Title: That's Why I Came In
Author: Banana Tooth
Rating: T
Spoilers: Season Three, through "Some Buried Bones."
Disclaimer: I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.
Author's Notes:
1. This is a little angsty, so it's a little different from what I usually write.
2. I am now in love with the Mac/Reed cuteness.
Maybe I worry about Mac too much. I don't know. I try to tell myself that he's not my problem anymore; that he never was, really. That he knows where I am if he wants to talk.
Of course I don't believe any of that. We're still best friends; that hasn't changed. And I know something's eating at him—I have a pretty good idea what it is, too—but if I leave it up to him, he'll pretend everything is fine.
So here I am, lingering in the lab, waiting for him. I'm finished for the day and I'm running out of excuses to hang around, so he'd better hurry up.
Finally I see him going into his office and I head over. When I get there he's leaning against his desk looking through a folder, and he looks up in surprise as I come in.
"I thought you left already."
"I was just finishing up." I go to his side to see what he's reading. He holds the folder over so I can see too, and I take one side in my hand, leaning against the desk beside him. Our elbows brush together.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
It's my turn to be surprised. "Yes, why?"
"It seemed like there was something bothering you today."
This isn't what I came in here for at all. "Oh, well—I keep thinking about Ava Brandt and her husband, and Adam's father…"
"Yeah." He glances sideways at me. "You know, you'd never guess it from this job, but…not all men are like that."
"I know," I say, touching his arm, and he gives me a small, tight smile. He closes the folder, but doesn't move away. I want to leave my hand on his arm, but I'm all too aware of the glass walls and I know he is too. "What's the matter, Mac?"
He stares down at the floor. "Nothing."
Yeah, sounds like it. "How's Reed?"
"I don't know." Judging by his manner, I was right about what was wrong with him. "I think he blames himself. It had nothing to do with him, and he still feels guilty."
Sounds familiar, I think. "You should talk to him. Make sure he knows it's not his fault."
"I tried, but… I'm not good at that kind of thing. And he's still getting over finding out about Claire." That sounds familiar, too. "It's too much for a kid to have on him, and I'm not much help."
"You just being there is good for him."
He shakes his head. "I don't know…seems like I just keep giving him more bad news. He asked me where Claire was buried."
Oh.
The old pain is back in his voice. I ache for him, and I don't know what to do. "They're still looking, Mac."
"That's what I told him." He draws a deep breath. "And he hugged me."
I don't even know Reed, but my opinion of him suddenly shoots up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Here he is at his friend's funeral, and blaming himself, and he's all bruised up, and he hugs me."
Good for you, Reed.
He bites his lip, his gaze fixed on the floor. I discover that I don't care who might see us as I rub my hand up and down on his sleeve. He's quiet for so long that I'm about to say something to break the silence, when he finally speaks. "It just got me to thinking again."
"What?"
"What must have happened to her, that they didn't even find a trace…"
Screw the walls. I turn quickly and pull him into my arms in a fierce hug. His arms go around me and I pull his head down on my shoulder and stroke his hair as he buries his face in my neck. He's not crying—he hasn't ever cried, I don't think, since he came to me that evening after Claire's service—but he's trembling a little, and his breathing is jagged. I hold him just like I did then, and I'm ashamed to think that that must have been the last time I hugged him, five years ago, and he's still hurting like this and I didn't even know…
He doesn't move for a long time, but I'm quite content to stay like this all night if he wants. Someone does walk by, but it's just Sheldon. His eyes, dark and concerned, meet mine over Mac's shoulder, but I give a little nod to say that we're all right, and he walks on.
At last Mac straightens and I reluctantly have to let him go, but my hands stay on his arms. He must be better because he actually looks at me. "I'm sorry, Stella."
I shake my head. "No, Mac..."
"I didn't mean to put all that on you."
"That's why I came in here."
I don't think that ever occurred to him. It never does. "Thanks," he says quietly.
His gaze lingers on my face, and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I let go of him. "Listen, why don't we get something to eat?" I realize too late that he might not be free, but he agrees.
"Okay."
"Hey, I know—let's pick up Reed."
His slow grin spreads over his face. "I'll call him," he says.
We take Reed to the place where Mac tried to take him before, and I sit opposite them so I can see them both. Now that we're in the light, the sight of Reed's battered face makes me want to wince. Poor kid, I keep thinking.
I watch them as they read their menus and I see what Mac meant about him looking just like Claire. There's a certain way he turns his head, a certain expression on his face, that's Claire all over again. It gives me a twinge of pain and my own sadness for Claire washes over me. Oh, Mac. No wonder all this has been so hard on him.
But despite Reed's resemblance to his mother, he and Mac are very much alike in their demeanor and bearing. Funny how that is, when they're not related and they only met a few months ago. It makes me wonder what Mac was like at that age, and I figure I'm probably looking right at the answer to that question.
If we'd known each other when we were younger… I don't even let myself finish that thought.
