Death and Life
Summary: Mac holds his new god-daughter, and thinks.
Danny's text appears on his phone, just after he says goodbye to Neville. It's time. The baby is coming. He knows his CSI wants him there. He's been insisting on it for weeks. So he turns, and heads for the hospital. Hops in a cab and tells him he'll get double fare if he makes it fast. As he settles into the seat, his mind is spinning. Going over the oddness of the day. The tragic death of a teenager two years ago. The lives he saved today with his investigation. And...the life he's about to witness being born.
He's surrounded by death. Every day, he sees it. Every day, he makes it his job to hunt down those responsible for untimely deaths, to make them pay for what they've done. Every day, he goes down to Autopsy, and asks Sid for answers. 'How did this happen?' Then he goes back to his office, and his team pieces together the 'why'.
He sees more dead bodies in a week than most people see in their lives. Victims of homicide. Victims of suicide. Victims of accidents, and so many more. Not all are innocent, but enough of them are to give him stomachaches. And of course, the worst cases, those involving children or young women. Some days he even goes to bed and dreams of the dead, pleading with him to find answers for them. Sometimes, the perps choose 'suicide by cop' as preferable to a life sentence, and he finds himself filling out the incident paperwork, detailing how he, or a member of his team, took a man's life at gunpoint.
Of course, there's life too. Innocents he clears. People he can provide closure to. People he can help. He has, of course, several emails of people who hate him, who threaten him, but he has just as many saying thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping. Thank you for locking that guy up so I can sleep at night. Thank you for keeping me out of jail. Thank you. Lives he's touched. Lives he's saved.
In particular, he remembers Ella. He arrested her mother for her father's murder. Only later he learned how tragically alone she was. When she tried to get his attention, following him in the grocery store, inviting him to dinner. Even planting false evidence in a case. Remembers when his anger became the trigger to drive her to suicide, and his compassion the trigger to helping her live, and rebuild her life.
They're good friends, now. She has her life, with her friends, working and slowly immersing herself in the world of normal human relationships. She no longer seeks his attention so desperately. He's glad, in a way. This is better for her.
He remembers the death that changed his life. Claire. One moment, one awful moment on the worst day in American history. The day the Twin Towers fell. The day the center of his life was torn from him, leaving a gaping wound from which he's never quite recovered. It's scarred over, some days he can even pretend it's fine. But not always.
And life. Reed, whom he met a few years ago, by chance. Claire's son, though not his. Reed has a family, but Mac made it his business to get to know him. They've become friends, and though they sometimes clash, and fiercely, Mac is extremely proud of the young man. If he ever had a son, he would want one like Reed. At times, he thinks the young journalism student knows, and comes by to fulfill the role, or as near as he can. He's never asked, those days when Reed pops up, just to share a burger and a drink, and talk a little. About Claire. About their jobs. About life in general. Even the questions a boy would normally ask his father, advice on life, which sometimes drop into their conversation. Comforting and heartwarming. Mac values every moment of those times, and blesses whatever force of fate, nature or God, that brought the young man into his life.
He remembers Peyton too. His first serious relationship after Claire's death. Their parting wasn't on the best of terms. Or rather, the ending of their relationship wasn't. It ended in a letter and an apology, and some days he still isn't sure he's forgiven her for it. But it reminded him that he did know how to love. And as much as it broke his heart, the time before that thawed the ice in him a little, and for that, he's always generous in his thoughts towards her.
He arrives at the hospital, pays the cabby without thinking about the money, and heads for the door. And suddenly, he's strangely nervous. He's never attended a birth before. Never seen a life brought into this world. Now, he's going to watch as his two youngest team members bring forth a child. A miracle. A wonder. It feels odd, but good, striding into the hospital, riding up to join the others as they wait for the expected infant cries. It feels as if he's a part of something...precious. Special. Something more wondrous than anything he's ever done before.
As he stands in the waiting room, with the rest of the team, he's reminded of the events of a few weeks prior. It involved a neo-Nazi, a former Nazi hiding as a Jew, some stolen heirlooms, and one homicide. He remembers all the details well, after all, it was fairly recent. It was also one of the few times where he really lost his temper with a felon. To hear the old man sit there, trying to pretend he hadn't killed thousands of innocents, that he was actually a member of the race he despised, that had ticked him off. Especially with the man trying to lie to his face, with the evidence sitting on the table between them. But, as vividly as he remembers that, the strongest memory is what came after.
He remembers watching a tape, of a man rescued from the concentration camp. His respect for the old man, and for the soldier he describes. A kind, generous, wonderful man, who took from the darkness, gave him food and clothing, and restored his faith in God. It was a touching, almost heart-wrenching story, bringing a lump to his throat. All that emotion converted into wonder and love when the survivor names the soldier who inspired such emotion. His father. Private Mackenna Taylor. The knowledge, of what his father had done, the lives he touched and changed in such a wonderful way, leaves him covering his face, swallowing back tears of mingled love and pride.
