The Trouble With Truth

Summary: Sometimes you fall from the edge. Sometimes you plummet to your death. But sometimes it's the only way to save yourself. SMacked post-s.6 one-shot

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: Just a short piece that will hopefully lift your Smacked moods a bit! I find that these days continuing to write SMacked is the one thing that does it for me and here's the result.

Enjoy:-)

"Do you really want to do this?"

Sometimes you fall from the edge. Just like Wile E. Coyote you run really fast and continue running even though you're already over the edge. Then you stop, look down and know that you're going to plummet to the darkness lurking underneath but you can do nothing about it.

Sometimes, though, it's not so obvious. It's dark, you're close to the edge and you slowly grope your way around not knowing which way to go. You tread carefully but nothing is certain in complete darkness. You never realize how close to the edge you are and that the soft ground underneath your feet may crumble at any moment and you'll slip down with it into the blackness.

It was then that Stella realized she had found herself on the edge, slipping with no one to reach out and save her from falling. She felt she had reached that state of hopeless and aching despair she promised herself she would never experience again. She had structured and carefully designed her life, both private and professional, so that she would never have to feel like that again. Yet there it was, the familiar murky hopelessness encircling her, trying to entomb her alive. She would not let it. She knew what she had to do although the one thing that could save her could also kill her. But she had to take that step.

"You've left me no other choice."

The ordeal Danny and Lindsay had gone through not a week ago was also a factor. Thankfully, they had all escaped unscathed from the Casey nightmare due to Lindsay's golden shot but she knew how much it affected them. And herself. Somehow, in some strange way, it had shaken Stella more than she would care to admit. It was that one final pebble that unleashed the avalanche. The last straw that finally broke the camel and made her painfully aware of how brittle life was.

She saw it every day on the job but when she looked into Lindsay's eyes that fateful night, she knew something had shifted in the younger woman and she felt it penetrate her heart and soul, too.

In that instant she knew with perfect clarity what she had to do to regain her peace of mind and soul. She had been struggling with it for the last week and today the last vestiges of hope shrivelled away. She had tried and failed. Now it was the time to protect herself, or rather pick up the pieces and try and put them all together. That was the trouble with truth. It was a double-edged sword bringing as much pain as relief. In this case, it was all pain and no relief.

She reached for her suitcase.

XxXxXxX

"You've left me no other choice."

The silence was so profound that it almost hurt his ears and made the words reverberate painfully over and over inside his skull. There was not a sound marring the perfect stillness surrounding him. It was so thick you could almost cut it with a knife. Mac relished it, or rather tried to as much as he could in his present state. No amount of silence could quiet the voice and he wasn't sure he wanted it to but at least it allowed him to think clearly and calmly, which was a welcome change after the reality of the last week, monstrously distorted and maimed by Shane Casey. It wasn't Casey that occupied his thoughts, though. As he faced the incense-filled darkness of the cathedral, there was only one face that kept returning to the forefront of his mind. The last time he had been in the cathedral was almost six years ago. Back then, he was grieving the loss of a woman he loved. It was the same now.

She had entered his office as usual in a swirl of curly hair and with that confident gait of hers that always told him she had made a break in an investigation or made a decision of some kind. Her countenance told a different story, though. A casual observer wouldn't probably notice a thing but he knew her every smile, every frown and the meaning behind every twitch of muscle in her face. In his mind, he had memorized her face a long time ago and it seemed to be always painted on the inside of his eyelids. So he knew something was wrong even before she laced her fingers in that characteristic gesture that always signalled her nervousness and spoke.

"I'm leaving New York," she said with a dreadful finality that stunned him into silence for a moment.

Never in his life had he imagined so few words can cause so much pain. He felt like he had been hit over the head with something heavy. Like a pick-up truck.

His first reaction was incredulity.

His second reaction was denial.

His third reaction was anger.

The overwhelming feeling of betrayal clawed at his chest and dictated his furious words when he didn't even let her finish or explain her reasons. The pain tearing him up inside made him lash out at her. It was pure anguish speaking when he told her it was her life and she could do with it whatever she pleased. That he didn't care. The pain in her eyes was so profound that he had to turn away from her or it would tear him apart. No, wait, she had already done that.

And then she was gone. Just like that. The dying sound of her heels clicking on the floor fell in perfect unison with the dying beat of his heart.

Then the anger and rage subsided and he started realizing what had just happened. She had given him a final chance, one last opportunity to turn both their lives around and he threw it in her face. So she went away to do it on her own. He left her no other choice. This way he could still remain safely cooped up in his shell, selfishly clinging to the false feeling of safety it gave him ever since Claire passed away. In fact it was Stella that had given him the strength and will to carry on all this time. Not some shell, armour, wall or whatever he chose to call it. It was all her. He wouldn't have made one single day without her. She was so much stronger than him, so much better. He didn't deserve her.

