A/N: Disclaimer first: All original characters belong to CBS.
Since the 'hallucination' conversation between Mac and Flack in 'Near Death' obviously couldn't have actually happened and I loved it so incredibly much, I decided to craft a possible real life version of it. Obviously it's not the same or verbatim and I've included a bunch of other stuff in their conversation as well. I also wanted to develop a little more of what might have happened in the interim based on what has been revealed is going to happen in season 9, hence the end I've given it.
Hope all you lovely readers enjoy it! Thank you all!
Never the Same
Technically Mac wasn't supposed to be at the interrogation at the precinct. Technically he was still held back from all job activities other than essentially what he could do from behind his desk. But Mac, in typical fashion, had very quickly taken to interpreting his restricted duty profile as broadly as possible. Not that he was given much opportunity between Jo and Flack to stretch its boundaries much, but even Jo recognized his need to do something other than paperwork and case reviews. Plus, Mac suspected she didn't exactly mind him going over to the precinct every once in a while and having Don take a turn "watching after him". He appreciated their intent and caring, but he was simply downright impatient of not being back to full functioning strength yet and chafed under the restrictions put on him and feeling as though he was beholden to them for their help.
However, it turned out to be a good thing he had been there at the interrogation when Don snapped.
xxx
Needless to say, Mac hadn't been part of the actual workings of the case. The most involved he had been was helping Adam spectrographically analyze the shards of glass that had been in the victim's head wound. It was frustrating feeling so limited, but as he found himself doing more in the lab out of sheer desperation to escape his office every now and then, he did take a certain amount of quiet self-satisfaction that despite the decreased time he'd found himself working in the lab over the years, his skills hadn't diminished one bit. They better not have, he thought, he had to run the damn place.
The case itself was somewhat strange, both extraordinarily obvious yet baffling at the same time. Their vic had been the casualty of a hit and run, and a fairly short investigation had revealed that her boyfriend of three years had been the one who had run her over. He tried to deny it in interrogation, but Mac laid out all the evidence – the damage to his car which perfectly matched his girlfriend's fatal injuries, the broken glass from his windshield which matched what Sid had pulled from her head, that his prints were the only ones on the driver's side of the car and the steering wheel, that the acceleration skid marks matched his tires, and that there were multiple witnesses stating they had heard him arguing quite loudly with the victim prior to the incident. But they were at a loss for an actual motive.
"You argued and when she wouldn't let you have the last word and the control that you wanted and decided to walk out on you, you just couldn't let that happen. You followed her downstairs and you ran her over!" Mac said, letting his voice escalate and slapping his palms on the table and he leaned across it towards their suspect, "Ran her over like a piece of trash!" The pictures of the victim and the collected evidence lay one of top of the other on the table where Mac had slapped them down as he emphasized the implications of each of the gloss stills, interrupting and talking over the increasingly weak protests of innocence from their suspect.
"No. NO!" the man finally said, shrinking and broken from Mac's overwhelming litany and the detective's glaring eyes, "NOT like that! I loved her. I didn't mean to kill her!"
Mac sat slowly down, not once removing his steel gaze from the suspect in front of him. Standing just behind him and with his arms folded, Flack made a sound of pure disgust.
"So why don't you tell us what you meant to do," Flack said scathingly.
"I just meant to scare her, you know, give her tap or something."
" 'Give her a tap'," Mac echoed coldly, "Is that why there are acceleration skid marks? That's hardly what I call a 'tap'."
"Look, you don't understand!"
"Oh really?" Flack broke in angrily, "Then why don't you make us understand. Because hitting her hard enough so shards of glass get stuck in her head is just a wee bit not understandable."
"Okay," their suspect said, placing his hands in front of him and apparently trying to put his thoughts together, "It was those goddamn shoes!"
"I'm sorry, what?" Flack asked in bafflement.
Mac still held the man pinned uncomfortably in his seat with a look of ice.
"She knew, she knew I go the poker club every week and that that money was for that reason only," their suspect told them in a protesting voice, stabbing at the table with his finger, "She knew. That is my only time where I can go and have a little fun and she never liked it, and this was the last time I was going to let her do just whatever she wanted," he finished, his voice rising.
