Disclaimer: CSI NY and the characters don't belong to me - just the ideas in my story. No copyright infringement intended; no profit being made.
A/N: I just had to throw my hat into the ring of post-episode 9x05 fics. This is my take on what might have happened had Mac's "breakdown" scene continued just a bit longer. . . . Thanks to Quille for encouraging me to actually do something with this idea, as in the beginning I had no intention of pursuing it beyond it's birth as a mere daydream in my mind.
Starting Anew
"Mac!" Jo called after him as he ambled slowly down the street from the Lewis's apartment, heading in the opposite direction from where she'd noticed his truck parked as she'd exited the cab just a minute before. He may have instructed her to remain at the crime scene, but she couldn't bring herself to ignore the growing animosity between them since she'd inquired after his health. Having assured herself that Danny and Sheldon would be able to finish up without her, she'd hailed the first taxi she could find and headed towards the Lewis's, hoping she hadn't missed him. The taxi had pulled to a stop just in time for her to witness Mac sink down onto the stairway of the building, his emotions finally having gotten the best of him. He'd seemed broken, head hanging, eyes shielded behind his hands, shoulders sagging. Despite his being in public for all who might pass to see, the street was strangely deserted and she hadn't had the heart, or the nerve, to interrupt him, lost as he seemed in his private moment of anguish.
But now he seemed to be walking aimlessly away. Away from everything. And she couldn't just let him disappear into the night. Couldn't leave things as they were between them. Despite the quiet of the neighborhood, it appeared Mac hadn't heard her calling out to him earlier, as he hadn't reacted in the least to her voice. Or, perhaps, he had chosen not to, she thought worriedly, as she quickly crossed the street and called his name again.
"Mac! Please, wait!"
This time he came to an abrupt halt. But he didn't turn back to her, nor look in her direction.
Jo walked swiftly to catch up to him, her boot heels striking resoundingly on the sidewalk, each step kicking up a spray of water droplets from the remnants of an earlier rain. He still refused to acknowledge her approach, so she moved in front of him and stood, stock still, for a moment, simply staring into his eyes. Even in the dim light of the street lamp a few feet away, she could see the slight reddish tinge from when he'd started to cry on the stairs just a minute ago, detect the glistening of an unfallen tear in his left eye. She could also discern a flash of anger, presumably brought about by her sudden, unanticipated appearance. But more than anything, she could see the profound sadness, even fear, tainting their depths.
He inhaled loudly, rather shakily, she noted. It appeared he still hadn't quite recovered from his breakdown just a minute ago. He swallowed hard, his lips pinched into a taught line, and glared back at her.
"Dammit Jo, I told you to stay at the crime scene. That was an order."
She didn't flinch. And so we continue. She thought to herself. She steeled herself for another confrontation; but she wouldn't take this one lying down. "I'm not a dog Mac. I don't just follow commands without any consideration of the consequences of my actions."
Mac's eyes narrowed. "The 'consequences of your actions' are that you and Danny and Sheldon get to go home sometime before midnight because you stayed at the crime scene to help, like I told you to do." He crossed his arms, as if bracing himself against the wave of annoyance emanating from her scowl. She didn't immediately reply so he continued. "You may have taken over for me for months while I was out, but I'm back now. And I'm in charge, whether you like that or not. And I told you to stay. To stay at the crime scene, and to stay out of my personal business. If you're not able to follow my orders, Jo, then maybe you're not cut out to work this job anymore."
Jo raised her eyebrows, somewhat taken aback at just how damned obstinate he could be. But then, she supposed she hadn't really expected anything less. She let out a deep sigh, closing her eyes in frustration for a moment before responding as calmly as she could. "Oh Mac. Forget about the damn job for a minute. This is about you. You're well-being."
He uncrossed his arms, throwing them up in a gesture of annoyance. "I'm fine Jo. And if you keep intimating otherwise, then we're very quickly going to reach a point where I doubt we'll be able to continue working together. Get back to the Lab and do your job." He turned to leave.
She moved to block his path. "If you're really going to fire me over this, then go right ahead. Because if this is any indication of where we're headed, this is not the kind of working environment I want to be in. I thought we were close Mac. But you've been distancing yourself for a while now. At this point, we can't even have a conversation without it turning sour. We're starting to sound like Russ and I before our divorce."
