Jumping the Tracks
Summary: Spoiler Alert for 6.1! Mac guesses what Stella has done to ease her pain, and the knowledge nearly breaks his heart. K+ for adult angst.
Disclaimers: I have made no money from writing this story. I do not own anything connected with any of the CSI franchises, which I assume belong to CBS and its cohorts. I would quite like to borrow Gary Sinise, however… just for a day?
A/N: A one-shot in response to 6.1
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He knew.
He always knew, and he cursed the empathy that condemned him to knowledge he would rather not have. Something in the way she moved, that morning – something in the way her body turned and her voice lifted told him that, yet again, he had lost her. He watched her talking to colleagues, a reassuring gesture here, a supportive word there – but never once approaching Adam, who sat at his bench with his head down, working feverishly, avoiding everyone's eyes. So Adam was the man…
What amazed him was that no-one else seemed to have noticed: that what was so obvious to him – as obvious as if they'd put up posters – was invisible to everyone else. He forgot that not everyone was in love with Stella: that not everyone had the hypersensitivity towards her that he did.
As he stood in his office surrounded by pictures and maps and notes about who might have wanted to kill them all last May, he tried to feel numb. It usually worked, this self-induced half-coma: he'd had a lot of practise at it, especially after Claire died.
When he was sixteen, he'd turned to his mom for help over something – he couldn't remember what – and had caught a glimpse of desperation behind those tired eyes. Not unwillingness, but sheer exhaustion from years of work, worry and – lately – grief. She was a woman who had caught sight of the end of her tether, and was afraid. That was the day he had begun to roll himself up and hide his emotions. As the years passed, he had concluded that emotional self-sufficiency was the finest gift he could bestow on those he loved, lending them the sure knowledge that 'Mac can always stand on his own two feet'.
What it did to him was another matter: before he'd realised, he had become an impenetrable fortress, guarded by moats and walls that not even he could breach. Claire had worked hard to find a way into his castle, and once there had discovered how bright and rich was the life within: but her daring had not gone unpunished. Peyton had never come close: she had seen that laying siege would be waste of both their lives, and moved on. Now, the old doors had become so stuck, and the defences so slick from years of slow accretion, that even Mac had no idea how to let the drawbridge down.
Sometimes he almost drowned in his magnificent solitude. That was why he had reacted so strongly to Ella's advances: an immature young woman, but beautiful and headstrong and passionate, reminding him of Claire – and Claire's success at opening up his defences.
He was, of course, too sensible to let it go anywhere, though he suspected Ella's feelings for him ran deeper than mere childish infatuation: but he yearned for Stella to attempt that breach, with all the skill and experience at her disposal. He had even tried to pave the way once or twice: but had never decisively reached out. And so, in her need for the human warmth he held, flaming, in his secret heart, he had driven her to Adam – easy, accessible, Adam – who had his own history and problems, and probably needed the comfort as much as she did.
And, in that knowledge, Mac was finding it very hard to cope.
What had she said to him? He couldn't remember her exact words. You're not alone in this? Not alone? After she'd slept with someone else? How the hell did she expect him to feel: all fluffy and loved, as presumably she had after…
He shook his head to dispel the sudden, unpleasant image. It would be easy to get angry with Stella, but he was a man of discipline, and knew that the fault lay with him, not her. And yet, although she had apparently only spoken of the case, there was a wider implication to her words. As if – as if she was saying sorry?
But she had no need to say sorry to him – or to anyone. He didn't own her – there was nothing joining them other than common friendship. He was angry with himself even for thinking it: how presumptuous of him to imagine she thought she had to apologise to him! Yet he wanted it to be so…
Later, he saw her speaking with Adam – their first communication of a personal nature, as far as he knew, since – well, since. He couldn't hear their words, but the body language – Stella's gentle defiance, Adam's shoulders drooping and straightening again – spoke eloquently enough. The lab seemed suddenly to grow light: so it wasn't an ongoing relationship, it really was – as he had hoped and half-suspected – a one night stand, born of pain and fear and loneliness. Poor Stella: that he should wish to deny her the comfort of someone else's love, just because he wanted to give her his own.
But he could not: even as Stella helped him clear his office after the ludicrous reason behind the shootings became clear, he could do no more than look at her – and feel that maybe there was something in her eyes, veiled and hooded but alive with fire, that reflected his desire. But they had been too long together: she would never speak first. And he was locked in his fortress, as much a prison as it had ever been a protection, he unable to get out and she unwilling to get in.
He couldn't go on living like this, trapped in a hell of his own making, lending his emotional strength to everyone else while his own withered on the vine. He had to act before her loneliness led her, not to a one-off liaison that merely scratched an itch, but a long-lasting relationship that fulfilled every part of her. That was for him – it had to be, and only for him!
He had to find a way out, if he was ever to build a bridge and knock down these castle walls. He couldn't expect her to do it: not now, after all these years. It had to be him: somehow, he had to break out of his prison and set them both free.
Time to jump the tracks.
The End