Title: The Weight of Water
Genre: Television
Series: CSI: NY
Characters: Mac Taylor, Lindsay Monroe
Spoilers: Season Two
Rating: PG
Summary: Mac thinks about all he's lost and what he might gain.
It started with the rain, an evening when the air was turbulent with the sound of thunder and riddled with bursts of lightning. As she moved through the lobby she brought the scent inside, the biting salt from the bay carried on the wind and brought down by the rain. He'd watched from the front windows as she walked towards him, moving slowly despite the weather. While the other pedestrians ran for cover, umbrellas and newspaper providing weak shelter, she enjoyed the walk. She turned her face to the sky and let the cool drops slide down her cheek, a smile spreading across her face.
It was clear that everyone else who passed her, from strangers to colleagues, thought her strange. A small-town Montana girl walking in the rain on her way to a crime scene, a carefree smile on her face; she was something that they'd never seen the likes of.
Mac Taylor had known a girl like Lindsay Monroe, though. A long time ago, a different era for him entirely, he'd loved a girl like her. Watching from that window as the world shook around her and she moved as if in the eye of the storm Mac Taylor could see quite clearly how he might love this girl if he let himself.
He couldn't count the number of times Claire had dragged him into the drizzle of the rain, no umbrella to spare them. Her eyes would be skyward, seeking the rainbow while Mac would watch for puddles and wayward victims trying to escape. It was a serene experience; the only warmth was often the feel of her hand in his. They'd be chilled to the bone, walking through the city streets he worked to protect, and when the weather turned rough he'd direct them home. She'd laugh and curl into his arm, her hair tickling his cheek where she pressed a kiss.
For years after her death Mac Taylor would swear that every time it rained the city whispered her name into his dreams.
Claire.
Walking in the night, her hair curling despite the moisture that pulled at it, Lindsay Monroe became his Claire; at least for a few minutes.
Their relationship would be subtle, never untoward at work. They'd take small delights in working together, their minds joined in mutual respect and admiration. When the case was closed and the criminal punished, they'd take their leave and return home. She'd smooth his lapel at the door as he'd help her slide her coat on, and for a few seconds neither would care that their colleagues could see them. He'd brush a kiss on her brow and she'd smile at him.
Mac could see it, the progression from colleagues to friends to lovers to something more. He could see it very clearly on that dark evening and in looking he knew that it would never be.
For their similarities, their empathy and understanding, their passion and their love of the rain, Lindsay was not Claire. While Mac could imagine a relationship with his subordinate, his imagination didn't give her justice.
Claire had been a calm woman, their relationship quiet. They'd fit together simply as if they'd always been meant to be. Never any secrets between them, their brief time together had been everything Mac could ever want.
Lindsay Monroe was not a simple woman, however. Claire had loved the rain for its gentle nature, the process of rejuvenation it wrought. Lindsay loved the rain for its restrained violence, the purge of emotion a metaphor for her inner turmoil. She took the hard path, through the storm, and delighted in being victorious over it. She was fiery passion banked to a simmer but always hiding in the shadows of her eyes. She was the thunder and the lightning, whereas Claire had been the rainbow waiting to shine.
Despite their similarities and differences, Mac realized that he did like Lindsay. She brought an element of goodness, pure good, to his team that he realized belatedly it'd been missing. Even discovering his latent attraction to the petite woman didn't stop him from smiling at her as he opened the door and let her slide past and into the warmth of the building.
"Sorry, Mac," she whispered as she wrung water from her hair, smiling sheepishly as she removed her soaked overcoat. "It's a Montana thing."
It wasn't, though.
It was a woman thing.
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