Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ•°¯`•• Blue Orchids ••´¯°•Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Summary: Plagued by the memory of what used to be between the two of them, both Josephine and Mac come to terms with the fact that maybe what they had has been damaged forever. Is it at all possible to rediscover that rare, valuable relationship? Eventual JAC.

BETA READ by UrbanMuse (Kudos!)

SEPTEMBER 2010

Jo Danville had thought that it was a joke, at first: the entire floor abandoned, the not-so-very-inconspicuous and bloodied hand smudge… Somehow, however, her instinct had kicked in, more so than her curiosity, when she chose to investigate. After all, she wasn't supposed to arrive until early afternoon that day, and she had thought it too unlikely that they had adapted to her unexpected change of schedule that fast, that easily.

It had been that same instinct that caused her to notice Mac Taylor among the flood of others who drifted onto the thirty-fifth floor that first day at the New York Crime Lab. Of course, she had seen a couple of photos of him on file. However, she had felt there was more than recognition that made her speak, causing him to stop and turn to the sound of her accented voice.

There had been something about Mac Taylor that couldn't be captured by a still image, yet it was perceived easily by her in person, even from afar. There had been something resolute in how he stepped from the elevator onto the work floor and began –– or so she had then assumed –– walking to his own office. It somehow elicited respect, fitting with the few e-mails that had been exchanged between them in the weeks prior to her arrival. It was the way in which he turned his head, the look in his grey eyes that spoke volumes, of alertness and something deeper, much deeper, that she had always remembered from that first encounter, and possibly always would.

SEPTEMBER 2010

There had been something in her voice that had made him immediately turn. Of course, Mac had heard it a few times on the phone, and it didn't sound all too incomparable now. Yet, it did come as unexpected. He remembered being taken slightly off-guard by the sureness of it, the Southern twang that somehow seemed stronger when in the flesh. The way she stood, eyed him… It spoke of a tough woman.

Mac Taylor had always thought of her as mysterious: very loving yet unwavering, all at the same time. The way in which Jo stood on her feet, her looks and speech all spoke of her strength yet had a slightly hidden edge of vulnerability. It had caught him right away, when she first eyed him that first day. He doubted that someone with an 'untrained' eye would have seen the exact same… or anyone else really. It wasn't something he had ever shared with anyone or wondered about aloud, but from that first day, Jo Danville had struck him as someone whom you wouldn't like to mess with yet opened her heart for those she loved. His view on her had never really changed. Somehow, though, he seemed able to read more into her eyes than her voice now. He counted himself lucky to be allowed to see past Jo's subtle guardedness. Even if she had never been closed off, he could feel the difference –– there was something deeper now, a strange sort of mutual understanding and confidence.

DECEMBER 2011

As the adrenaline had begun to fade, when she was certain that John Curtis wouldn't move anymore, Mac's name had been the first she had considered. Maybe it wasn't odd given the circumstances –– he was her superior; he needed to know matters like that at once. However, it was still him she had wanted to call when she regained her focus, the fog becoming clearer again, despite the pounding headache. It had been a tad shocking for her, realizing that.

They had hugged before, albeit fleetingly. She wasn't entirely sure whether she had expected him to then or not, but she remembered feeling like she needed rather than wanted him to do so. It would have been enough already to have him sit there beside her, feel him somewhere close. She hadn't asked for more than that, didn't believe she had given away what she knew now she had needed then. When she had felt him gently pulling, she remembered looking at him for a second before giving in and succumbing…

An incredible feeling of full safety had come over her when her head finally leaned on his shoulder, her body against his –– irrational, given John Curtis was gone and she was surrounded by police. Still, it had been him holding her like that truly had made her feel safe, his arm encircling her and his warm hand on her upper arm. She still remembered the lyrics of the song that had sounded from the ambulance radio: Never let me go. Never let me go. She thought she remembered mostly because that's how she had felt then, with him…

A chill had run through her when the lyrics hit her then. That and the realization she would have to let go sometime, if not soon. She had felt as if he knew, because in that exact moment, Mac's arm had slightly tightened, as if trying to let her know he wasn't going anywhere quite yet.