"We're not married Jo; my personal life is none of your business. Go back to the Lab and leave me alone."
She groaned. "No, Mac. I don't want to. And I don't think you should be alone right now. Whether you choose to share with me what's going on, granted, that's your decision. I expect it's going to come out pretty soon whether you want it to or not. But know that in keeping it a secret, it's affecting you and those around you, both professionally and personally. And while you're busy trying to deal with it, all on your own, you're failing to see that you're self-destructing in the process and erecting barriers against those you should be moving closer to. Mac, we all care for you. I care for you. More than you seem to know. Or at least more than you're willing to acknowledge right now. And I couldn't live with myself if I just let you go on about your business as if there were nothing wrong. When it's clear to me that there is something very, very wrong. And whatever it is, it must be life-altering if it's enough to cause you to break down on those steps back there." She paused and swallowed, trying to push back the sudden surge of emotions surfacing. She continued, more softly. "Mac, please let me help you."
Mac bristled, having confirmed his suspicion that she'd been watching him for a while. 'Spying' on him for a while.
He pointed a finger at her menacingly. "Don't you dare presume to have some secret pathway into my psyche that gives you full access to my innermost thoughts. You can't know what was going through my mind back there. You have no idea."
She smiled forlornly. "Oh no? Ok. Then why don't you tell me what that was back there on the stairway."
"For Christ's sake Jo. How the hell would you feel if you had to tell a family that their son's body was finally recovered after 20 years of waiting. When it and the perp were right under our noses all along. Just a few goddamn blocks away."
She suddenly wished she'd pushed him to allow her to accompany him while making the notification. But she knew he'd have refused. She shook her head slightly, saddened as she imagined how the family must have felt to finally receive the news. How Mac must have felt as he delivered it. "Mac, we're the bearers of bad news more often than I care to think about; but this . . . what's happening with you, this is about something more. You know it. And I'm sorry, but I know it too."
He opened his mouth, intending to chastise her yet again for getting involved, for overstepping her bounds. But as he looked into her face, at the deep furrow in her brow, the sadness radiating from her eyes, he realized there was no anger, no enmity, not even a flicker of meddlesome curiosity. Only compassion, concern and deep affection.
And with that realization, the weight of everything suddenly descended upon him full force, to heavy for him to push aside any longer. The weight of the Lewis case. The weight of his condition; of keeping it a secret for so long. The weight of Christine's distrust in him; and what'd he'd done to further entrench it. And finally the weight of forsaking one of his closest friends at the Lab, who he knew was merely trying to help him. He took an unsteady step sideways, seeking to balance himself under the avalanche of feelings, crashing down upon him all at once.
His mouth still open, the words finally spilled out, unbidden, unexpected, unrehearsed.
"Jo, I . . . I have anomic aphasia – a difficulty remembering certain basic words. From a lapse in the blood flow to my brain, after the shooting. It can be reversible on its own; but the doctors say I've passed that point. For now, all I can do is rehab – picture games, verbal exercises. Like I'm back in preschool. That, and . . . just hope for the best." He ran his hand slowly, shakily down his face, as if trying to wipe away the emotions surging through him.
He was frustrated, she could hear it in his tone, but that frustration quickly morphed into bitterness, and he nearly spat the next words at her. "So. There you have it. Are you happy? Now you know. And there's not a damn thing you can do, Jo." Almost as quickly as it had surfaced, the bitterness receded, to be replaced by an unexpected wave of despair and his final words choked in his throat. "Not. A damn. Thing." He slammed his eyes closed, turning his head away from her, his hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose. Jo could see the muscle in his jaw twitching from the effort of keeping his emotions in check.
Jo hesitated a moment, then took a tentative step towards him. Not at all certain of how he might react. But his eyes were still closed and he hadn't even noticed her movement. She took one more step, reaching out to place a tender, reassuring hand on his upper arm. He started slightly at the feel of her touch on him. But he didn't back away; didn't even open his eyes. She moved closer yet, encircling him gently with her arms. His body remained stiff, unyielding to her touch. But he stayed, still unmoving, in her embrace.
His words rang through her head. 'There's not a damn thing you can do Jo.' She shook her head slightly, trying to chase away that suffocating feeling of complete isolation he'd revealed. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "That's not true Mac. I can do something. I can be your friend."
