Disclaimer: CSI:NY doesn't belong to me; neither does the part of a poem in here, that's by Goethe.
Clouds are slowly drifting across the sky. Stretching out fraying fingers towards the horizon, peeking over the edge of the world. Meeting companions that have just been drawn up from the earth. Spirits congregating, pearls billowing, blending, becoming one.
Dead uncharacteristic for Mac Taylor to be lying there, to be lying anywhere stretched out flat and still. Uncharacteristic for Mac Taylor to have trusted the words of someone rather than the voice of evidence. The words of someone other than Stella.
Characteristic for Mac Taylor not to have thought of himself, not to have taken care of himself. He regrets it, for the sake of someone who cares for him. Had he considered that earlier maybe he wouldn't have gone in, and then maybe he wouldn't be where he is now, resting.
He doesn't hear the usual sounds of this city that never sleeps and consequently has let him sleep very little. Maybe that's because of the place where he is lying. Maybe it's because of what has happened. Because his perception has changed.
He observes the tree that is casting shadows on where he's lying. A Ginkgo tree, a male one to be exact. Preferred in urban surroundings because the female produces rather odorous seeds. Now that is an undying characteristic of Mac Taylor, to be looking at things from a scientific point of view. He marvels at this tree, the Ginkgo biloba being the only extant species. Of a genus that had once been spread over almost the entire planet. And now it hardly occurs in the wild. He's in awe at how well the tree has been able to endure mankind though. Four specimens have even survived the bombing of Hiroshima.
He looks at the clouds, painting a chiaroscuro picture across the sky. Sunlight lending a luster to the clouds' rims. Widening gaps in the clouds, shafts of light become visible, like gateways to heaven. Fingers of infinity caressing the globe as it turns beneath. Picking out individuals. He sees Stella standing at a small distance. She had never consciously thought she would see him like this, had never allowed the thought. She hesitates to come closer. Uncharacteristic for Stella Bonasera to be surprised by what happened to Mac Taylor? Not really, because she isn't surprised. She knows him far too well not to know that it can happen. She's just overcome.
He sees her standing there, curls dazzling in the sunlight. Surrounded by softly falling leaves. Fluttering around her they look like butterflies, their wings edged with gold by the sun. She feels like some of them are passing through her, on their flight bordering on eternity. She steps closer to where he lies and gets down on her knees.
With every leaf touching the ground winter draws a step closer. She picks one up and twists it between her fingers, examining it. He watches her run a finger along the thin veins of the leaf. Veins that will remain as a skeleton when it withers. The leaf bends under her touch, coruscates in the sunbeams. Another leaf detaches itself from the tree, settles in her curls. She doesn't brush it away. It sways in the soft breeze, together with her curls, kindled by the sun's rays.
Her eyes are still on the leaf she's holding; he sees them through the small gap between its two halves. Sees the fire of her affectionate soul through them. He reaches for her arm and pulls her down towards himself. She doesn't resist and comes to lie on his chest. She feels it rise, and sink again. She thinks she can see his heart beat, amaranthine. She lets her hand trail through the waves of his shirt, feels the warmth radiating off his body. She pulls up a little to be able to look into his eyes. He feels the warm glow of her skin, of her smile.
She rolls off him to see what he sees. Endless skies, clouds dissolving and rebuilding. Green butterflies hugging the slender branches of the tree, waiting for their color to change, to be ready to part, and return the next spring. Sunlight casting amber freckles on the tree's trunk, dancing about like fireflies.
He turns onto his side to face her, she mirrors the movement. He runs his hand along her arm, over her shoulder, the side of her neck, her cheek. The touch sends ripples through her entire body, silver sparkles through her soul, causes her to return it, igniting his eyes. Their hands link.
And she's at his side, as in truth she has always been. In good times and in bad. After he'd solved a case, after he'd made a mistake. After Claire, after Peyton. He lets a finger trail over hers, around and around. She feels a question beginning to form inside of him, answers it with a nod even before it reaches his eyes. They pull each other close, bodies nestle against each other, hearts beat in unison. Like butterfly swarms, leaves gather around them.
Is it one living thing
That has become divided within itself?
Are these two who have chosen each other,
So that we know them as one?
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