Title: Promise
Author: Cookie
Rating: PG
Category: Angst laced Romance
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue please
Spoilers: None that I am aware of, at least, nothing that people who watch CSI: NY regularly won't know…
A/N: I just realized I haven't written one single fic that's not a post-ep in CSI:NY... that gotta be a first for me… Anyway, here it is, my contribution to the Christmas stash. Merry Christmas, everybody, and happy holidays to those of you who don't celebrate Christmas.
No sane person would call New York City a quiet place, not even at night time. Still, it was in this particular busy city that he felt the most alone.
The years had flown by, and once again, he was alone during the holiday seasons. He didn't want to leave his apartment. Really, he dreaded being on the streets and seeing all the Christmas decorations, seeing couples after couples walking together, enjoying the festivities, sharing the love.
He dreaded feeling so alone. He dreaded Christmas.
Being alone was nothing new for him, though. He was used to it. In fact, in the years since the Towers fell, he had trained himself to become immune to the feeling of loneliness. He almost succeeded, almost. Only a few days in the year bothered her now - his birthday, her birthday, their wedding anniversary, the day he gave up hope she would ever return to him, unharmed by the fallen towers, and Christmas.
It was something about Christmas that had attracted Claire. She loved this season, loved the peace and love that filled the festivities.
Now, all that was good about Christmas have turned into a constant reminder of what had been lost.
He drew in the bitter cold winter air. The area around Ground Zero was quiet; only a few mourning the life lost on the otherwise joyous day.
"It's Christmas Day again, Claire," he murmured with his eyes closed. "I haven't had the time or energy to decorate. Heck, I haven't had the mood to decorate."
The cold wind stung his face, as if chastising him on Clair's behalf.
"How are you doing?" he rubbed between his eyes, hoping to ease the tension that had been building. "I have a lot on my mind. I don't know what to think anymore."
Putting his gloved hands into his pockets, he leaned his head back to look at the dark sky.
"You know how the last time I came to visit, I mentioned it was time for me to let go? Well, I didn't do a very good job, did I? Or did I simply go about it the wrong way?"
The feeling of loss tugged at his heart, and he wondered if it was too late for him to undo the mistake he had made.
"I think I've finally figured it out. I know, it took me a long time, probably too damn long, but I finally know what I want, who I want. You do approve, right? I mean, you have always liked her, and I've known her for so long. I just wonder if I'm too late, that she's already going out with that sculptor friend of hers."
Drawing in another breath of cold air, he smiled softly in the shadows.
"I miss you, Claire, a lot, but these days, she is always on my mind too. I wasn't sure if doing something about this feeling was worth the risk, but now that I am standing in front of you here, I know not doing anything about it would be a greater regret for me."
Tenderly, he raised his hand and waved, "Thank you for making me see the light, Claire. I'll visit you next week on New Year's Day. Maybe I'll even bring her here for the count down. What do you think?"
With a smile on his face, Mac Taylor walked confidently, but hurriedly, away from Ground Zero and back toward his car.
She wasn't at home. He drove by her apartment and saw that the lights were off. He called, at the risk of waking her up or, worse, interrupting her in the middle of something with her boyfriend. Nobody picked up.
He didn't know where to go. He wanted, needed, to see her, as soon as possible, even if it was to confirm her relationship with another man.
Mindlessly, he drove, pondering where he could find his best friend. Suddenly, at an intersection, he realized he was driving toward St. Basil's.
When he parked a block away from he orphanage's entrance, he could make out a lone figure in the dark on the bench across from the gate. Slowly, he made his way to the shadow, knowing without seeing that it was who he was looking for.
Sure enough, she sat there gazing at the place where she spent the first 18 years of her life.
To his horror, she raised a hand to wipe a tear away. He had only seen her cry a handful of times in the decade they had known one another. She was a strong woman, and he wondered what had upset her enough to make her shed tears.
He wondered where that boyfriend of hers was. Even though she was a cop, he should know better than to let a woman sit alone in the dark in a quiet New York street.
She tensed as he approached her, and quickly, she turned around, her eyes alert.
"Mac?" she whispered out his name with incredulity.
"Why are you sitting here along by yourself?" he asked pointedly.
She shrugged and looked away from him.
"Where's Frankie?" he asked – he had to know.
"Somewhere in the city," she shrugged again. "I don't know; don't want to know."
"You shouldn't be here alone," he tried to reach out. "It's Christmas. You should be celebrating it with someone."
"I attended mass," she answered, as if going to the service was enough to fill the void. "And I've always bee alone. Always have been, always will be."
"Well, that's not true," he turned to face her completely, noticing again the tears on her face and the sadness in her eyes. "You have me."
"Do I?" she asked, and he wondered what she meant. "I am tired to spending my life alone, tired of being by myself with only myself to lean on. I am tired, Mac, and I want someone to share my life with."
"You don't have to be alone anymore," he promised, reaching over to take her hand in his. "You will have me for as long as you want."
"Don't make any promises you can't keep."
"I don't intend to break this," Bringing her hand closer to him, he started to draw tiny circles on her palm. "You have always been my best friend and partner."
"You are my best friend and partner too," she reciprocated.
"You should spend Christmas with me," he suggested. "Christmas should be spent with people you care about."
"Do you?" she finally looked at him directly since their conversation. "Care about me?"
"Of course I do. You are important to me, and I care about you, a lot," he answered firmly, and knowing that the moment to start something great had arrived. "I care about you a lot more than friends do."
That caught her attention, and she looked up quickly, her wild curls brushed against his cheek softly.
"Will you run away if I tell you that I think I am ready to move on from Clair's death?" he asked cautiously.
"I thought you already did."
"I said I would, but I realized I went about it the wrong way. There is only one person with whom I would like to move on."
"Oh," she gave out a short comment followed by a sigh. "I see."
"I don't think you do," Mac shook his head, bringing her hand up to his lips and he kissed her knuckles. "I want to move on toward the living again with you."
"You," she started, but stammered. "Don't start anything you don't intend to finish, Mac. We have too much on the line here, too much to loose."
"I intend to see that it through, that it will blossom into something wonderful," he affirmed. "Come spend Christmas with me."
"It's already 11pm," she said after glancing at her watch. "There is only 1 hour left."
"Then we made it just in time, didn't we?" he held her hand tighter in his. "It feels good to be with someone. It feels good to not be alone any more."
He paused and waited until she turned to face him, "It feels wonderful to share my life with you. You will have me for as long as you will, so you will never be alone again."
"Promise?" she sounded like a little girl.
"Promise," he moved in to seal the promise with a brush against her lips. "Merry Christmas."
With his promise, Stella Bonasera smiled.