was dead. She had left him. Alone. For eight years. Eight years. He had to focus on just waking up. The dream was just too painful.

Finally, ready (he did not really remember doing any of this as his mind was on other things) he decided to make himself and his wife breakfast. If this was really a dream, this wouldn't make much of a difference.

Half an hour later, Claire woke up to a strange smell- could it be food? That was weird. She walked into the kitchen. Mac was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. He looked utterly confused.

"You're supposed to read it," she told him plainly. He looked up.

"Oh, I know, it's just the date on here and the stories seem wrong," he sighed.

"Mac, I know it's hard to believe, but it's 1970 already." She watched as his face fell. "So how are those astronauts doing?"

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Mac knew at once that she was referring to the Apollo 13 mission to the moon. One that was called a successful failure.

"Well, I still want to read the article," she snatched the paper from his hands and flipped past the date which he caught from the corner of his eye. April 15th, 1970. He stood up quickly, his chair falling to the ground. He snapped out of his little daze and picked up the seat. She looked at him. "Surprised?"

His mind was racing through all the possible answers. "Umm… no… I was just wondering if you wanted breakfast. I did make it after all." He gave her a charming smile. Her face captured a picture perfect confused expression.

"Cause for concern, Claire?" He gave a chuckle, thinking all of this was crazy. Maybe he was high. It was the perfect time for it anyway. The world was completely messed up.

She rolled her eyes. "Mac, you never cook. And when you did, well, let's not dwell." He frowned. She smiled and tried a bite of what he had made. Studying it for a minute, she swallowed. "It's edible." She teased him. He smiled and realized how much he wished this was real. How much he wished he could sweep her up and…

"Well, thank you," he grinned at her. She looked at the clock and got up just as quickly as he had the minute before.

"Oh, you have to go," she frowned.

"I do?"

"You're the one who said that Captain Gerrard, I think, wanted to see you early."

"I did?" He was thoroughly confused by now and for good reason. He really had no idea what he was doing here. And this dream was strange. He had had many dreams where Claire was back. But none of them ever took place in 1970. And none of them ever included him going to work.

"Oh now you don't want to go to work. All it was in Chicago was work. So you know what? You're going to work," she smiled, and he saw the joy in her eyes. He had missed this in her. "And that's final."

He smiled, almost losing himself in the kiss she had now drawn him into. He relinquished a big sigh when she pushed him away. She smiled at this reaction. "Mac, go to work. I'll be here when you get back." What happened next surprised her. He frowned.

"Is that a promise?" His eyes had iced over, his expression unreadable. She thought he had been teasing her. He had occasionally been known to tease, but this, this was new.

"Yes, Mac. You're acting strange. Nervous?"

"I guess so," he sighed, looking back at her. Nervous could not even come close to what he was feeling. Confusion was a better word for his emotions. Even in the most hectic situation

"Isn't nervousness just fear of what is to come? And isn't fear something to confront?"

"Yes, I suppose. Now, I'm confused."

"Your words. Not mine," she smiled. "You should go. Confront your fear."

This brought a smile to his face. He remembered how Claire, Stella, and others would throw back his own words. Somehow it always brought a sense of peace to him. Something he would need in this chaotic dream.

"Now get going," she shooed him out. He reluctantly took an apartment key from where it lay on the table and ambled along outside. The precinct, being a few miles away, gave him ample amount of time to think.

Everything seemed so real. When he walked, he could feel the hot pavement under his feet. Even with the sun barely risen it was a blazing April morning. The strange weather for spring, however, remained the least of his worries. The sun beat down on the black shirt he was wearing as he moved down the street.

Now would have been an excellent time for him to turn back. Run home. Back to Claire. But something kept him moving. This sneaking suspicion that this was, in fact, as real as the day around him crept into his mind, not leaving even when he focused on what lay ahead of him. Work.

Work was his sanctuary after Claire had died. And now with her alive, would this dream ever end? If this wasn't a dream, then would everything be like it was before she died? She had already mentioned how everything was about work. Would it be now?

He took a deep breath and walked into the precinct. It looked to be emptying out as the night shift rolled over into the day shift. His steps slowed as he approached a dark wooden door that had a nameplate reading 'Captain Gerrard'.

He turned the crisp chrome handle and walked in.

A/N: Okay, I've done my research on the seventies as I wasn't alive in it, but if you have comments I'd love to know what they are. Also I'd love to know your thoughts. Please review. Have a great day! XD