Introduction: Ideally this fan fiction is placed in the first episode of CSI NY ("Blink") and precisely after the scene where Mac Taylor - who has lost his wife Claire on 9/11 - stops nearby the monument erected on the site where WTC collapsed; with his forehead resting and his hands clasped around a metal grating, remains silent, as if waiting for something or at least overwhelmed by pain.

The intervention of the supernatural is, of course, far from the CSI's vision of the world, but I liked the idea to give to him the chance to say goodbye to his wife, although fleetingly. Or, his may have been only a vision, a dream caused by desire, fatigue and pain. What do you think?

The Kiss

I wasn't able to come back here, but today I could not come.

Today, Claire, it was been your birthday.

If that fateful September's day you had not gone to work.

If I stop you.

If.

But I'm here, I don't know how much longer, standing with her face and hands against the metal, in the last place on Earth who has heard your heart beating.
I don't feel my legs, but I cannot go away, I would stay here forever.

All around me, regrets of those who survived have settled into a dull patina, gray, like the blanket of dust which filled the air that morning.

Your absence painfully penetrates my soul.

Your silence ringing in my ears as blood and fills all the space inside and outside of me.

I feel an intolerable oppression in chest, his head heavy.

The air, here, is dense, such as liquid. I try to breathe deeply, but this sensation never pass.

I blink my eyes, the outlines of things get fuzzy.

So it's true what people say about places like this, where thousands of people died. It's not like a cemetery, resting place of dead people in different times and in different places, no, there are thousands of innocent people deaths in the same way atrocious and - more or less - in the same, short, time.

The air is full of their unquiet spirits.

And between them, your, Claire.

I tighten my lips. The man I was would have laugh, scornfully, of stories like this: stupid humbugs invented to touch credulous people.

However, today, the need to think that here is something still left for you is stronger than fear. Much more powerful than reason.

Look up. It's dawn: in the east, the rosy light of the sun turn off, one by one, the stars in the sky still gray.

Then, suddenly, it happens.

The vibration becomes more intense.

I feel on my face like a thick stream of air, like steam, coming from the bowels of what was WTC, attack me.

In an instant, this tangible atmosphere invades the space around me, forming a thin but visible membrane.

What is in front of my eyes appears to me like through a veil of a fountain's water.

Now, the air is vibrating, alive.

In the sky, the light pink tinges the air.

Drops of pinky light sparkling gush from the heaven's heart. Cross the space, leaving behind a stream colorful and bouncy on the asphalt unleash the scent of the day.
I'm surrounded by light.

I'm flooded by the color.

It's so intense that blinding me.

Pink as your tender flesh.

Pink like your life, broken in the full splendor of her beauty.

Claire, you're here.

I know.

I can feel you, and the joy is so great that it fills my eyes of tears.
I feel something on my lips, like a breath or touch of a wing, which weighs on them for an instant and immediately disappears.

You are here.

Then, suddenly, it ends.

Tender's tears wet my face.

But now I can smile.