She paused. He waited. Expecting her to continue. Anticipating her next flurry of words. Would he be able to continue at work. When would he tell the team. Had he told Christine yet. But she remained silent, merely holding him, not moving, barely breathing. Slowly, the tension in his body began to resolve. Hesitantly, he reached his arms up to join in the embrace, leaning into her slightly. Thankful for someone to finally share the burden that had become nearly all-encompassing over the past twenty-four hours.
They remained like that for nearly a minute, wrapped together in silence, until finally, he stirred slightly. She loosened her grip around him, not pulling away herself, but making sure she didn't prevent him from doing so when he was ready.
His arms finally fell slowly to his side and he backed away from her, his gaze cast downwards.
"Let me drive you home Mac."
He shook his head, not yet ready to look her in the eye. "The Lab is fine."
"Nonsense. You need a decent night's sleep and that's not going to happen at the Lab. There's nothing there that can't wait 'til morning. I'm taking you home."
"No!"
His response was sudden, with what sounded like a tinge of desperation, and she glanced at him curiously. Jo watched as his shoulders sagged noticeably and she assumed that perhaps there was some issue involving Christine. Sheldon had mentioned they'd seemed to have had an argument in the Lab earlier. Jo looked down a moment. She was well aware that, while Mac had been the source of any problems that might exist between those two right now, she herself had most likely been the catalyst for anything that transpired since she'd had coffee with Christine earlier. She looked back up at him. "Christine?" She voiced quietly.
He sighed. Damn her perceptiveness. But she was right. And he was too tired to deny it.
For the first time since their embrace, Mac looked her in the eye. "I'm . . . not certain where we stand right now. She's got keys to my place. I'm just not ready to . . ." He trailed off, averting his gaze again, shaking his head at the seeming futility of his life right now. He didn't expect Christine to show up unannounced, certainly not after his curt dismissal of her in his office; but he certainly wasn't ready to engage her right now on the off chance that she did. He needed to do some thinking before he would feel comfortable enough trying to resolve the horrible situation he'd managed to erect between the two of them.
Jo nodded. "Of course. But soon. She loves you, Mac. You're frightening her."
"I just can't tonight."
"I know. Then come back to my place."
"No." He shook his head adamantly, a look of defiance passing over his features.
"Then I'll check you into a hotel." Her hands made their way to her hips, her expression mirroring his.
"Jo."
"I'm serious Mac. Your place, my place, a hotel. Those are the choices. You need to rest."
He shook his head, but didn't respond. He was too exhausted to continue on this course.
Jo sighed, shaking her head. "You are too stubborn for your own good, Mac Taylor. Just come home with me. Ellie's at a friend's for the night. I'll take her room. You can sleep in mine." She saw him move to protest yet again and she cut him off with a pointed look. "It's not up for debate. We're both too old to be flipping a coin for who takes the couch, Mac." He caught the tinge of humor in her voice but couldn't seem to muster the energy needed to turn his mouth upwards into even a weak smile. She nodded her head in the direction of the Avalanche and, seeing him nod ever so slightly in acquiescence, turned and began to walk back up the street.
They covered the short distance back to the truck in silence. As they approached, Mac fumbled in his pocket for the keys and handed them over to her. She unlocked the passenger door and pulled it open for him. Just before getting in, he turned back to face her, his look stern. The sadness, the resignation, evident during their earlier conversation now hidden again behind his usual mask of professionalism.
"I still don't appreciate you sticking your nose in my personal business."
She looked closely at his face. He was serious. But not angry this time. "I know." She replied matter of factly, fixing him with a stare. "And I don't appreciate you closing yourself off from those who care about you. So we're even. We can always start anew in the morning."
He frowned slightly, but turned nonetheless and climbed into the truck. They exchanged stern glances, then Jo gave the door a slight push before turning to walk to the other side. Before it slammed, Mac caught it with his hand. "Jo?" She paused, looking back at him quizzically.
He glanced at her through the crack of the nearly closed door, his features notably softer than just a few seconds ago. "Thank you. I do appreciate your friendship. I hope you know that." Swallowing a number of choice retorts that flashed through her mind, she merely nodded in response. He nodded back and closed the door. He realized he probably should have apologized to her. But then she hadn't done so either. He let out a long sigh as he clasped his seat belt. Perhaps she was right. Tomorrow, he could start anew.