"You really need to get out more."
"Hmm? What's that supposed to mean?"
"That means," a woman said, gingerly wrapping her arms around a man sitting at a desk chair, "that you should really take me dancing. Or something."
"Oh really?" The man asked, looking humored. His left eyebrow raised itself incredulously and the woman laughed. "What's the 'or something'?"
"Oh, maybe a movie, dinner, skating and busting our asses on ice, we could do a lot of things, really."
"Feelin' romantic, huh?"
"Yep," the woman replied, twirling a strand of her long red hair and smiling coyly at him. She plucked the sleek black pen out of his hand, set it down on the desk, and grabbed his hand, standing him up and pulling him along behind her as she ran.
"Whoa, slow down!"
"Nah," the redhead replied, grinning from ear to ear. She turned around and glanced at the man she was married to - his short curly brown hair, his cool green eyes, his warm smile that only she was privy to. She smiled at him and kept running until the pair reached their bedroom. She abruptly sat him down on the king-size bed and commenced to waltz around the room, throwing him a deep purple dress shirt, different from the one he was already wearing, a pair of black jeans, and a jet black blazer to match. After that, she threw him a pair of black socks and set a pair of black Converse at his feet, smiling.
"I don't understand . . ."
"What don't you understand, hmm?"
"First off, no tie-"
"Nope."
"Second off, Converse-"
"Yep."
"WHY?"
"Just put it on, Mac, you'll see."
He stared at her momentarily. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing no-"
"You did not just ask me that."
"Were the words coming out of my mouth unclear to you?"
"No."
"Then why the question?"
"Because, you goof, you don't understand what I'm trying to say to you."
"Enlighten me."
"You, Mac Taylor, are stubborn and far too overdressed."
"This is my normal attire, what's wrong with-"
"EXACTLY!"
After a moment, he said, "You don't want my normal attire." His eyes widened as realization set in.
"Ding ding ding, give the man a prize," she mused, closing the gap between them and pulling him into a kiss, undoing his tie in the process. As she pulled away, their lips parted and she gently pulled on one end of his tie, watching as it fell from his neck and onto the bed. She bundled it up in her hands before it hit the floor, went to closet and hung it up for him, then motioned to the clothes she'd thrown at him, telling him without words to get dressed. He gave her a small smile as his eyes lit up, so she knew he meant it.
"Claire Conrad Taylor," he said, still grinning, "what on earth would I do without you?"
/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\
Claire whistled as Mac walked out of the bedroom, sporting what she had picked out for him. Dressed mostly in black, with a deep purple shirt underneath the blazer, she smiled when Mac gave her a sheepish grin.
"Would you like me to spin for you?"
"Oh yes please, my sexy man."
"Oh, sexy, am I?"
"Hell yes! Of course you are, I dressed you, practically."
"If I remember correctly, I dressed myself," he mused, giving her a wink. "And you look dazzling yourself," he quipped, noticing her little black dress and red pumps that matched her lipstick to the tee.
"If I remember correctly, I took the trouble of convincing you to change out of your work clothes, and I picked you out something sexy to wear, so practically, I dressed you. And thank you."
"Have it your way," he said softly, glancing at her fondly with a coy smile.
"Now, my sexy man, do you have anything planned for the evening?"
"Umm, other than work, no."
"Well we aren't doing work," she teased, "You wouldn't want to drag your semi-clueless wife into that stuff anyway."
"Probably not, but you aren't clueless."
"Probably why I said 'semi-clueless', don't you think?"
"Perhaps."
"So what do you want to do?"
"Spend time with you."
"And how would you prefer to spend that time, any ideas?"
"Well," he said, pausing to create suspense, "I heard from a friend that Phantom of the Opera is on Broadway . . ."
"SHUT UP!" She squealed, grabbing Mac by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously.
"Don't you want to hear the details?"
"Uugghh, Mac, you're partially hopeless!"
"At least only partially," he chuckled, "I'd hate to be past 'The Point of no Return'."
"Silly man!" She laughed, shoving his arm playfully. "I love you."
He gazed at her for several seconds, then said, "I love you too."
