Of Good Films, Chinese Food, and Conversation.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the writers of CSI: NY
Notes: WeirdWaystoDie is a real, and very interesting book by Richard Doyle, published in 1991 by Berkeley.
Mac winced in pain as he shifted impatiently in his chair. Stella, busy talking, didn't notice. Mac sneaked a glance at his watch. Stella had come by over an hour ago, supposedly to drop off some more paperwork now that the case was closed. Noticing Peyton's absence, she'd begun questioning him about her visit. Mac had dodged her questions until she relented and started talking about...well, he wasn't sure what she was talking about now. Something to do with some man she was seeing who had some kind of issue with his ex or his mother or his cat or something. Mac cared for every member of his team and would do whatever he could to help them with any problems they had, but Stella just seemed to be venting rather than looking for a solution. Normally, Mac was happy to act as a sounding board for his friend, but this problem seemed, well, more like the kind of thing Stella should share with Lindsay. Then Lindsay could complain to Stella about whatever issues of Danny's were bugging her lately. That kind of chat was something women shared with each other, or with their hairdressers, in Mac's personal opinion. Plus, TaxiDriver was on HBO in half an hour and Mac had been looking forward to watching it. He just couldn't think of a way to politely make Stella stop talking and get her to leave. Plus, his ribs ached as did his wrist. Running around thwarting a terrorist attack was probably not the best way to recover from a three-storey fall. And he was hungry, too. He wanted more Chinese food. He wanted to relax.
'So anyway, Theo said...' Stella's flow of natter was interrupted by a sharp couple of raps on the door.
'I'll get it,' Stella said.
Mac nodded, hoping she might realize the time from the clock by the door and leave, go and see this Theo of hers and his cat (or did he live with his mother? Or his mother and the cat? Mac didn't have a clue),
'Hey, Mac, buddy, I thought I'd drop by to see ya,' Don Flack said, coming into the main area of Mac's apartment. He was dressed down in a long sleeved blue sweatshirt and scruffy jeans. In one hand he held a bag of potato chips and dip, and a six pack of beer hung from his other hand.
Despite his discomfort, Mac smiled genuinely at the sight of his friend.
'Hey, Don,' he said.
'Can I have one of those beers?' Stella said as Flack put everything down on Mac's coffee table.
Flack took one look at Mac's face and read something in his friend's eyes. He shot Mac a slight half-smile then turned to Stella.
'No can do, Stella, this is a guy night. Single men only. Football, beer, and chips. Absolutely no girls allowed.'
'But...'
'But nothing, Stell. Sorry, but that's the rules. You wouldn't want Mac and me crashing one of your and Lindsay's regular girly nights out, would you?'
As he spoke, Flack had taken Stella's arm in a gentle but firm grip and was escorting her to the door. Mac had seen him use that grip before, usually to escort people with pointless or just plain crazy complaints out of the precinct. Polite but firm, giving the person in question no chance to linger.
'I...I guess not,' Stella said, 'I'll see you tomorrow, Mac.'
'Bye, Stella,' Mac said, feeling relief as Flack closed the door behind her.
Flack returned and flopped on Mac's couch, grinning.
'Thanks for that, Don,' Mac said.
'No problem,' Don said, 'Stella means well, but she can be a little...too much, sometimes, right?'
Mac smiled.
'Yeah,' he said.
'So,' Flack said, 'A certain geeky little lab bird tells me you like TaxiDriver. It's a damn good film, and it's on in half an hour. But I felt kinda pathetic sitting down with a six pack and a big bag of chips all on my lonesome to watch it, so I thought maybe I'd drop by and see if you wanna watch it together. Plus, I'm hungry, and there's that fantastic Chinese place just around the corner from here, they'll deliver right to your door. I know you have to watch how much you drink on those painkillers of yours, but I figured you'd be more than okay with a couple. You look like you need them. So, you up for it?'
Mac's smile broadened.
'Absolutely,' he said.
He was glad Don had come. His ribs and wrist hurt, and if he was honest, he was feeling downright weary, from a combination of the physical strain of the case and the aftermath of the attack, and the whole thing with Peyton reappearing had done a number on him, too. He had felt restless and frustrated ever since coming back from the precinct after closing the case, and only now that Don was here with the offer of food and movie did he really realize just how much all that had been weighing on him, and just how much he *needed* what Flack referred to as a 'guy night'.
