Insurance?
By Dimgwrthien
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.
Stella climbed into her car, fastening her seatbelt and putting the keys into the ignition. Her day had been hectic so far with cases piling up on top of each other, people yelling at her for faster results, and several worthless trips to DNA and Ballistics.
Placing her coffee cup into the cup holder, Stella sat in place for a minute, fuming. For years, she went to the office, worked her ass off, and left the office. Get a few hours of sleep. Grab a quick breakfast and still be late. Work. Work. Work. Yell, yell, yell. Scream, scream, scream. Slow results, negative results, impossible results. And that day, she worked with another rape case, which always annoyed her whenever she had to look at the helpless, dead victim and the rapist who always tried to pull off their innocence even when she could see malicious guilt behind their eyes.
"Goddamn city and its goddamn problems," she muttered, turning the keys to start up the car, then backing out as quickly as she could.
The sound of metals scraping alarmed her, but it wasn't until she heard glass shatter and felt herself smack into the steering wheel did she notice what happened. She screamed out one obscenity, then unbuckled herself, getting out of the car. Her chest hurt and she knew that she would have a half-circle bruise the next morning. Heels clinking against cement and tar, she rounded the broken car until she could find who she backed into.
Yelling off another line of curses, she tried the door on the car, which wouldn't budge open. Then she tapped on the glass impatiently. Mac elbowed the airbag out of his way, unlocking the door. Stella pulled it open roughly.
"You could look before you pull out," Mac muttered, climbing out of the car and pressing a hand against his head. "You have insurance, right?"
"Yeah." She watched as he pulled out a wallet from his pocket and held out a card between two fingers. "You want to file the crash or me?"
"You can." Stella ran a hand through her hair. "It's my fault. I can pay for the damage -"
"No." Mac pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. Stella listened to him as he told them where they were and explained the situation. She continued to run her hand through her hair, looking at the cars, feeling like an idiot. Her anger seemed to ebb away from the people she dealt with, and more toward herself. Her hand automatically tightened, digging into her scalp as she danced nervously on her feet.
Mac hung up, then glanced at Stella. "You alright?"
She stopped moving, crossed her arms, and stared at him. "Stop being so calm!"
"Should I be panicking? It's just a little wreck. No one's hurt." Mac put the card back in his wallet and put that back in his pocket. "Did you get hurt?"
"Just a little bump." She looked him over. "You're bleeding."
Mac glanced at the hand that he had pressed against his forehead and saw a smear of blood. He pressed the wound again. "A little cut. See? Nothing wrong." He turned to the cars. "Wish we could move those faster. Most shifts are ending now. I hate blocking the parking lot."
"Stop being calm!" Stella repeated, looking annoyed. "Damnit!" She kicked her bumper, watching the half-ruined thing fall off onto the ground.
"Let me get you some coffee," Mac offered, reaching out for her shoulder, but Stella moved away.
"I already had coffee. And it probably spilled all over. At least I'll be needing a new car anyway." She sighed and leaned into Mac's chest, letting him drape an arm around her shoulders. "Damnit! I'm sorry, Mac."
"You didn't do anything but forget to look, that's all." Mac rubbed her shoulder awkwardly. "C'mon, Stella. Let's get inside and wait for them. I'll get you another coffee with extra sugar and cream."
"I hate sugar and cream." She wrapped her arms around Mac. "Just black coffee."
"Alright. Just stop panicking on me, alright?" Mac clapped her shoulder again, turning Stella toward the building. She walked beside him obediently, letting him open the door for her and lead her in. As they entered the break room where a glass window let them peek out into the muggy parking lot, Mac asked, "What's eating Stella Bonasera?"
"I just want a break for a few minutes. Or a day. Or any time I can get." Stella slid into a chair and rested her head against the table. "I don't want to deal with people today."
Mac passed her a coffee from the machine and waited for it to fill a cup for him. When it finished, he sat across from Stella. "Take a day off, then."
"You haven't yet," she answered, feeling the coolness of the table pass into her skin, comforting her.
"I'm not annoyed with people today. Take tomorrow off - I can get your work done. You deserve it. Besides, you won't have to worry about cars or subways."
"No," she answered. "I'll stay."
"You won't be useful if you can't deal with people." Mac smiled, and Stella it sideways from her point of view. Even then, his smile seemed to brighten her day. "We're not all about picking off dead bodies." He paused, and Stella tried to read is expression. "What if I joined you?"
"Mac Taylor's day off," Stella mused, then laughed. "Please tell me you aren't going to follow me on the bus."
His smile widened. "I'll take part of the day off, if you really want. Make sure you don't bite anyone's head off."
"Thanks," Stella whispered, closing her eyes. She felt too comfortable there, her warm face cooled by the plastic of the table, the reassuring warmth of Mac near her… When she was stirred from it by the sounds of Mac calling her name and telling her the police and tow truck were there already, Stella cursed again and remembered why she couldn't stand the human race that day. Then she wondered if Mac was considered human.