He didn't see it because he was selfishly wrapped up in his own life – the senseless and now finished fling with Aubrey Hunter and his even more senseless behaviour towards Peyton during her short visit. He was too excited about the superficial attention and care he was getting from them that he lost track of what was really important. He got so caught up in the vortex of emotions he now knew meant nothing that he didn't see what was happening with the most important person in his life.

He should have. There was no excuse. He had always prided himself on his observation skills and perspicacity. He treated cases and subconsciously also his life like a game of chess – always trying to foresee the other party's move and be several steps ahead of them. This time he was left behind and it was of his own doing. He could always see right through his colleagues, supervisors and the most warped minds of criminals but he couldn't see what was going on with his best friend. And when he finally caught up, all he could think up was lashing out at her for leaving him. He had left her first. He was a fool.

He loved her. He always had. There was never a moment that he didn't. But there was a long way between feeling something and realizing it. His love for Stella grew naturally and seamlessly, almost imperceptibly, out of their deep friendship and dedicated partnership. Day by day, week by week, year by year it somehow managed to fill the profound, aching void ripped in his heart by Claire's death. The shattered remains of his broken heart were all that he had left and he vowed to protect what little he had salvaged with all his strength. He would not go through this ever again. He couldn't – it would destroy him. When the Towers fell, he promised himself he would never allow anyone to get that close again. And he did everything he could to keep that promise. But He had other plans for him. He put Stella on his path and nothing was ever the same. His walls and barriers didn't stand a chance against her strength and passion. The walls Peyton and Aubrey found impregnable, she scaled with ease. Not once had she left him in the lurch. She was always there when he needed her. Through the bad, the worse and the worst. He saw that now. And he loved her for it even more. But he couldn't tell her that. Not after the way he had behaved. He couldn't tell her the truth. The trouble with the truth was that it didn't always set you free. Sometimes it made you a prisoner.

He didn't want to tie Stella to him when he knew he was no good for her, however deep his feelings for her ran. She deserved better. She deserved someone whole and undamaged. A man cheerful, light-hearted and careless even, who would bring true unconfined joy and happiness into her life. She needed a break from all the angst, suspense, fear and drama. They led a crazy lifestyle as it were and they had dangerous jobs – to bring that into their private lives would be too much. They could both get killed any time, any place. He could never put her through what he had suffered himself, through so much pain and heartache. He loved her too much for that. She was better off without him.

Suddenly he heard a muffled shuffle to his right and he turned in the pew he was sitting in to see a neat, elderly man in a cassock standing a few feet behind him.

"Father O'Malley," he said recognizing the priest.

"Good to see you again, Mac. It's been too long," the elderly man smiled but didn't make a move. "Am I interrupting something?"

"I...No. I just came here to think," he said tightly.

"Mind if I join you?" the priest asked with a small smile.

"Not at all," Mac reciprocated the smile.

O'Malley sat himself in the pew behind Mac and they both remained in a comfortable silence for a long time, Mac deeply occupied with mentally crucifying himself and O'Malley engrossed in a prayer.

Finally Mac chanced a glance behind him at the gregarious priest he had known for almost fifteen years, as long as he had known Claire. O'Malley was a friend of the Conrad family for several decades now and he adored Claire with a fatherly love she had been deprived of as a young girl when her father died. That love for her was the first thing that brought them together. A priest and a scientist, worlds apart, brought together and connected by love. There was no force as powerful.

O'Malley had christened Claire, given her first communion and twenty years later, wedded her to Mac in this very church. Five years after that, they buried her together. Even after Claire's death, Mac remained in touch. The elderly priest was the oen person besides Stella who reminded him of Claire without actually bringing the pain that usually accompanied all the memories of his late wife. Claire had loved and respected Collum O'Malley and Mac had grown to like and trust him despite the fact that was a devoted scientist and an atheist, always wary of priests. Knowing that, Claire had assured him he would love O'Malley. And to his surprise, he did. He had instantly taken to his tolerance and wit. He had accepted Mac's feelings and beliefs with grace and open-mindedness and Mac always respected him for that. Claire had once again proved she knew him better than he himself. There was only one other person that managed to accomplish that. And she had disappeared from his life just as her Claire had.

"You do know thinking's overrated, right?" said O'Malley in his rumble of a voice breaking Mac's train of thought.

Mac gave him a sideways glance, "Not in my job, father."

