Step By Step
Summary: Stella Bonasera is a professional dancer. Mac Taylor is the lead CSI in a grisly murder she's involved in. When they meet sparks will fly, but is Stella a victim or a suspect? As the investigation progresses, they both find themselves on a dangerous path that will change their lives forever.
Disclaimer:I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)
A/N: This is my first AU story so please be nice:-)
It took me quite some time to get over 'Pot of Gold' and get down to this story but I figured writing something is actually the best antidote;-) So here it is, I really hope you'll like this!
I wanted to dedicate this first chapter to StellaBonaseraTaylor,who is the godmother of this story ;-) Thanks for your great ideas and brainstorming! Hope you'll like this!
Chapter 1 – Sleepless in New York
When Mac Taylor looked back to the beginning of the events that would change his life forever, he always knew it was in fact his cursed sleeplessness that turned out to be his greatest blessing and the true starting point for what was to come.
It was nothing unusual for him to lose sleep over a case but this wasn't everything. His memories and nightmares kept him up even when there was no case on his mind. It was already six years after his wife Claire's tragic death on 9/11 but that day had left an indelible imprint on his memory and there were still moments when it felt like it was only yesterday. It was like there was a huge gaping hole in his chest which refused to scar over no matter how hard he tried. Maybe it was because he never got any closure. And probably never would.
Even after all this time, not all the remains had been recovered and identified. Claire's hadn't. There wasn't even a trace of her found on the site. Mac didn't know if finding her genetic material somewhere in the Ground Zero would make any difference to him. As it was, a part of him still desperately clung to the thought that somehow, somewhere, she was still alive.
It was of course ridiculous. His rational and analytical mind as well as years of experience as a crime investigator left no room for such preposterous notions. It was simply impossible that Claire would have stayed away for so long if she had indeed somehow made it out alive. She had died that day and there was no denying it. Still, in the rare moments of weakness when he would allow his heart a voice from behind the walls he had masterfully crafted around himself, the impossible and painful thoughts would rear their heads to torment him.
Why was there something in him that still held on? Why was there still this thread of absurd weaving through his scientific and logical mind? There was no easy and simple explanation.
One thing that was clear after all his years as a CSI was that everyone dealt with grief and loss in different ways. That was one of the main reasons why he still slept alone. He had tried to date and find someone who would manage to captivate his heart and mind the way his beloved wife once had but it had all come to nothing. He couldn't help but compare every woman to Claire. None withstood the comparison. He simply couldn't bring himself to open up and begin to share his life with someone that wasn't her. Even after all these years, every time he went out on a date, he still felt dishonest, cheating, dirty.
With all these thoughts flooding his brain whenever he was alone, sleep for longer than a couple of hours was not really an option. So he jogged late in the night or early in the morning when darkness still held sway over New York City. He had a set route around several blocks in the vicinity of his apartment block and found himself actually enjoying the exercise. As a former Marine major, he was used to putting lots of physical strain on his body but he had always liked to work with his head rather than his muscles. Still, this time around it was his head that was giving him troubles and his muscles that gave him the necessary moments of silent respite.
It was like that this night, too. Having closed another gruesome case, he ran faster and stronger only to make all the dreadful images his detail-oriented brain had accumulated in the last couple of days go away. Focused on not letting it all get to him, he made a few turns that made him divert from his usual route and he found himself in a more distant part of his neighbourhood he didn't know that well. He looked around trying to determine where he was when a brightly lit all-glass wall on the ground floor of one of the nearby buildings caught his attention. There was light on inside and he thought he caught a glimpse of movement behind the glass. He slowed down a little, a small frown building on his face as he wondered who would be up at such ungodly hour besides him.
And then he saw her. It was the hair that he saw first, actually. He had never seen such a mass of hair in his life. A mane of shoulder-long dark blonde curls looked like it had a life of its own as it bounced and swirled accentuating the graceful moves of its owner. An owner who was, to all intents and purposes, completely engrossed in performing a complex dancing choreography.
Mac had never been much of a dancer himself but he could appreciate mastery and artistic merit, which was precisely what he saw looking at the solitary figure of the woman immersed in her musical world. Even though he couldn't hear any music, he could almost discern the sounds by looking at her body, which was conjuring up a soft melody of its own with the gracefulness of her moves and the intensity of the feeling on her face, shining through her every step and figure. His jogging forgotten, he came to a halt as she swirled in an elaborate pirouette and her face became visible to him from underneath all the curls.
