A/N: Hello again. As promised, a new pre-s4 fic.
With all the spoilers coming out and all the theorizing that's going on, I've decided to pre-empt the PTB. After all, they stole the s4 e1 idea from me hahahahahah! J/K! XD
Anyway, the song is Daughtry's "Home". And the whole thing is chockfull of spoilers and possibilities. This whole part practically wrote itself. Uhm… this is a far cry from all the fluff and Dylan and Mara – I'm back to angst, people.
So here you go. I hope you enjoy. Thank you!
CSINYCSINYCSINY
I'M GOING HOME
© CATE
She said that she did her research and found out that I only skipped five and a half days of work since I joined the NYPD. She said that I have seven weeks of vacation time collected through the years. She said that I went through and have been going through a lot lately.
She said that I adored her.
And she was right about those – including the part where I adored her. I know I wasn't showy about it but I really do. It's hard not to like Dr. Peyton Driscoll. She's this very thoughtful, sweet and cheerful lady but under that, a very strong and determined character. She's good at taking care of people – dead or alive, as our inside joke went. She also a very amiable person who doesn't ask much questions… just listened – something I needed the most when I was most down.
I think those are reasons why I fell in love with her. I never thought that I'd be the first one to break my personal rule of not having romantic relationships with people I work with. So far, I had been successful – mainly because I was married for some years while I was in the force. My wedding ring and the home I shared with my wife was an easy reminder of that rule I placed upon myself.
Then I met Peyton. It was a forensics convention sponsored by Columbia where she taught. There was a fifteen-minute break during the discussion of 'Flintstones Forensics'. I took the time to get something to drink, the water fountain being the one closest to the auditorium. I was drinking and then I heard that distinct English accent behind me, "You know, the committee has set up a beverage table on the other end of this hall. Detective."
When I spun around, there she was… all smiles and shy, her eyes weren't meeting mine. She was dressed in corporate attire; the only hint that she was a doctor was her nametag: Peyton Driscoll, M.D. She offered me her hand and introduced herself. Apparently, I was sitting in front of her during the talk about 'Bodies and the Water' the day before. "You were the only one on your row who's still awake when the speaker stepped off the podium," she chuckled. "That's how I remembered you."
"Well, I was interested even if I'm not a medical examiner," I explained, realizing that I was still holding her hand. Slowly, I pulled away and said, "I guess you are an ME." Way to go, Taylor. What an intelligent thing to say.
She chuckled. "I am, in fact," she said, pausing to read my nametag, "Mac Taylor."
"Oh sorry," I forgot to introduce myself. "Forensics… First Grade," I explained. "I head my own shift actually."
"Is that so, Detective?" she said with her eyebrow up. There was a glint in her eyes and I was drawn to them. I just had to smile as blush crept up my cheeks. She was hugging the folders to her chest as we stood there in silence. There was something about this woman.
What happened next was uncontrollable but foreseeable. We exchanged numbers and from there, we started to meet up for movies, the opera… those simple things. I was having a hard time 'classifying' what we had; was it friendly or otherwise? There was no denying that I was attracted to her. But was the feeling mutual?
Apparently, it was. She invited me to go in with her by the fourth month of our unofficial relationship. It was one night where I forgot all my troubles, namely the crap I got from both IAB and one of my investigators about the death of Officer Minhaus; also something that concerned gangs and the mafia and that same investigator from my team; and finally, it was that night that I came into terms with my wife's untimely death. After four years… I wasn't alone anymore.
She showed me how to live again. She showed me how good it felt to be cared for, to be touched. She made me realize how far away I was from the people around me. And she brought me back from the hole I dug for myself.
We went officially steady after that. As far as everything so far sounds like what a sixteen-year-old boy would say, it happened that way. I guess love makes one feel young again. But one thing always held me back from proclaiming it to the whole of New York City that 'I love Peyton' – and it's not my silly rule or the job, heck not even myself.
I was afraid. To hurt somebody. I was afraid to hurt another woman. The woman who stayed when so many else left. The woman who first made me smile after that September. The woman I called my best friend. The woman named Stella.