"So you ran her over in your car so hard her head smashed through the top of your windshield because she bought a pair of shoes and you couldn't gamble and drink with your buddies for one night," Mac said in an eerily quiet voice, "You killed your girlfriend over a pair of shoes. Some love." He started gathering the pictures together into a pile in front of him, despise written in every feature of his face.
"It was an accident!" the man protested, "And it was her fault! If she would have just…"
But Flack could not contain the growing contempt and anger that had been growing inside him. It had not been a good week to say the least, and at their suspect's whining perception of self-martyrdom, something in him gave way. He hauled the suspect who was now sitting like a simpering cockroach from his seat and slammed him against the wall before Mac swiftly intervened.
"Hey, HEY!" Mac yelled at Flack, deftly breaking his fellow detective's grip on their terrified suspect's shirt and forcing him back.
"He doesn't deserve…" Flack leveled heatedly, pointing over Mac's shoulder at the suspect.
"I know," Mac cut in, "But come on," he guided his friend out to the hallway, closing the door to the interrogation room behind them.
Flack tried to evade Mac's hold on his arm and march off without saying a word. But Mac was quicker and blocked him against the wall.
"Don, Don!" he said as Flack tried to avoid his face, "Hey! What's going on? ! What's wrong with you? ! You want to jeopardize this whole case?"
Flack was so furious he couldn't even speak for a few seconds. Mac waited, not budging an inch and refusing to let Flack leave or move without getting an answer out of him.
"I just…" Flack started, anger and frustration radiating off him and unable to articulate anything else.
"Come on, let's go for a walk," Mac said, guiding his friend firmly down the hall.
xxx
"So what's going on, Don?" Mac asked as they made their way down the sidewalk, even though he already had a fairly good idea.
"Who kills someone over a pair of shoes and still thinks they're partly the victim?!"
Mac nodded. "I know," he said as he bought the two of them coffee from a street vendor while he waited for Flack to further collect his thoughts. He knew the face value reason Flack had given him was only the smallest part of what was bothering his friend. They'd both seen more senseless and inexplicable crimes and excuses and "reasons" for violence in their long tenures in the police department than either could count by this time. From his own experience, Mac was fairly certain what was going on beneath the surface; but he waited for Flack to speak.
They walked almost two blocks before Flack blurted out was on his mind.
"How can someone take another human being who cares for them, so forgranted? And not just forgranted," he gestured back the direction they'd come towards the precinct, "So totally…I don't even have the words for it!"
"I know," Mac said again, "You just want to strangle them and bash their head against the wall and show them how lucky they were or could have been and how inconceivable what they did is."
"Yes," Flack said fiercely. "How the fuck do you do it, Mac?"
"Do what?" Mac asked.
"Not…tear their heads off or something. It's bad enough for me; I can't imagine what it's like for you."
Mac let out a short, humorless laugh, "A lot of self-control. And knowing when and how to walk out of a room and hit something else later on."
They meandered on.
"It was Jess' birthday this past Tuesday," Flack said looking straight ahead and carefully controlling his voice.
No wonder, Mac thought with acute sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Flack nodded, his lips tight, and glanced down at his coffee cup lid before blowing out a long breath to the sky. "God I hate going home to no one," he said, "I tried, you know. Thought if I got out there and 'bounced right back' that everything would be okay. And, well, you saw how good that worked. I honestly thought you just might beat my ass that afternoon at Terrence's," he said, referencing when Mac had had to track him down after he'd nearly self-destructed two years ago.
"I almost did," Mac admitted.
"But it's still never been the same," Flack continued, "Hell, I can't even go back to the way things were before I met Jess, let alone forget what it was like being with her. Something as simple as a couple of teenagers holding hands reminds me she's not there. And then," a look of intense anger filled his face, "I run across these fuckers who do have someone in their life and they kill them and don't even really care? !"
He paused and Mac didn't say anything, instinctively knowing Don had more to say and feeling his pain all too well.
"You know I never really appreciated what you've gone through until now," Flack said, looking over at Mac, "Yeah I mean before Jess I intellectually did, but not…not like this." He paused and swallowed hard, "And then after she died it took me a long time to get past…" he couldn't say it. Partly for the technical reasons why Mac had held him up short of confessing in Terrance's apartment, and partly because of the guilt and shame that he still lived with from shooting Simon Cade. "…past things." Mac's eyes held nothing but the deepest level of understanding.