She was beautiful. The sharpness of her cheekbones, the olive tint of her skin and the sparkling depth in her chartreuse eyes made his heart beat faster. What hit him most was the sadness in them, though. There was an air of loneliness and melancholy in her features and movements that made him feel like she knew what true sorrow and loss meant. It made her even more beautiful in a sad, despondent way. Transfixed, he continued to watch in silent awe as her lithe silhouette pirouetted, bent and twisted in ways he never even thought possible before. It was spectacular and he felt like he was being included in something extraordinary.
Then the woman suddenly jumped high into the air only to tumble to her knees instead of gracefully land on her feet. Mac first reaction was to grab for the entrance door and check if she hadn't hurt herself but when he caught a glimpse of her face, he could see she was all right. Physically, at least. As for the other dimensions, he wasn't that sure. There were tears streaming down her face and the sorrow that was only subtly bubbling under the surface when she danced, was clear in her countenance and defeated stance now.
Then she hid her face in her hands and Mac was denied further glimpses into her face. He suddenly felt like he was intruding on something very intimate and personal. He backed out unseen and started back into his jog, his heart and mind still in an internal upheaval from the beauty and emotional intensity he had just witnessed. After running several yards, he chanced one last look over his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the solitary silhouette of the woman standing before the glass wall, her face turned in his direction. Even though he was hidden in the darkness, he somehow got the feeling that her eyes somehow managed to pierce the dark gloom of the night around him and were looking straight at him. He saw her crack a small smile and somehow he knew it was for him. Then the lights went off and she disappeared as if she was just a hallucination his overtired brain had produced.
XxXxXxX
Stella Bonasera had always wanted to be a professional dancer. The combination of music and movement had stirred the gentler chords in her lonely heart ever since she was a child. The nuns at St. Basil's orphanage had always said with lenient smiles that it was her Greek-Italian temperament making itself known. It was much more than simply a matter of genetics or temperament for Stella, though. Dance was an escape. A safe haven away from the horrors of her everyday life.
Her childhood was a string of colourless days spent at the New York orphanage and school run by the Greek Orthodox Church, which became a cruel and heart-wrenching journey through a score of foster families when she was older. She never knew her parents, left on St. Basil's threshold at the age of two with nothing but a card with her name on it. No surname, no birth date, no nothing.
Life at the orphanage was quiet, simple and disciplined. With her fiery nature, innate stubbornness and a strong independent streak, little Stella had a hard time adjusting to the place. She would always remember the countless nights she spent in one of the bay windows in the dormitory she shared with a dozen other girls, peering into the darkness surrounding the world outside like a cocoon. She spent hours on end waiting and hoping that one day she would spot the figure of her mother and father coming through the main gate to retrieve their beloved daughter.
She still tasted the bitter tears of disappointment she shed every night they didn't come. Finally one night when she was thirteen she promised herself that she would never allow anyone to hurt her and make her cry for them again. It was a tough promise for a thirteen-year-old to keep but in the following years Stella built an impermeable wall around herself, managing to successfully close herself off and become self-reliant. That was how she managed to endure the orphanage and abusive foster families and didn't allow herself to be chewed alive and spat out by the system. That was what made her strong and independent. And alone. But she figured it was a small price to pay for not getting hurt again.
She was one of those incredibly lucky people who had managed to realise their childhood fantasies. She had become a professional dancer and a successful one at that. She had won just about any title in the world of professional dancing there was to win, from world cup championships to first place at the most prestigious ballroom dance competition, the Blackpool Dance Festival in England. A place on the hit TV show Dancing with the Stars was only the logical next step. A win in the third edition elevated her to the status of a celebrity, something she had always shunned and despised, but it paid for her private dance studio in New York. When she had gathered enough money, she left the show and dragged her only friend and fellow-dancer, Jessica Angell, back with her to the Big Apple and together they started their own business. That was a year ago.
The night when Mac Taylor saw Stella Bonasera for the first time, she shouldn't have been in the dance studio in the first place. And she definitely shouldn't have been crying. She should have been happy and celebrating with her friends. The studio had just made its first thousand clients and Jess decided a big party was in order. Stella excused herself from the suffocating atmosphere of the party as fast as she could, though, and as always, her feet led her to her one true haven – dancing. A beautiful and talented woman, a champion in her profession, a successful businesswoman, a celebrity – people spat all that to her on one breath with jealousy and admiration. Stella didn't feel like any of it. What sounded like a fairy-tale on the outside was nothing but a life of hard work and loneliness peppered with moments of good luck. With a sigh, she entered the empty studio.