I'm staring out into the night
Trying to hide the pain
"When processing the stomach contents – pumped or in the case of corpses, manually taken out – do not be apprehensive to be hands-on about it. What I meant by 'hands-on'…" Peyton explained. King's College London held a conference and Peyton was invited to address the students as well as the faculty. An audience full of doctors and pre-meds filled the theater.
I believe her exact words to me were, "I'm going to speak at a pathologist's conference and I just thought it would be fun for us to both go, you know? I can show you around London." That was what she said back in New York as her invitation. An invitation to "Spend time with me". And she made sure I wouldn't say no.
"You bought the ticket?" I said, stating the obvious and hiding my surprise at the same time.
"I really want you to say yes," she said, batting her eyelashes. What a way to quash everything I've planned for the weeks ahead.
At first, I struggled to find a way to refuse. Even as far as paying her back what she spent on the tickets. But an incident interrupted the whole day and she – again – took the back seat from my list of priorities.
Going into the ordeal, I still kept on thinking how to turn her offer down gently. Soaking wet, trying to not get killed, carrying heavy artillery… and I was thinking of ways to say no to my girlfriend whom I lost once before.
But something happened that made me decide to just say yes. I was standing in the hallway after the water stopped and the chaos was over. I saw Stella walking over to me and she gave me a hug. The warmth in that hug came down on me like a ton of bricks. She was there with me in that building – when the gas leaked, when the intruders attacked, when the water came down; she easily could have gone with the others outside to escape. But she didn't. She came to check on me. And she became trapped in there with me.
I felt a jolt in my system as I felt her equally wet skin and clothes against mine. Her hair, heavy with water was soft against my cheek. It took everything in me not to squeeze her with everything I have left. When we separated and she walked away, that's when I decided to go to London with Peyton.
Go to London. Away from New York City. Even if it's just for ten days.
That something I felt at that moment scared me. I made myself believe that if I go with Peyton, I won't be dealing with that something for a while. I bought myself time to think about it… to sort it out. But in truth, I confused buying time with running away. With getting away.
I needed a diversion, anything to block out that feeling. And Peyton's talk at King's College London worked for a while. First, I was amused at how appropriate that a doctors' and investigators' talk was held here – alma mater of the DNA structure founders. Second, I was glad at how we were very much welcomed. And then, I enjoyed listening to the speakers.
Yet not long after, I found myself staring out the window closest to where I was seated. It wasn't that dark, thanks to the cloudless night and streetlights lining the walkway. It was cool and calm – a far cry from the wildness of my city. I dug my hands into my coat pockets and chewed on my lip.
Somehow, not naming that jolt; that feeling; that something made it easier for me to forget about it. But it never really went away completely. It went with me to London and it had been nagging me since I spaced out. I couldn't place a finger on it… but it made it so clear that it was about Stella.
How scared she must have felt when we parted ways to cover more ground. How relieved she looked like when we saw each other in that hallway. How confident she looked with a big gun in her hands. How soft her hair was against my cheek even when wet. How well her shirt fit…
"And that is all for tonight. Thank you." The thunderous applause snapped me back to reality. Some of the attendees were standing. I realized I was moist from sweat even if it is cold inside the room. From where I sat, I saw Peyton step off the stage and shake hands with the administrators.
Her smile reached me and I forced one back. It wasn't the same. It wasn't as easy as with…
Stop it, I said to my brain. Damn you, I said to my… heart?
She was walking over to me, her smile ever widening. She leaned closer to my ear and whispered suggestively, "We still have the whole night, Mac. I'm sure at this time we can already order in and spend the night inside."
Damn you, woman… I'd be doing those same things now even if I'm back in New York. Not really an answer to satisfy my girlfriend. Especially if I add this: Ordering in and having dinner at my place – with my best friend, a woman.
"I think I can manage that," I whispered back, holding her hand in mine. I hope she'd ignore how clammy my hand was, how my eyes looked blank.
I needed something to keep me from realizing something very big and life changing.
She drove us straight to her flat, picking up some French food along the way. Leaving the half-eaten food on her dining table, champagne in the icebox… we didn't make it to bed. "Couch's big enough," she said, puling us to it. Peyton wrapped her arms around my neck; her head – hair – against my cheek, in a hug that was painfully familiar… and it took everything I had not to call out another name.
For me, to this day, that was the moment when I realized that I, Mac Taylor, love Stella Bonasera.