"I know, Don," Mac said quietly, referencing the blank that Flack had left in his pause, "I know what happened."
"You…wait, what?" Flack said in disbelieving bafflement.
"I know what it was you almost told me back then. That afternoon I tracked you down in Terrence's place?"
Flack just stared. He didn't know whether to feel relieved that he didn't have to carry the horrible weight of that secret by himself and that Mac had obviously made a point to never be put in a position where he'd have to follow the law, or furious that his friend had done exactly that and hadn't even hinted obliquely that he knew, thereby depriving Flack of a relief at a time when he most desperately needed it.
"Why didn't…?" Flack started, nearly lost for words.
"Why didn't I tell you I knew about it, or why didn't I didn't do anything about it?" Mac asked.
"Both."
Mac shrugged and smiled sadly. "Because I know," he said, "I know what the worst kind of grief can make a person do, a person who would never under any other circumstances even think of committing certain acts. And," he continued, "I never let the subject get even close to being discussed because I was terrified of inadvertently getting caught in position that I couldn't back out of where I'd lose one of the finest and best cops the NYPD has, and my best friend."
Emotions flooded through Flack. Neither of the men, but Mac in particular, were exactly open and candid people. Mac's style of avoidance was simply not speaking, getting shifty and changing the subject when things got too personal, and Don was well aware that he hid a lot under glib humor and sarcasm. All of which made this entire conversation and Mac's latest confession that much more powerful.
"I don't…I don't know what to say," Flack managed, overwhelmed.
"I owe you more than you'll ever know for always having my back in everything," Mac said, "I wasn't about to throw all that away over something I also…" Mac pulled up short and Flack looked at him closely. Something about the way he had mentioned grief pushing people to do things they wouldn't normally do with such a level of intimate understanding, followed by him now clearly almost letting on to something, made Flack wonder if Mac didn't have his own deeply dark secret. Between his military past which he rarely breathed a word about and Claire's death, the man certainly had more than a few blackly shadowed corners. But Flack knew not to press his vague suspicion knowing he'd never get an answer.
Mac smiled bitterly and without a trace of warmth, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more. If I'd had a solution or magic answer, believe me, I'd have let you know." He looked down at his coffee before continuing, "To be honest, I can't even remember how I got through that first year after Claire died. It's all just a blur essentially at this point as remembering everything from then is… too painful. And then seeing you go through it…" He lapsed into a brief silence and bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Don," he finished quietly.
Flack's eyes never left his friend's face as Mac absently ran his fingers around the top of his coffee cup lid while staring intently at it while he spoke. When he finally did look up, Flack recognized a hint of the deep storm and emptiness that had defined who Mac had been back when the two had met in that first year Mac had referenced.
"Don't be," Flack said firmly, grabbing Mac's sleeve, turning and pulling him to a stop, "I've always been there for you? Mac, I could say that the other way around and then some! I've never had another friend who I could trust more, rely on more, know that no matter what you'll be there… If you feel as though you weren't there enough for me after Jess died that was my own fault for blowing you off. And yeah I did," he insisted as Mac opened his mouth to protest, "You tried, but you didn't want to push, and honestly, I really appreciate that. Everyone else was…" Flack searched for the right word, "Cloyingly suffocating with pity."
Mac painfully well knew from his own experiences exactly what Flack meant.
"You never were, and I valued that more than you'll ever know."
But Mac did know. He wished he didn't.
"I keep waiting for it to stop hurting or not to be reminded," Flack continued, "…but it hasn't happened yet. It's been three years and I can't get past her, Mac. Can't get past that it all seems like yesterday and that one of these days she'll walk through my apartment door again. And when you stop to think about it, we hadn't even been actually dating all that long." He took a swallow of his coffee as if he needed it to steady himself.
"Doesn't matter," Mac told him quietly, "You loved her."
"Yeah I did," Flack said quietly, "I really did." He let out a sound of self-disgust, "You know I didn't even tell her. Part of me was too afraid of actually saying it. Like it was the ultimate point of no return that I was scared of committing to. And I would give anything," he looked over at Mac, "Anything to go back and say those words."
They walked for a while without speaking.
