This is my first try at writing.
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY or any of it's characters
I lean up against the concrete pillar that is providing me some protection from the Devarro brothers and try to push away the fear that is slowly creeping through my usually steel veins. As my breathing becomes more ragged and my heart hammers in my chest, I wonder if this time I have gone too far. When this case started, I thought for sure I would find myself in the middle of a gang war, but now I find myself in the middle of a war with two brothers. A war started by one to end the violence and killing of the other and the El Puno gang.
I snap back to reality as I feel my own blood begin to run down my hand and drip on the floor; my forearm throbbing from the gunshot wound. I try to slow my breathing to better listen for any sounds that might give away the location of the two brothers. But as the pain flares again in my arm, I wonder how I will get out of this one. Have I really gone too far? And where the hell is my backup? I think it is pretty well known by everyone in the NYPD that I'm a stickler protocol but with a chance to get two gang leaders off the street, backup be damned.
Where the hell is my backup? In all the other tense situations I had been in, this thought had never occurred to me. The truth was I always had backup. I always had my partner. Stella. She had always been there, watching my back when I abandoned all concern for my safety for the sake of justice. I never had to ask for that backup. On instinct, she just knew where to be at the right time. And now she isn't here. I inwardly curse myself for letting her go.
"I never intended to save the world," I hear Luther say, his statement drawing my thoughts back to the situation at hand. He could admit his limitations, but here I am always thinking that I can save the world. I thought I could, with my partner at my side providing that silent confidence that I needed. And when my armor and confidence had been shattered after a tough case or by life's cruel hand, she put me back together. But now that ten plus years of confidence is gone, and I find myself trying to take it all on my shoulders, proving to my team that I was the same Mac Taylor. With Stella gone, I could no longer afford to doubt myself and so charged in after Luther and his brother. But this time, without her, I wasn't as invincible as I thought I was.
I dare to venture away from my hiding spot when I hear a sound and turn quickly only to be met by the barrel of Luther's gun. BANG!
My training kicks in and I immediately fire off three shots and watch Luther fall to the ground, expecting myself to hit the deck at any moment. But I don't. Slightly confused I turn around and see that Luther's bullet wasn't intended for me, but for his brother. I had been so focused on my thoughts and the pain in my arm that I forgot about the other Devarro brother. Luther was my backup. Not the other NYPD officers, not Jo. Luther. In that moment, my cloak on invincibility falls off and I realize that the badass Mac Taylor will always need backup. I will always need her.
Hours later, I'm in my apartment, the case closed, my arm bandaged and I think back to something Luther had said before he died. "Old habits die hard…." In the midst of Stella leaving for New Orleans I had reverted back to my old habit of retreating behind my inner walls, just like that concrete pillar, thinking I would be safe. In the past six months I hadn't really processed losing my best friend. I was too hell bent on going after the most villainous characters the city had to offer instead of dealing with the toughest character I had known: my emotions. But I couldn't keep running. I had come close to the line this time. But another old habit of mine had always been to confide in Stella. So like in the skate park after I was shot, the only thing I can think to do is to call for backup, to restore my confidence and open up; to know things would be OK.
"Mac?"
A smile forms as I hear her comforting voice.
"Hey Stell," I sigh.
She is quick to pick up on my need for comfort.
"You OK?" She asks, the concern in her voice not lost on me.
"I am now." And I begin to tell her about the hectic events of the day. After about an hour we hang up. Stella had been right all those years ago: I really am not that good at this job without her, without her backup.
A/N: Please R & R and let me know how I can improve!