The waitress comes for our order and I have to hide a smile as I note that, apparently, Reed also shares Mac's passion for cheeseburgers. When she leaves, I turn to him.
"Reed, it's nice to finally meet you. Properly, anyway."
He looks embarrassed. "Listen, I'm sorry about following you. I guess I freaked you out."
"Don't worry about it," I reassure him. "I'm sorry about your friend."
He looks down at his hands. "Thanks," he says softly.
I watch him with compassion and search for another topic. "So, Mac tells me you write for the school paper."
"Yeah."
"Is that what you want to do? Be a writer?"
He shrugs a little. "I don't know yet. I'm still thinking about it."
"I bet you'd be great at it—Mac said your article was really good."
His whole face lights up at that. "Really? You liked it?" he asks, and Mac nods.
"I thought you worked it out really well. It read well."
Reed is quietly beaming and I'm reminded of Mac when he's happy. "Or, if you decide against that, you could think about the crime lab," I tease him.
"Yeah, I've considered that," he says, grinning.
That's news to Mac. "Really?" he echoes.
"Yeah."
Now Mac looks pleased too, and I want to squeeze them both because they're so cute together. Our food comes and they dig in, but then Mac's phone rings and he excuses himself.
Reed looks up at me as Mac retreats. "Are you Mac's girlfriend?" he asks.
Well, he'll make a great journalist. He has no trouble with direct questions. "No," I answer.
"You should be."
It's such a sweet compliment that I can't hide my smile."Well—thank you. But he's got a girlfriend."
"He does?" I nod. "Well, he should dump her."
I laugh. We better steer away from this topic, I decide. "What about you? Do you have someone?"
"No…" He sips his drink. "I'm kind of a nerd."
"That doesn't matter. Look at Mac—he's the biggest nerd of them all."
"He is?"
"Oh my goodness. You should hear him when he starts spouting random information. For no reason."
That makes him snicker. We're trying not to laugh when Mac comes back. "Danny," he reports.
"Does he need us?"
"No, he's got it." He notices that we're both smirking at him. "What?"
"I was telling Reed what a nerd you are."
He bites back a grin. "Don't listen to her," he warns.
"Too late," Reed murmurs into his glass. "The truth's out."
Mac drives me home after we take Reed back to his dorm. I don't want him to, because then he has to drive all the way back to his place, but he insists. He pulls into a space and opens the door for me. "Why don't you come in for a minute?" I suggest.
"Well…"
"Come on, it's freezing out here." I want to talk to him before he goes, and I'm not doing it with chattering teeth.
Once we're inside, I hang up my coat and turn to face him, smiling. He's turned shy again, but he smiles back. "Thanks, Stella. That was a good idea."
"He's such a sweet kid. I think he's the nicest kid I've met in ages."
"Yeah, I know. We don't get to meet the nice ones very often, do we?"
"You should do whatever you can to encourage this, you know."
"Encourage what?"
"You and him. He adores you, Mac."
He looks embarrassed and skeptical. "I don't know about that."
"I do. I don't know what his dad is like, but I'm willing to bet you're the best thing that's ever happened to him."
He still doesn't believe me, but he can't help looking pleased. "Well, anyway…"
His voice trails off as his eyes meet mine. All of a sudden, I realize that we're standing too close together. I could just lean in and kiss him. My eyes drop to his shirt. You can't, I tell myself sternly. Just don't think about it. Think about something else…
"Mac—"
His hands go to my shoulders. His grip is warm and gentle, and I bite my lip hard. "Hey," he murmurs.
I look back up, meeting his gaze just for a moment before I have to look back down. I'm losing ground rapidly. My hands go to his waist and we stand together, not quite cheek-to-cheek. He's so warm and I want his arms around me, want to wrap mine around him and feel his warmth all over…
"Good night," he says, his voice low, stirring my hair. He pulls away. I feel cold without him and I try not to shiver. "See you tomorrow."
"Okay." My voice sounds almost normal. I open the door and close it after him, resisting the urge to watch him go down the hall. Stop it, I order myself.
Suddenly, I'm desperately tired. I need to go to bed. It's been a long evening—so far, I've managed to cheer up two men and depress myself. Not bad for one night, I think wryly.
My heart sinks when my phone rings because I can't even think about going back in to work tonight. Then I see that it's Mac. I answer with a little trepidation.
"Hey," he says. "I never really said thanks for tonight."
Well then, come back and thank me properly, I think but don't say. "No problem, Mac."
There's a pause. "I'm glad I have you, Stella. I don't know what I would have done without you after…" He stops, but I know what he means, and tears sting my eyes. "I guess I should have said that a long time ago."
I can't answer for a moment because I don't trust my voice. I don't know what to say, anyway; I can't very well say what I really want to. "Thanks," I say finally. I don't know what I'm thanking him for, except for being Mac.
"You all right?"
"Yes. I'm kind of tired."
"Get some rest."
"You too," I tell him softly.
"Good night," he says again.
"Good night, Mac," I whisper.
I wait until he hangs up to say that I love him.