"At least you have someone now," Flack heard himself say. He regretted it instantly. He knew it wasn't a fair statement, but in the moment it was how he felt, the ball of anger and frustration that had sat in his chest, returning, and threatening to explode outwards in all sorts of directions if he didn't express at least part of it.
Mac's eyes flashed with their own anger as he whirled on his friend. "Yeah, now, after eleven years," he bit back, "Eleven years, Don! Do you realize that's as long as Claire and I were married? Do you know how much that realization hurts? How hard I have to think sometimes now to remember even what her voice sounded like?" his voice caught and he turned briefly away.
Flack watched as the hauntedness and pain in Mac from a moment earlier returned to add dimension to the anger that still poured from his eyes.
"And don't think for one second," Mac continued, evening his voice out and taking a step closer to Flack, still simmering with fury, "That I'm not reminded of the reality that it is someone else I'm now with and not Claire, and that as happy as I might be, I'll never have what I had with her again, and that ultimately it shouldn't be someone else." He wiped his face with his hand before visibly squashing any further verbal expression of his temper and saying something he knew he'd regret.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have thrown that at you," Flack said in a quiet voice, "That was more than unfair."
"No, it's ok," Mac sighed, feeling his anger bleed away despite part of him not wanting it to, "I know what you actually meant." He grew thoughtful. The sun shone down warmly on his back, taking the edge off the ache that had developed just under his left shoulder blade where he'd been shot, but an early evening breeze kicked up as well and made him involuntarily shiver as the two continued up the sidewalk. He'd never liked the cold despite growing up in Chicago and living for years in New York, but for some reason he had developed an even a higher intolerance to it since his most recent brush with mortality. His midsection started protesting at him as well as they continued on. He ignored both discomforts.
"Do you love her?" Flack asked finally, breaking the silence.
"I do," Mac said simply.
"Aren't you scared committing that much of yourself if it doesn't work out in the end?" Flack asked, somewhat surprised at himself as the words left his mouth. He really, really hadn't planned on talking about any of this…to anyone…ever. This level of transparency and revelation was something he didn't do. But one thing had led to another and now here he was, spilling everything as though he couldn't turn the faucet off. "And that fear of losing…" he let his sentence trail off. "I sometimes wonder if I've never really 'let' anything work out since because of it," he finished.
Mac knew exactly what his friend meant. "Yes," he said quietly, "I was."
"So what changed?" Flack responded.
Mac didn't say anything for a long moment and when he spoke he continued staring off in front of him. "I realized someone can't be broken if they already have been."
The implication and profundity of Mac's statement hit Flack hard. "Broken". Not 'scraping the bottom', not 'almost broken', not 'pushed to a breaking point'…broken. The word echoed like a soft, resigned despair in his mind. It carried the weight of something one doesn't ever fully recover from and simply learns to live with. He'd come within a hair's breadth himself of actually breaking, and a certain part of him had when he'd killed Cade, but not all of him. It was a threshold he knew he'd teetered on but not quite tipped over. And as he looked over at Mac who was still gazing straight ahead as he spoke, he had no doubts of the completeness of how his friend had uttered the word, and Flack wondered once more what exact hell it was that Mac of all people had gone through and been beaten by.
"That," Mac continued, and Flack dragged his attention back to the present, "And after the incident on the roof where my gun miraculously misfired when I was nearly shot with it, and then the 10th anniversary of 9/11 last year, I guess I was tired of living with potential permanent regrets just because I was afraid. I already have too many; I didn't want more."
Flack knew the sentiment, and it was why he had given his number to Molly Byrne a few months back. Even though in the end that tentative relationship hadn't worked out, it had still been different and far more genuine than the tumultuous and, Flack hated to admit it, somewhat sordid relationships he had first courted after Jess had died. "Hey, you need to sit down?" he suddenly asked Mac, noticing his friend's slowed pace and carefully disguised but obvious discomfort. Mac actually nodded which told Flack just how taxed Mac must be. The two sat down on a bench by a greenery area. Mac lowered himself gratefully and carefully, stifling a grimace of both pain and relief.
"You should have said something," Flack told him reproachfully, feeling guilty for how far they'd walked without him paying attention.
"Nah, I'm fine," Mac said dismissively, squashing the sharp ache that went from his back, through his chest, and into his abdomen.