/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\
As they were leaving the show, Claire was dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex, her mascara running down her face in streaks. She sniffled, then laughed softly.
"You know," she said, breaking the silence between herself and Mac, "I've seen Phantom of the Opera I don't know how many times, and the ending still gets me."
"It is stellar, isn't it?"
"You don't cry, though."
"Is that a crime?"
"No," she said, shrugging, "just an observation."
"I just don't like crying in public," he spoke softly. Putting his arm around her, he gently wiped a tear and a trail of mascara from her cheek. "I hate to see you cry," he said.
"It occurred to me that I've never seen you cry."
"Oh," he replied.
"Yet I've seen your soft side," she said.
"You have."
"Have you ever cried?"
"Yes," he said after a momentary pause. "When my dad died."
"I'm sorry," she said out of habit.
"It was years ago, you don't have to be sorry, you weren't involved, cancer was."
"I know, but still."
He remained silent.
"Will I ever see you cry?" She asked him.
"Maybe, if something that bad happens. But I'd rather it not happen and the tears not come into play, if it's all the same to you."
"Yeah, I understand," she said quietly, wrapping her arm around him and resting her head on his arm. "Thanks for the show, it was wonderful."
He glanced down at her and smiled warmly, smoothing a lock of her fiery red hair and hailing a cab. "It was my pleasure to spend the evening with the love of my life."
They got into the first cab that pulled over, and were both silent for the rest of the ride home.
Once they got back to the apartment, Mac eased her out of the cab, paid the cabbie, and picked a half-asleep Claire up and held her close to him. He walked with her into the elevator and pressed the button for the floor they lived on, then kissed her forehead softly, his lips barely touching her skin. A foot jarred the door open just as it was closing and another man walked into the elevator, eyeing Mac and his sleeping Claire bemusedly. Mac started to blush and said,
"I can explain this."
"Hey man," the stranger said in a thick New York accent, "no need, you're cool, got yourself a keeper, there," he said, gesturing to Claire. "Girlfriend or wife?"
"Wife," he said quietly, smiling and wiggling his ring finger just a touch.
"Man, you lucky bastard," he said, "You're the only one in the world with a chance to grow old with her. Don't screw up."
Mac looked at the stranger for a moment, then said, "I won't, that's a promise."
/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\
"Oh my God," Stella said, her hand jumping to her wide open mouth as she watched footage on the small, static-filled television of a plane crashing into the World Trade Center. She looked out the window at the precinct and saw smoke billowing into the sky.
"Stella! Stella! What's going on?!"
"Mac!" Stella shouted above the noise. "Have you seen the footage?"
"No, what's happening? I just heard commotion, saw people running and screaming, I haven't had time to do anything else!"
"Mac, one of the Twin Towers was hit."
"What?"
"The World Trade Centers. One was hit by an airplane. At first they thought it may have been an accident. Now they aren't so sure."
"No," he whispered, his eyes filling with dread.
"Mac, what did you say? I can barely hear anything in here!"
Mac didn't say anything in return, just whipped his phone out of his pocket and called Claire.
Stella watched him as he called Claire. At first, he looked worried. After several seconds, when he heard her familiar voice on the other end, he was relieved, letting himself breathe and crack a small smile. He kept talking to her, worry still evident in his cool, calculating green eyes. He told her to leave work, to go as far away from the towers as possible, telling her to meet him at a particular place. He kept talking to her, pleading with her to leave but stay on the phone with him. He kept talking to her, but when he heard no voice, his eyes widened.
"Claire," he said, almost asking a question. He called her name again, and again, growing louder each time he said it. He cried out her name, making himself as loud as possible.
Another plane hit the second tower and the precinct gave a collective gasp.
"CLAIRE!" Mac yelled, shouting into the void of static and screams. He, a man of steel emotions, was trembling on the spot, screaming her name into the receiver. As the smoke billowed, the Twin Towers collapsed, and the line went dead, Mac fell to the floor in a heap, overwhelmed by dread and pain unbeknownst to him.
When he attended her funeral, there was only one thing he could bring himself to do.
He cried.