All her relationships had been fiascos because she found it very hard to forge any kind of deeper connection. Distance was the only way she knew how to protect herself from getting hurt. Jess was an exception to that rule but still an exception that only confirmed the rule.
She turned on the lights, let her coat fall to the floor and kicked her shoes off.
No man had ever made it to more than a couple of dates. They all got quickly burned by her prickly and detached attitude. The truth was, it was a defence mechanism. Feelings scared her. They were unpredictable and all they ever did was cause pain in the end.
She set the music and stood in the basic position waiting for the melody to start.
She had allowed herself to feel before and she was bitterly disappointed. And it hurt like hell. So she constructed a cocoon around herself to stay safe though deep inside, she wanted to be drawn out of it. Still, no one had ever stayed long enough and cared enough to do that.
The music flooded her senses and all thoughts dissolved as her body intuitively moved into figures and steps she had learned before she knew her ABCs. Valdez, back to erect position, diagonal walk, reverse turn, straddle split leap...
This time even this was not enough to drown out the painful realization of loneliness. One moment's loss of focus and she landed on her knees on the floor with a bone-jarring impact, angry tears scolding their way down her cheeks. She took a few deep breaths working through the pain and anger. It sobered her up. She heaved herself up, suddenly becoming aware of a second presence in the vicinity. She looked around but her scrutinizing gaze landed on nothing but silence interrupted only by her uneven breathing. The studio was empty.
She came up to the glass wall and looked out. She strained her eyes against the darkness and suddenly she was met with a pair of kind, blue eyes of a man gazing her way from a distance. There was an intensity and emotion in them that made her heart skip a beat. Did he see her? Had he watched her crush and burn just now? Did he catch a glimpse of her at her most intimate, a moment of weakness not even her best friend was allowed to see?
She got the feeling the answer to all of those questions was affirmative. Oddly enough, she didn't feel angry or embarrassed. Looking at the man, even though all she could see were his incredible eyes boring into hers, she felt a moment of silent understanding hang between and bind two lonely minds in torment. It brought her comfort. She smiled lightly hoping he would notice and turned off the lights.
That moment of silent connection with a complete stranger lingered with her as she dressed and left the studio. It made her aware that she did need other people. That they brought more than just pain and disappointment with them. She took out her phone and called Jess.
XxXxXxX
Mac couldn't get the picture of the woman out of his mind the whole next day. Scolding himself inwardly for his silly notions and ideas, he still did return there the next night. He gave himself an inward, wry 'I told you so' when he saw the lights were off and there was no one there. Somehow, he felt even more detached and alone in the world. Once again he felt like he had missed out on something, let a chance slip through his fingers. Little did he know that fate had other plans for him.
As if to make a point, his cell phone buzzed to life. When he looked at the caller ID, he knew his jogging was over for tonight.
XxXxXxX
Stella still couldn't believe she let Jess talk her into going with her to this posh party in uptown Manhattan in the first place. Still, after she had called yesterday night not in the best of shapes, Jess wouldn't hear no for an answer. Besides, Jess was still angry at Stella for bailing out of their party yesterday so Stella felt she had to make it up to her somehow.
"I know that face," came her friend's voice from behind.
Stella was standing a bit away from the wild throng of people wildly dancing and drinking. She had lost Jess somewhere in the crowd half an hour ago and din't think she would see her anytime soon. However, now Jessica Angell, an attractive brunette with sparkling brown eyes and a killer smile, came to stand beside her.
"What face?"
"The face that tells me that you're cursing me for bringing you here and are devising elaborate ways to torture me when we get back."
"Nah, nothing elaborate," Stella quipped, inwardly wondering at how well Jess knew her. "I figure simple Chinese water torture will do to make my point," she added conversationally.
"I'd hold that thought till the evening ends," Jessica said with a half-smile. "See that handsome dark-haired man over there? He's been eyeing you the whole evening."
Seeing Stella roll her eyes and opening her mouth to say something undoubtedly sarcastic, she added with a mischievous smile, "I did some digging and it turns out he's a wealthy internet entrepreneur, single... I guess that's more than enough," she gave her friend a suggestive wink.
"Jess, I do appreciate your concern but I don't need another blind date with some random..."