Flack just looked at him with the highest skepticism knowing just how un-fine Mac's 'fine' usually meant. But he also knew better than to insist to Mac otherwise upon pain of receiving a glare that could melt polar ice caps and an even worsened stubbornness. "Jo's a horrible, horrible influence," he said instead, as Mac caught his breath, and drained the last of his lukewarm coffee from his cup.
"What do you mean?" Mac asked.
"Look at us talking about this crap," Flack told him. "Since when do we talk about stuff like this…to this extent?"
Mac chuckled, "You started it."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Flack dismissed, "You were the one who dragged me out on this little walk."
"Touché," Mac returned. "Although," he teased, "You better not start being as demanding as Danny. I'm not sure I can deal with and have enough advice to dole out to both of you."
Flack burst out laughing. "He is a bit like that little brother who's years younger than you," he agreed. "Though you do realize I'm like, what, twelve, fifteen years younger than you as well."
Mac groaned. "Don't remind me," he said, "That makes me feel ancient." He drained the last of his coffee as well, grimacing at the cooled temperature. "Just so long as you don't get Danny's 'Kewpie doll' haircut I think I can manage to forget our age difference."
" 'Kewpie doll'?" Flack asked, looking puzzled.
"Yeah, you know, the little plastic dolls with the ridge of 'hair' down the middle of their head?"
Flack's eyes danced with amusement as silent laughter bubbled up in his chest.
"What?" Mac asked.
"You know, I don't know whether to be scared that the description sounds frighteningly accurate, or that you know what 'Kewpie dolls' are well enough to compare Danny to one. You want to let me in on anything?" Flack asked with an arch of his eyebrow.
Mac scowled fiercely at Flack's ribbing. "Don't you have a case to be getting back to?" he glowered.
Flack made a wry face. "Yeah, I do. Scumbag," he said, referencing their perp and ultimately the person responsible for the long walk and conversation he and Mac had just had. "Do you have to get back to the lab?" he asked Mac.
"No," Mac said, "I'd actually already punched out for the day before I came over to the precinct. Don't tell Jo or I'll never hear the end of it and she won't let me out of her sight. She's enough of a hawk as it is. A very smothering one too might I add," he finished with a touch of rebelliousness in his voice.
Flack shook his head at the trademark non-compliance of his friend, "Well I have to say, as much as I should back up Jo's future lecture if she ever finds out, and should probably tell you off myself, I'm glad you stuck around. Thanks."
Mac waved him off, "Don't mention it."
"Still," Flack said, "I mean it. Thanks, for everything."
"Alright alright," Mac said embarrassedly, "Haven't we gotten mushy enough already? Christ, you are turning into Danny!"
Flack laughed. "You going to catch a cab back to your place?" he asked.
"Yeah. I don't mind dropping you off at the precinct first though. We must've gone over a mile."
"Nah, that's okay. I'm going to walk back…finish clearing my head. I'll see you later." The two stood up and clasped each other in a brief hug before Flack headed back the way they had come.
Mac looked after the disappearing figure of his friend before suddenly turning and almost viciously throwing his coffee cup into a nearby trashcan, an anger-filled depression crashing over him. He didn't even remotely regret the conversation he'd just had, but despite the more upbeat tone it had finished on, the fact that certain subjects that he tried very hard to avoid had been brought up, left him dealing with the emotional fallout. There was a reason he didn't think about how, soon, Claire would have been gone for longer than they had known each other and not just married. Not to mention, recalling that first year after she died made him physically recoil. He'd been to darker places during that time than he ever thought could possibly exist, and their mere recollection still shook him.