He remembers sitting awkwardly in a living room as he tells a victim's only surviving relative of those terrible times that the man who betrayed and murdered her cousin has been captured, and brought to justice. Remembers handing back the heirloom that was stolen, with his hopes that it will ease her heart.
Remembers her standing, her kiss like a benediction on his brow, and her voice telling him of the Jewish rite by which they celebrate the anniversary of the dead. And then, the wonder, the emotion closing his throat as she pulls out a skullcap and scarf, and turns to him. Her words. "Usually, we light this candle for mourning. But this time, it will be for celebration." Her hands, holding out the cap. "Do you have someone you wish to honor?"
There and then, there's only one answer he can think of. "My father." And so he dons the skullcap, watches her light the candle, and listens to the prayers and songs she recites. Listens to her celebrate and mourn her cousin's death, and his fathers. And in celebrating their deaths, he understands the two of them are celebrating their lives as well. He doesn't know the words, and the culture is not his own, but the light of the candle is entrancing, and the memory stays with him, powerful and warm within his soul.
The cry of a baby jerks him from his thoughts. Like everyone else, he moves forward, to see the doctors cleaning and wrapping a small bundle, placing the child in Lindsey's arms, while Danny smiles widely in relief. They give the new family a moment alone, then crowd in with well wishes and congratulations.
He laughs with the others when Stella jokingly comments, "I hate to say it Danny, but she looks just like you."
The words that come a minute later from his youngest team members leave him stunned, almost breathless in surprise. "Mac. We did agree on one thing." "We were hoping...that you would consider being the godfather."
Godfather. A part of this child's life. He's floored, and can practically feel his jaw hitting the tiles. Then, joy and pride replaces everything else. He's honored beyond words, at the trust these two people are placing in him. At the gift they have just given him. The responsibility, and right, of being part of raising a child. He wants to say so many things, but all that emerges is, "Absolutely. Yes."
He's still trying to process it, still trying not to blush at Flack's joke about godfather being synonymous with diaper-changer, when Stella turns and gently but firmly places the infant in his arms.
He can't stop his startled exclamation. "Woah." He doesn't even want to stop his instinctual reaction, as his arms come up to cradle the tiny baby girl. She's not much bigger than the length of his forearm. She feels light but warm in his arms. And lively, shifting restlessly in her blanket cocoon. One tiny hand, encased in a mitten, has come free of the blanket wrapping, and is waving awkwardly and unsteadily in his direction. Within seconds, she's cradled in his arms, her head nestled into the crook of his elbow, her eyes looking into his.
"So, do I get to spoil her?" He tosses off the quip, partly because he knows it's expected, partly to hide the lump in his throat, and the emotion written across his expression. He's relieved when Stella begins producing bags, turning the attention away from him.
He thought witnessing a birth was wondrous. But holding the child, realizing that he will be a part of her life, and she a part of his, is a wonder beyond anything he's ever felt. The only feeling that comes close is the day he led Claire to the altar. Wonderful, breathtaking happiness that wells from his heart and nearly brings tears to his eyes. He cradles the little girl in his arms, astounded by the miracle he's become a part of. The miracle of life. He even pulls her just the tiniest bit closer, to feel the small, rapid heartbeat, pounding through the blankets and his shirt, into his chest. Feeling the warmth of the tiny fragile life in his arms, praying that his own warmth will pass to her, telling her without words that she is safe, protected, and loved.
It reminds him of something a deaf woman once told him. "You speak with your eyes." As the others 'ohh' and 'ahh' over the baby clothes, including the ones he picked out, he looks into the child's eyes. He promises himself that, for as long as they're both alive, she will always find love and comfort in his gaze. That she will always look into his eyes and know that she is safe. That someone is watching over her. He knows her parents will give her all of that, and more, but he swears in that moment that she will never lack a friend. Never lack his support and encouragement, in addition to Danny and Lindsey's love. And that, whenever she looks into his eyes, she'll know it.
He's not sure he'll ever be the man his father was, the man described on that video. But, as long as he lives, as long as he has this child to watch out for, he'll do his best. He wants her to have that example as well. Wants her to look up, to watch videos and be proud of the people in her life. He doubts she'll have any problem with Lindsey and Danny, they are amazing, but he wants her to be proud of him too.
As he walks away that night, leaving proud new parents and an exhausted new family to it's rest, he's amazed. He's seen so much death, so much struggle for life. And the feel of one baby's heartbeat, melding with his own, has made it all worthwhile. That one instant, of looking into her eyes, is worth everything. Everything he's seen, everything he will see, is worth that one instant of revelation, this one tiny miraculous life he has become linked to.
Six weeks later, he attends the christening of Lucy Messer. His god-daughter. And holding the child in his arms, responding to the promises to care for her and teach her, he knows...life is good.