"Maybe that's the problem. Your job," he said pointedly, looking faintly amused. "You relate everything and everyone to it."

"That's all I've got."

"Now that's not true, young man," O'Malley said furrowing his bushy eyebrows menacingly. "And that's what's troubling you. If there was only work in your life, you wouldn't be here," he said pouting his lips. "You'd be in an asylum," he added wryly and Mac felt his lips twitch upwards despite his sombre mood.

"I guess you're right," Mac conceded. "I'm not in a strait-jacket because of one person only," he shook his head and if O'Malley had rabbit ears, Mac could almost see him pricking them at his words. "And I've managed to drive even them away so you may yet be right and see me in one."

"I hope not. White isn't your colour," O'Malley made a mock frown. Then he became serious. "I suppose that person is your partner, Stella?"

Mac shot him another sideways look and the priest chuckled.

"Mac, there are several reasons you're a cop," he said, mischievous sparks flickering in his eyes. "One of them is you wouldn't be able to lie well if your life depended on it. You don't have the face for it." Mac looked at him incredulously. "Oh, believe me, I've seen my fair share of liars."

Mac just shook his head in defeat, feeling the urge to smile at the priest's perceptiveness.

"Now that we've cleared that up, tell me why you're sitting here alone talking to an old fart like me instead of having a dinner with the woman you so obviously care about?"

"Caring isn't enough," Mac frowned. When the priest looked at him with sceptically raised eyebrows, he shook his head with a sigh. "It's complicated."

"That's just an excuse and a flimsy one at that. It's only as complicated as you make it in your head, Mac," O'Malley shrugged slightly. "Though I see the problem now – I've learned the hard way that your head can make things pretty complicated. You scientists always think too much with your head. That's why you were so good with Claire. She made you see things differently. She always thought with her heart."

Mac thought he would feel the painful jolt he always felt when somebody mentioned Claire and he did. But as he focused on the actual sense of the priest's words, he realized the pain had nothing to do with Claire this time.

"Thinking with heart only makes us weak and vulnerable."

"Always the cynic, always doubting," O'Malley said in a Yoda-like manner, tapping the pew in irritation to make a point. "But I remember a time when you didn't use to think so, Mac."

"That was long ago," he said bitterly.

"I remember a time when you let your heart out of your chest, young man," the priest continued as if Mac hadn't spoken. "Why can't you now?"

Mac looked at him incredulously. Why? Did he really ask him that?

"Once is enough," he said, his mouth a tense line. He had already given all the heart he had and it had lost him everything. He had nothing left.

"You're a coward, Mac Taylor."

The words reverberated through the stillness of the cathedral. Each time they did, they drove the accusation further into Mac's brain. He looked at the priest, not sure if he was more surprised or taken aback.

"You heard me," O'Malley crossed his hands over his huge chest. "You're afraid to make a step in case something good actually happens. Maybe it's for the better - you wouldn't know what to do with it."

"I've already had my share of happiness in life," he said evasively, his throat tight. "I don't think there's any more for me out there."

"If I were younger and could reach you before you moved away, I'd smack you over the head," O'Malley said. "There are so few chances at happiness in life that you take all that you can without waffling on whether you deserve them or not. It's not for you to decide! Obviously He thinks you deserve it. You think you're smarter than Him?"

"I..."

"You're not," he cut him off. "Mac, I like seeing you here but I wish I wouldn't at all. You see, I know you only come here in moments of deepest distress. Your poker face doesn't work on me," he smiled in an avuncular way. "I know you're upset and hurting. But you're also a smart and empathic man of action so do something about it. For once go with your heart, not your brain. I can see your heart's already made the decision for you. Your brain just has to catch up."

Mac looked at him, his mouth set and his eyes unreadable.

XxXxXxX

Stella looked at the contents of her wardrobe, now scattered over her whole sitting room. She rubbed at her temples with her fingers but the pain didn't go away. It was nothing that could be taken away with massage, pills or any other means known to doctors. She tried anyway because that was what she did. She never gave anything up until she had tried. She snorted at her own naiveté. She should definitely change that policy. It brought her nothing good.

A knock on the door brought her back from her thoughts. Her Chinese take-away had finally arrived...

Since when did her local Chinese restaurant hire CSI supervisors?

"Hi," Mac said softly.

"Hi," she replied stiffly in a tone that didn't exactly encourage him to continue. He did anyway.

"I…got you a doughnut," he ploughed on uneasily. "The flower shop was closed," he explained sheepishly seeing her raised eyebrows.

"I'll grab a vase and put it in water," she said wryly with an unwilling smile twitching at her lips.