And it wasn't just the memories of the distancing past. Something very current had been eating at him and dredging old emotions painfully back to the surface. He remembered very little about being shot and his first few days in the hospital, still not quite sure what had been in his head and what was real. And while he didn't recall specifics, the one thing he did remember with absolute clarity was the feeling of Claire being with him again and the warmth and security of her presence and her hand in his. She had obviously been in his imagination, but the emotions that had flooded back to him and had stuck afterwards, were as real as the early fall breeze that snuck down the collar of his jacket. The reminder of exactly what her love felt like hadn't left him, not even almost four months later. And neither had the angst or internal conflict that came on its heels. He hadn't lied when he had told Flack that he loved Christine. He did. Far more than he had ever anticipated or thought was possible. But having such an acute and lingering reminder of what he had had with Claire and the depth to which he'd been reminded of how acutely he still missed and loved her, made the relationship he now had with Christine seem unfair to her. She deserved far better than what he could give her, and the guilt he felt over how what she must expect from him, not to mention how much she'd done for him during his ongoing recovery, ate at him. But neither did he want lose her, and the prospect of once again being alone and losing the level of understanding and companionship from her that he hadn't dared to allow himself think was possible again, terrified him. He had hoped everything would somehow magically resolve itself as time passed, but as he had physically recovered and been able to give more space to his emotions, instead of getting better, the conflict between the fear of the pain of her leaving and his resignation to her eventually realizing she could do far better than him and walking out of his life, clashed with an increasing violence and turmoil that was rapidly reaching a boiling point. He figured he should probably talk to her about it, but he had no idea where to begin. What was he supposed to say that wasn't going to lead to the inevitable result of her leaving?
The breeze picked up and now carried a definite chill to it as the September evening hurried in. Mac looked at his watch. Shit, he was supposed to meet Christine for dinner in a little under an hour. Despite his line of thought, it wasn't that he didn't want to see her, quite to the contrary in fact, but he really wasn't in the mood to be around a bunch of people just to eat dinner and have to put up with waiting for drinks to be refilled and their order to be taken and then wait who knows how long before their dinner even arrived. Just the thought set him on him edge and made his impatience and temper flare. He pulled out his phone and dialed Christine's number. He zipped up his jacket and stuffed his other hand in his pocket while her phone rang and he waited for her answer.
"Hey Mac," she greeted him warmly.
At her voice, Mac instantly felt some of the edge of the emotions that were tumbling through him, calm down. "Hi," he replied.
"Everything ok?" Christine asked him.
"Yeah, I…do you mind if we do take-out tonight instead? Your place, my place, it doesn't matter."
"Sure," Christine replied, "Everything alright?"
"Yeah," Mac repeated, "It's just been rather a long day at work," he paused, "You sure you don't mind?"
"Not at all," Christine reassured him, and though Mac strained his ears for it, he couldn't pick up the slightest trace of duplicity or disappointment in her voice. "It'd be actually really nice just to spend quiet evening with you. Do you work tomorrow?" she asked him.
"Yes," Mac replied.
"And I'm off…"
"Figures," Mac muttered bitterly under his breath, cursing his work schedule. He had no patience at the moment.
"…so why don't I come over to your place," Christine finished, "Same time?"
"Yes," Mac confirmed.
"Sounds like a plan," Christine said, "Do you want me to bring anything over?"
"No, that's ok."
"Well I've got an apple blackberry crumble that really needs to be finished before it goes to waste," Christine told him with a tone of exaggerated heaviness in her voice, "If you don't mind helping with the cause."
Mac felt a glimmer of a smile tug at his lips. "I think it's a noble cause," he replied.
"Deal," Christine said, "I'll see you soon."
xxx
"Mac, are you ok?" Christine asked finally. She'd waited all the way through first helpings of desert to see if Mac would initiate a conversation on what was clearly eating at him. But true to form he had remained mute on the reason for his preoccupation.
"Yeah, why?" Mac answered far too quickly.
Christine shot him a look that clearly indicated she didn't believe him. "You seem…stressed, distracted," she told him, "You sure a rough day at work is all that's bothering you?"
Mac hesitated. He was dying to tell her everything and Christine was handing him the perfect opportunity on a golden platter; but the part of him that was deathly afraid she'd walk out his door and never come back once he did, made his heart hammer in his chest and hold back. Christine, however, refused to let him avoid the subject any longer.
"What's wrong?" she insisted softly.
Mac let the silence grow for several more seconds before replying very quietly, "It's not fair to you."
"What's not fair?" Christine answered gently, picking up the tumult in Mac's voice. Although she had a pretty good idea. Mac might have thought he hadn't let anything on to her, but she wasn't dumb, and Mac wasn't all that hard to figure out. Not really. She could practically see his mind spinning with the violence of a tornado before he met her eyes.
