Bar Comforts
By Dimgwrthien
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.
Mac had met Claire in the July of 1980, a long while before he was shipped out to Beirut. Before he left, she waved to him, too cautious and shy to give a first kiss to a man who could come back a corpse, but he knew what her gesture meant. He gave her a quick hug, waved, and left, trying to not think of the circumstances.
The real story, however, began as Mac got off the flight back.
Claire met him in the terminal just before Christmas, seeing how much different he looked from the scared boy from a Chicago suburb who was trying to get away from home. It was obvious that he was a bit burnt around the edges, a little thinner, a little more bandaged up than she wanted to see him. However, it was the same Mac she knew from before.
Although, it wasn't quite the same Mac. The Mac she had met in the previous months was a smart and serious boy, but he seemed free around her. They had gone to bars, gotten drunk once or twice, had fun in general. However, Claire sat beside him in the bar that night, both of them nursing bottles of beer. Mac seemed determined to stare a hole through the center of the table.
She had asked him at least ten minutes in the past few hours if he was alright, and he always nodded to her. Claire had learned better than to ask him again. This time, however, Mac started talking without her asking.
"Have you ever seen what a building looks like when it collapses?"
Claire shook her head. After all, she considered - she was only twenty-seven and thanked whoever was above every day that she didn't need to see what that sort of thing looked like.
"You can't see it," Mac told her, taking a sip from his bottle. He drank beer very slowly, Claire noticed, as though he never wanted to finish the bottle. She didn't think she had ever seen him finish a bottle. "It's too dusty to even see your own hands. You can't even open your eyes half the time. You can just hear. It's one of those growling sounds" - he curved his free hand into a claw as though to explain his point more, and his voice grew rougher - "that you can't get out of your mind. And sometimes you can hear people, but more often than not, they're already dead."
"Mac," Claire hissed, not angry, but scared about that look in his eyes. "Mac, don't do this."
He fell completely silent, finally looking at her. His eyes didn't seem right, Claire thought, and neither did his expression. He only pulled a few bills from his pocket and placed him on the table before getting up and leaving the bar. Claire followed him outside.
Instead of asking how he was doing, Claire just watched him. Mac stood on the busy street, staring out across the traffic, watching the hazy horizon that was illuminated only by the lights of the buildings. It was cold out, Claire noticed, but Mac didn't seem to notice, even wearing a thin dress shirt. She rubbed her bare arms. "Do you want a ride home?" she asked, not daring to go any closer to him.
Mac let out a sigh that almost sounded like the shuddering breath just before a person cries. Claire had never seen him look at all weak, and it shocked her to see the sudden change. He didn't face her as he accepted her invitation.
Claire walked to the curb, opening the passenger door for him. He got in slowly, locking the door after himself. Having grown used to Mac leaning over and unlocking her door, it took Claire a minute to get into the car. Mac continued to stare out his window as she drove out onto the street, managing to get past most of the traffic lights.
"Did you want to talk about anything?" she asked him.
Mac leaned back in his seat, letting out a harsh breath. "I'm sorry, Claire. I didn't mean to do that to you."
"It's alright," she reassured him, turning the steering wheel hard to get onto one of the side streets. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, too scared of seeing that look he had since he returned. "When I say that I'm here for you all the time, that's the kind of thing I mean." She reached over the armrest, holding his hand. It had been ages since she last had the chance to touch him more than on the shoulder. There had been days during the time he was away that she regretted never having kissed him goodbye. For those months, she never gave any other man a glance, even when they bought her drinks at the bar she and Mac usually sat at.
Mac tightened his grip to her, a nice presence that she had forgotten. His hands were warm, more warming than the vents in the car, and they were rough. She liked the rough feel more than velvet because it draws her back to earth better than any soft hands ever could. It showed that Mac was a hard-working boy who didn't know when to stop. Claire wanted to sit there for eternity, memorizing every bit of his hands with every sense she had - feeling out the rough flesh of his knuckles, smelling the soap he used to wash his hands with…
Once on the highway, Claire glanced at the clock. She became used to timing how long it took her to get out of Chicago and onto her street. The lights from the cars around her seemed to tie her to earth just as well as Mac's grip. She knew that otherwise she could fly off in ecstasy of having Mac and the fear that people could be horrible enough to have such an effect on Mac.
"Did you want to come over for a while?" Claire asked him, turning slightly to see the edge of his jaw and cheekbone. He continued to stare out the window, eyes following a blue car.
"If you don't mind," he answered. Claire nodded and put on her turn signals to get into the right lane. Her exit crept into view slower than she wanted, and her eyes trailed back to the clock to believe how slow the trip seemed.
When she did pull into her driveway, she finally let go of Mac's hand slowly. He seemed unwilling to let go of her, but he got out of the car and followed her up to her front door. Claire looked at her car keys, finding the house key on the same chain. She let Mac enter first, letting him feel against the wall to turn on the lights.
He turned on the light for the front hall, leaving them to enter the kitchen to turn on that light. The room warmed up immediately. Claire opened the refrigerator door and pulling out a carton of orange juice. She poured out two glasses and handed one to Mac. Claire had always liked orange juice. It reminded her of those days when she was a kid, sick in bed, with her mother tucking her in, leaving a big glass near her bed.
"You tired?" Claire asked him, trying to make a stab at conversation. Even if the conversation was one that would lead to sleeping, it was something.
"A bit," Mac answered.
They finished off their drinks, heading into the bedroom. From the long while they had known each other, it became a custom to keep at least an extra change of their clothes at the other's house. Claire reached into her closet, tossing Mac his pajamas that he left there. He caught them, then turned toward the bathroom.
"Mac," she called after him. He turned slightly, facing her. "You know you can get dressed in here. You do half of the time."
"Alright." The two got dressed at opposite sides of the room. Claire was pulling on an oversized shirt when she noticed a bandage wrapped around his chest.
"What happened?" she asked, trying to take off her jeans as she walked toward Mac. He turned, letting her see the white bandage wrapped around his torso above his stomach. "Are you alright?"
"Just an injury," he passed off, unfolding his shirt. When Claire continued to examine it, he explained it. "I got a bit of a burn. I'm perfectly fine."
"Sure you don't need anything for it?" she asked, tracing the bandage with a finger.
"I'll be fine," Mac reassured her. "Let's - let's just spend a night as though nothing had ever happened. I've been here the whole time, I've gotten to watch you, we've spent hours and hours together." He cupped her cheek and kissed the opposite one.
Claire climbed into the bed with Mac's stomach touching her back, one arm touching her arm. The fabric of his shirt rubbed against her arm. It was more relaxing than any other night of sleep she had had in the past few months.