She moved away from the door leaving it ajar for him to come in. He took a deep breath and followed her into the kitchen. He took in the mess all around with a look of faint dismay. Then he turned his head to the side, studying Stella's profile as she rummaged through the kitchen shelves. The artificial light reflected off her face turning her eyes almost turquoise and softening her taut features.

"I never meant to hurt you, Stell," he said off the bat knowing that if he tried to beat about the bush and be evasive, he wouldn't be able to do this at all. This was hard as it was without any further misunderstandings and ambiguities. "I'm sorry I lashed out at you like that."

"I know, Mac," she sighed turning towards him. "I guess it's better that way. At least now I know the truth."

Mac's heart almost broke at the tone of her voice. She sounded as tense and fragile as an overtightened violin string. It brought him almost physical pain to see the strong and confident woman he knew so vulnerable.

"But it's not the truth," he said, his eyes blazing with intensity. "You can't do this, Stell,"

He put his hand on her shoulder as if to reinforce his words. His fingertips brushed the bare skin over her collarbone sending pointless, helpless shivers through her nerves. There were shadows under his eyes, she noticed without wanting to, and dark hollows under his cheekbones. The black dress shirt he was wearing only made the pallor of his skin stand out more. The only thing that wasn't changed were his eyes. They were as blue as ever and conveyed the same depth and intensity, with one difference – a misery she found hard to look at. A misery she knew must be plainly written across her features as well. Misery she had caused.

She moved a step back and his hand fell limply to his side.

"I've already done it, Mac," she said with finality . "I've faxed my resignation to your office."

"Stell, I'm not going to read it unless you put a gun to my head," he said forcefully. "I don't think it's the best for you," he ventured in a softer tone.

She shot him a dagger glance. "What the hell makes you think you know what's best for me?" she asked angrily. "You don't even know what's best for yourself!"

"I know what's best for me," he said softly.

Rendered speechless by his unusually candid admission, she simply stared at him.

"I was just too scared to reach for it," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "Until a wise man gave me a kick in the butt."

"You sure deserve one," she said wryly and he chuckled.

As the moment of laughter reminding them how good they used to be together not so long ago faded away, they looked at each other with renewed seriousness. Silence fell between them like an invisible curtain. Finally Stella spoke.

"And now?" she crossed her hands over her chest.

She didn't want to hold her breath waiting for the answer and she hated the butterflies that started doing somersaults in her stomach. Hell, a moment ago she wouldn't even want to hear the answer at all. She had convinced herself she didn't care anymore. But she did. Always had and always would. With chilling dread she realized she was forever bound to this man before her and there was nothing she could do about it. She had tried but she was organically and unfathomably unable to set herself free from him. She felt tears gather in her eyes and she didn't know if it were tears of anger, helplessness...or something else altogether, something that scared her. Anger she knew how to handle, whereas this...

Mac took a moment to reply, still finding it difficult to word what he had kept inside for longer than he could remember. "Now I'm scared it's too late."

Him admitting his fear suddenly made all her fear disappear. Everything became crystal clear. She knew what she wanted. What she had almost lost. She smiled at him and she was sure he noticed the tears lurking in the corners of her eyes. He made a step towards her as if he wanted to wipe away the tears but stopped mid-way.

"For a Marine and a cop, you sure are scared a lot," she quipped in a slightly shaky voice.

"You have that effect on me." He made another step towards her.

"I scare you?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"No," he chuckled lightly. "But the feelings you stir up in me do," he added softly.

"What feelings, Mac?"

"I think you know I love you, Stell," he said simply. "You've known it longer than I do. And I'm sorry it's taken me so long. I thought I'd used up my share of happiness in this lifetime. I still do. I don't deserve any more. And I don't deserve you, Stell. But I need you."

She stood motionlessly, afraid that if she moved, breathed or blinked this would all disappear – his closeness, his words and his eyes sweeping over her face in an almost palpable caress.

She watched him cover the distance between them and stand just before her, his blue eyes boring into hers with a certainty and affection she had never seen directed at her. They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them daring to make a move. Finally she saw a new determination spark in his eyes. He touched her face lightly. When she didn't move away, his other hand came up and now he was cupping her face. His touch was gentle, almost tentative.

"So you see, you can't leave," he breathed making the final step and sliding his fingertips under her chin.

"Good. Cause I don't want to," she said against his lips.

Sometimes you fall from the edge. It's not always a bad thing, though. Sometimes you have to fall to meet your destiny.

THE END

A/N: So, how was this? I hope I at least managed to get a smile on your face! Do let me know in a review, they really keep me going these days! Love you all;-)

A/N2: 'Stalemate' will update next.