Mac sighed as he leaned back in his chair, but not from pain this time. The pain was still there, dully throbbing away, but he felt comfortable, relaxed, and full. TaxiDriver had just finished. His coffee table was littered with empty Chinese cartons from the rather large meal he and Flack had enjoyed which included beef in black bean and green pepper sauce, more of the delicious spicy orange chicken, and satay chicken. There were five empty beer bottles, three of which Flack had drunk, Mac only having two because he was still on painkillers and had to watch his drinking. Flack had seemed more than happy to take up the slack. Normally the mess would bother Mac, but not tonight. He'd clear it up later. Flack came through from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs of coffee, and handed one to Mac. Mac sipped, relishing the flavour and heat of it.
'So, what have I missed at the lab?' Mac said.
Flack sipped his own coffee.
'Well, let's see...Chief Sinclair came to the lab to see how Stella was coping while you were off, and Adam was coming down the hall totally focused on his iPhone, and he bumped right into Sinclair and spilt his coffee down the Chief's shirt.' Flack grinned, 'It was hilarious. Sinclair was due at a press conference in an hour, and he really wasn't pleased. Adam looked like he was about to wet his pants, and he got all stuttery and nervous. Sinclair had to leave straight away to rush home and get a fresh shirt. Danny's been teasing Adam about it ever since.'
Mac chuckled.
'What else?' Flack said, 'Oh yeah, Sid's being all creepy again, he's got this book called WeirdWaystoDieand he keeps sharing these gross stories from it with me, like one about a guy who died when he got a live fish stuck in his mouth, I mean, freaky or what?'
Mac laughed again. 'Actually, I gave him that book. I saw it in a used bookstore months ago, and his birthday was coming up, how could I not get it for him?'
Flack scowled mock-seriously,
'Well, thanks a lot, Taylor, you just made a weird guy even weirder.'
They laughed together, and Mac winced.
'Seriously, Don, you have to stop, it still hurts when I laugh,'
'Serves you right for leaving me with that lot for a whole week,' said Don, grinning.
'I'll be back as soon as I can,' Mac said, 'Being stuck at home is driving me nuts.'
'Even with a visit from the lovely Peyton?' Flack asked. 'I half expected to find her here tonight.'
'Peyton's gone home,' Mac said, quietly
'Is that a good thing or a bad thing?'
Mac sighed.
'You know, I'm still not a hundred percent sure on that, Don. It was great seeing her again, and I got the feeling that she...that she maybe wanted to start things up again. We had this moment...' he hesitated, unsure how to explain the feelings that moment with Peyton had stirred in him, the mix of wariness and confusion and longing.
Flack sat silent, waiting for Mac to continue, but somehow managing to convey that if he chose to change the subject, he wouldn't protest. Mac liked that about Flack, that he never pressured him to talk but rather just waited for him to decide whether he wanted to talk.
'We decided we'd be better staying friends,' Mac said, 'I belong here and she belongs with her family in England, it wouldn't be fair on either of us to try and make a long-distance relationship work.'
Flack nodded.
'I know you cared for her a lot, and she made you happy. I'm sorry things didn't work out, Mac.'
Mac nodded.
'But,' Flack continued, a sly smile creeping across his face, 'I see you have a very nice orchid over there, with a nice card from a certain Dr Aubrey Hunter. I assume this is the same, very pretty Aubrey Hunter who I met in the hospital when I came to see you? She seemed very...attentive.'
Mac felt his face flush slightly.
'Aubrey is a friend,' he said, 'We've been on a couple of dates. She's...very nice.'
'She is,' Flack agreed, 'And, you know, me and Jess were friends for a long time, and look how we ended up,'
Mac watched as Flack's teasing smile faded a little, and pain flashed in his eyes. The mention of Angell clearly brought both happy memories and pain. Mac knew that feeling all too well. Good memories could be a blessing or a curse.
'I still miss her, Mac,' Don said so softly Mac barely heard him. The look of surprise that flashed on Flack's face suggested he hadn't quite meant to let that slip out. He met Mac's eyes for a second, and Mac felt a sharp tug of understanding and sadness for his friend in his chest. Don's eyes were now focused on his coffee, with a fierce concentration. He swallowed and said, 'She died almost a year ago, and I still miss her so bad it hurts. I just, I...' he shook his head as if unable to find words to express himself.
'You just want her back,' Mac said, softly.
Don looked up, met Mac's eyes.
'Yeah,' he said. 'Stupid, right?'
'No, Don. I still miss Claire. Even now I find myself expecting to find her next to me in the morning, here when I get home. Not often, now, but sometimes. As for missing her, I miss her every day. That hasn't stopped just because I've dated other women.'