"Oh, and here he comes," Jess interrupted her in a sing-song voice flashing the man approaching them a wide smile. "I'll leave you alone, there's someone I've got to talk to."
She left accompanied by Stella's acrimonious gaze. She immediately plastered a smile to her face, though, as she looked at the smiling handsome entrepreneur.
"Hi, I'm Jayme Kurtz."
"Stella Bonasera," she said trying not to sound too off-putting. It wasn't the man's fault Jess was once again trying to play Emma.
"I usually hate places like this," he prattled on. She could see he was nervous. "Too much people I don't know. But my friend made me come with him."
Stella looked at him with renewed interest. There was a certain shyness and sincerity to him that she found quite endearing.
"Funny thing," she said feeling her lips curl upward. "That's my story, too. I guess we both have a thing for pushy friends."
He chuckled and seemed to loosen up a little. "I guess we do."
At that point Stella decided to give him a chance. His awkwardness lent him an air of genuineness she valued in people and she could see he was a nice guy.
As the evening passed and Jayme became more at ease, she was proved right as he turned out to be an interesting conversation partner and quite a good dancer. Nothing more, though. His blue eyes made her feel strange. They reminded her of last night and the stranger whom she saw in the distance. Instead of thinking about Jayme, her thoughts kept wandering towards him all evening.
When at some point she let her gaze cursorily wonder over the crowd, she suddenly felt herself stiffen with shock and anger as her eyes landed on one of the guests. She never thought she would see that face again in real life. It was enough she kept seeing it in her nightmares.
Steve Ballas, her dancing partner from her times as a professional dancer, was standing in the middle of the crowd, a smug grin on his face. Stella wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face. He caught her glance and nodded his head with a derisive smile. Stella felt her teeth clench and her palms curl into angry fists at her sides. Her anger and surprise must have shown on her face also because Jayme touched her shoulder in concern.
"Something wrong?"
Stella threw him a cursory glance, suddenly reminded that he was still there.
"Yeah. I'm leaving," she said curtly and made for the cloakroom without another glance back.
"Stella? What is it?" Jayme ran behind her. "Please stay."
She ignored him and continued to walk.
"Then let me at least drive you home."
She threw him an exasperated look.
"No need," she said curtly. "I'll walk."
"Then I'll walk you. Please?"
Stella was about to turn him down again but there was this strangely familiar spark in his blue eyes again. The mysterious man from last night swam in the back of her mind again and she was reminded of the comfort and peace his gaze infused her with. While Jayme's look was nowhere near his intensity or emotion, it still left an impact.
"All right," she conceded.
He handed her her wrap and after saying goodbye to Jess they left. Neither of them saw the dark figure that detached itself from the shadows as they passed and followed then as they turned a corner.
XxXxXxX
Mac answered his phone.
"Taylor."
"Hi, Mac," came detective Don Flack's voice from the other end. "Sorry to wake you up..."
"It's all right," Mac cut him off with a small smile on his face. "I wasn't sleeping."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Flack lightly chuckled. "Mac, you know you're human, right?" he added as an afterthought.
Mac rubbed the bridge of his nose with his other hand in a gesture of frustration. "Your point, Don?"
"Humans sleep, Mac," Flack spoke, irony shining through every syllable. "We kinda need it to stay alive and stuff."
"I'll try to remember that, Don," Mac said wryly. "Now can you tell me what's going on?"
"We've got a double homicide at Broadway and Worth."
"Don, I've got a night off," Mac reminded the younger detective, trying to sound patient. "Danny and Sheldon are on call tonight."
"I know but Sinclair wants you to handle this case personally, Mac."
That raised Mac's eyebrows. "Why?" he asked suspiciously. His relations with the chief of detectives were strained to say the least. It had to be something big for him to actually want Mac on a case.
"This one's high-profile, Mac," Flack said in a tone that said how happy he was about this. "It's going to be all over the news tomorrow."
Mac groaned inwardly. Just what he liked best. The media and Sinclair breathing down his neck and tracing his every step.
"Ok," he said to Don with a sigh. "I'm on my way."
A/N: I hope you don't mind that this was bit 'wordy', but I had to make some introductions:-) There will be more action and dialogue in the next chapters, I promise;-)
Anyways, how did you like this? Interested enough to read more? Do let me know in a review before going!
PS: A sequel to 'While You Were Sleeping' is in the works, I just wanted to post this first to see what you think about it and if I should continue with this new story:-)