DISCLAIMER: I do not own CSI:NY or anything associated with it. Just this fic, and that's all.:)
Detective Mac Taylor stood in front of the chain link fence surrounding the crater in the earth before him. In the crook of his elbow, he held a large red beach ball. He'd never ever wanted to be here again, yet he was. Here at Ground Zero; site of the worst terrorist attack on American soil in the twentieth century. Many lives had been snuffed out in a matter of seconds. Many victims never found. And Claire was one of them. Mac's wife had been working in the World Trade Center that fateful day in 2001, and when the call came out over the police radio, Mac had rushed to the scene with hundreds of other law enforcement and emergency personell. But try as he might, Mac couldn't concentrate on his job that day. All he thought about was Claire. Where was she? He never found out; he, like many others, never had the closure of a funeral. He was left wondering what had happened to his wife.
The cold winter wind blew stronger, swirling bits of paper, grit and dust around Mac. As he zipped his heavy coat and placed his hands in his pockets, he wondered if some of Claire's ashes weren't in the grit stinging his face. God, this was hard. It hadn't become any easier in the years since the tragedy. He looked up into the clouds, picturing the jet planes flying low toward the buildings that used to rise above Ground Zero. Did Claire hear them? Did she wonder what was up? She had to have; her office was on one of the floors impacted by flight 11 that morning. Visiting the site of such destruction and death was always hard on Mac, and now, over six years later, it was still emotionally devestating. But, as he thought of Peyton, he knew it was time to move on. He'd come to Ground Zero to say goodbye to Claire, and to the life they'd had together. Since he was a police officer, Mac could've gone in; but he didn't want to. If he were to make a clean break, then he'd have to say goodbye from the outside. Sighing, Mac transferred the ball to his hands, looking at it's smooth, shiny exterior.
"For six years," Mac said, not caring if passersby heard,
"I've kept this in the closet because it has your breath in it," he whispered, turning the sphere slowly in his fingers.
"But the time has come to let you go, Claire." The name came easily; used to be, he couldn't say it without choking up.
"So, I guess you could say I'm finally letting you exhale."
With that, Mac released the small valve on the ball's surface that had kept Claire's breath inside it all these years.
As the hiss of air signaled the ball's deflation, Mac hoisted it with all his might over the fence and into the air above Ground Zero. His shoulder muscles ached with the strength he'd put behind the throw, and he watched as the red orb arced gracefully through the air before landing to bounce along the ground beneath it.
"Goodbye for real this time," Mac said, feeling his own heart lightened by the simple gesture.
Peyton was his reality now, and he wanted nothing holding him back from a serious relationship with the dark-haired ME. Letting the ball go had been his final goodbye, and as Mac turned to leave the site, he looked back one last time to see the ball roll gently along the ground.
"Here is where I begin again," he said, and walked silently away, knowing he'd made his last visit to the place where his life had seemed to end all those years ago.
By letting go of his past, Mac had finally allowed himself to live again; guilt free, grief free, and hopeful.