Don watched Mac as he talked. He saw the pain in his friend's eyes and heard it in his voice, and knew that this was the reason he had been able to admit how much he missed Jess to him, and why, just a few months ago, it had been Mac who had been able to drag him out of that awful fog of rage and self-pity and grief and booze that could have gotten him killed. He remembered the barely-restrained anger in Mac's eyes and voice when he finally confronted him, and the terrible guilt he'd felt at realizing he'd hurt his friend. But more than that, what made Flack respond to Mac, then and now, was the understanding that Mac knew the loss he had experienced, knew the agony of grief and anger he felt in it's aftermath, and still felt now. Because Mac had been right there himself, and, Don realized, was still there now, just like he was.
'I keep remembering the sound of her voice on the phone,' he said, unable to stop the flow of words now, 'And then that awful silence...I've never been that terrified in my life, Mac.'
Mac nodded.
'I never told anyone this before, Don,' he said softly. Mac paused. Saying the words, even thinking them, brought back the memory, jagged and painful and real. He swallowed hard. He needed to say them, just as Flack had needed to open up about Angell's death.
'I was on the phone with Claire when she died,' he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Don's eyes widened, but he kept quiet. Mac continued, his voice rough with emotion,
'She...she got out of the North Tower and called me. I told her to get away, to keep going up town. Then the second plane hit the South Tower, and I...she was gone.'
He closed his eyes, remembering that horrible, empty silence on the other end of the phone as he screamed Claire's name, remembered rushing down to the site, seeing the devastation, and knowing, deep down, that there was no way she could have escaped.
'Mac,' Flack said softly.
Mac opened his eyes and met Don's, and saw his own loss and pain mirrored there.
'I'm so sorry,' Flack said gently. 'I know how galling and insincere those words can seem, but I mean it.'
Mac nodded. He'd heard those two words many times, more than he ever wanted to count, but only a very few times had they been spoken with genuine understanding and sincerity. Flack's eyes and voice showed not a trace of the wary pity that not even Stella was able to avoid whenever the subject of Claire came up.
He nodded.
'Thank you, Don. I'm sorry about Jess. You know that, don't you?'
Flack nodded.
'I know.' he replied, his voice low but rough with barely-concealed emotion.
They exchanged slight smiles of understanding, both tinged with the grief of their loss.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, both lost in memory.
'Well, I better be going,' Flack said eventually, 'My Lt. wants a meeting at 7am tomorrow morning.'
Mac rose, wincing slightly at the pain in his ribs.
'You okay, buddy?' Flack asked, and something in his tone told Mac he wasn't just referring to his injuries, but to the whole situation with Peyton, and what he'd confessed about his last moments with Claire. Mac smiled slightly.
'My ribs are still bothering me a bit, but I'm...' he almost said 'fine', but bit back the word, 'I'm doing better,' he said, finally, truthfully, as he walked Flack to the door.
'Thanks for coming over, Don,' he added as he let Flack out into the hallway, 'I needed company tonight.'
Flack smiled.
'No problem. Looking forward to seeing you back at work,' he said. He turned away, then paused and turned back,
'Hey, Mac, about your ribs still bothering you, I think I may have an idea to help you with that problem,' Flack said, his face serious.
'What?' Mac asked, puzzled.
Flack's lips curved into a devilish smirk, and his eyes glittered,
'You think Dr Aubrey pays house calls? Given how...attentive she was to you in the ER, and given that you're 'friends', I bet she would.' he said, make air commas around the word 'friends'.
Mac felt his cheeks flush red and he heard Flack chuckle.
'Get outta here, Don,' he said in a mock-exasperated tone, grinning, still feeling a little flustered by Don's teasing and the knowing look in his eye.
Flack raised his hands, the picture of innocence.
'Hey, I was just sayin',' he said, chuckling again. 'You take care, Mac.'
'You too, Don,' Mac said.
Don turned and walked down the hall to the elevator. Mac closed and locked the door behind him. Slowly, cautious still of his sore ribs, he washed in the bathroom and then went into his bedroom. Pulling his black t-shirt over his head, wincing at the pain it caused in his ribs, he changed into the white t-shirt he slept in. He undid his pants and pulled them off, then in t-shirt and boxers, lay down in bed. He felt relaxed and happy from his evening with his friend, and much as it had hurt to open up about his final conversation with Claire, he felt that in finally sharing it with someone, especially someone who understood that experience completely, had lifted a weight off his shoulders, one he hadn't realized had been so heavy until he'd shared the load with someone else.
Mac closed his eyes. His last thought before he fell asleep, rather than being about a case, was that maybe he would take Flack's advice and give Aubrey a call the next day to see if she was free for dinner or a coffee. The thought brought a slight smile to his lips as he slowly drifted into sleep.
The End.