Finally he managed to speak in a low, tight voice. "It's not fair to ask you to settle for what it is I can give you when…" he paused and stood up off the couch, taking a few steps forward and placing his hands around the back of his neck before taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, "…when I still miss her and…love…her as much as I do."
"Claire?" Christine asked quietly, the pain bleeding from every part of Mac making her ache for him.
Mac simply nodded. Despite how Christine had pretty much never left his side his entire lengthy hospital stay and been right there through every step of his recovery, he hadn't yet breathed a word to her about when he'd been unresponsive and had felt as though he'd seen Claire again. "She was there, Christine," he said in a tortured voice, looking back at her briefly, "There with me, and somehow…somehow I held her hand in mine again…" He turned away again, too overcome to say anything more.
Christine looked at him, her heart feeling as though it would burst for him. She couldn't imagine if somehow she got to experience her brother's presence again and how much it would make her miss him all over again, let alone what Mac must be reliving. There was a small part way in the back of her head that was envious of the relationship he had had with Claire, but she wouldn't even dream of asking him to somehow forget that or make it less than it was. Not only had it had made him who he was, but for him to imply that what he had to offer her was somehow diminished or not worthwhile because of that relationship, was beyond insane. She got up from the couch as well and gently turned him so he was looking at her. The storm that raged in his eyes was almost palpable.
"Mac, if it had been my husband and not my brother who had died and our positions were now reversed, would you want or expect me to forget and set aside what he meant to me?"
"No," Mac replied without a second's hesitation.
"Then why the hell would you expect me to do that to you? If you didn't still miss Claire I'd think there was something wrong, not the other way around! Mac, I know how much she meant to you, and I wouldn't even dream of asking you to give up any of that or any of her memories and how you felt and feel about her. And it sure as hell doesn't make what you give me any less. The last thing I would want would be for you to feel like you can't talk to me about it, or her, or share that part of your life with me."
Mac just looked at her, his face and grey-green eyes full of emotion he couldn't put into words.
"And you think I don't know that our relationship is going be intrinsically different than yours and Claire's? Mac, I'm not here to compete with what you had or try to replace it. I wouldn't think of doing such a thing, and any woman who would expect or demand something like that out of you is…well…a bitch."
Mac let out a short laugh at the matter-of-fact bluntness of Christine's last epitaph and suddenly felt like a huge weight had simply vanished from his shoulders.
"I'm guessing you've had one or two of those in the last few years?" Christine asked with a wry face.
"You could kind of say that," Mac affirmed, thinking back to more than one shorter-term relationship where, upon finding out that he was widower instead of being divorced or never married, an automatic awkwardness entered. In fact, Mac often found himself thinking that it would have been far easier to be single due to a divorce, as most women just didn't seem to know how to react when they'd find out his wife had died. Uncertainty and an uncomfortable pity was pretty universal, and from then on an underlying perpetual unease nearly always was as well. Not to mention that, although she never explicitly said so, Mac had been convinced from fairly early on that Peyton had felt that way too. He had just been so desperate to prove to himself he could make a relationship work and that he could love again, he had resolutely ignored and squashed that destructive dimension. Of course in hindsight its presence was more than obvious.
"Well they're the biggest idiots ever," Christine told him, "And you're definitely one too for buying into that crap and considering yourself too damaged or 'used' to be of any good to anyone and thinking you have nothing or not enough to offer me!" she finished, hitting him lightly on the chest.
Mac fake winced at her blow.
"There is not an ungenuine, half-hearted bone in your body. I don't think I've ever met someone who cares more than you do, and certainly no one has ever made me feel as happy or loved the way you do. Now, sit back down on the couch, finish your crumble, and let me snuggle with you while the Mets crush the Cubs."
"Who says the Mets going to crush them? Your Mets have totally fallen apart in case you haven't noticed," Mac said, putting on a hurt face at the insult to the Cubs, but he felt as light as air and as if the final weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders. A weight he hadn't even known how to quantify or even define until very recently.
"Mac, come on, it's the Cubs. Need I say more?"
"They'll win tonight," Mac told her.
"Uh-huh," Christine said skeptically, settling down and scooping the last of the crumble into their desert bowls, "Let me know when they win the World Series."
"Now that is uncalled for," Mac miffed as he took the proffered bowl and joined her on the couch.