She wasn't sure for how long they must have been sitting there, but eventually, a medic had come over and said she wanted to run some more tests at the hospital before letting Jo go home –– after all, she had looked like Hell really. A look had been shared between them at that point, and he had kissed her hair, telling her he would go and ensure that the scene was handled and meet her at the hospital right after that.

He had been the one to drive her home once the doctors cleared her. She still remembered the look on his face when he left her at her doorway, saying he couldn't stay but would call later. Jo's name had left his lips when she had moved to close the door, thanking him once more just for being there. She had eyed him, but the rest of the sentence had been gone. He had merely smiled before ensuring he would call that night, then leaving. Even to this day, Jo Danville sometimes wondered what he had intended to say. To this day, she still remembered the undeniable emotion in his grey eyes when her name had fallen from his lips in that moment.

NOVEMBER 2012

Mac Taylor only opened his eyes when his heartbeat had already calmed down a little, the pounding sound in his ears having become less loud. The room was dark, but he hadn't really expected anything else –– it was usually dark when he woke, so this wasn't an exception at all. It was far earlier than he was used to, though. If it wasn't instinct, it definitely was a fleeting look upon his clock, sitting on the bedside table, that served as confirmation: 3:58AM.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. It had been so real, somehow familiar… as if it had been a memory, not just a dream. Mac was rather sure it couldn't have been anything else, though, even if he couldn't shake the feeling that he had been there before, in that one moment.

He dropped his hand into his lap and drew a deep, shaky breath. In his too vivid dream, Claire had looked the same as when he had last seen her, that life-altering September 11th. She hadn't aged or changed otherwise. He had told her he had met someone, and she had said she knew and that she liked her –– a sort of confirmation for him from her that she wasn't coming back and that she wanted him to be happy, if not with her then someone else.

He pushed at the covers pooling at his waist and kicked them further off of him, pushing both fists into the mattress beside him and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Mac staggered to his feet, maneuvering to the adjoining bathroom by instinct in the pitch darkness.

Of course, he knew that had she been alive still, she would have done anything in her might to reach him, and she would have succeeded. A tiny piece of his soul always died when he remembered times with her more intensely than usual, though, and this dream or whatever had definitely been intense if nothing else. He thought he knew why: he had never accepted. He didn't really see why he ever would, given the unfairness of what had happened that unfortunate day. Claire had been a great wife, great in every role she had had in her life. By no means had she deserved to die so soon, let alone in that way. Then again, no one really had. He sighed once more, slowly leaning over the sink. Maybe a tiny part of himself believed that he didn't truly deserve it to have lost the love of his life that way either.

So he did what he always did when he felt like this: he turned to his infamous 'second love' as some said and succumbed into his job for now. People never stopped killing each other, and as such there was work to be done no matter when. The crimes needed solving; the families needed answers, and Detective Taylor, being the man that he was, would rather dedicate his time to doing something actually useful, something good, than return to the bed he knew wouldn't let him go back to sleep anyway –– it never did, after all.

He couldn't fully succumb, though. By the time the rest of the team members began to filter in, he had worked his way through the evidence and temporary evidence analysis of the case that had been called in the day prior, having made a mental note to himself to ensure the victim's brother was questioned again later that day. He, too, had pondered endlessly over how and why his dream had seemed that familiar, without coming to any answers. This one refused to let go of him, maybe in part because he didn't usually remember most dreams he had as vividly as this.

A new case came in before everyone had gotten there that morning at seven-twenty. This lead him to call Jo, who hadn't yet arrived. They exchanged good mornings before informing her they had a new case and he thought it best she just go straight to the scene rather than come in first. He gave her the address and stated that he would see her there soon. It had been a quite brief, entirely professional conversation as usual. They never talked about anything personal on the phone, after all –– not that they had at all lately.

Jo Danville was at the scene before him, but she couldn't have been for long, because when Mac arrived, she was only pulling on her latex gloves. She looked over at him and smiled widely as she felt him near her. "Good morning," he greeted, partially returning her smile. "So what do we have?"

"Good morning," she returned, her smile disappearing as she relayed what Flack and the police officers at the scene must have told her: the still-warm body of a tattooed guy had been uncovered in a dumpster by a middle-aged homeless woman while looking for some food. She had had the scare of a lifetime, without doubt.

Mac's gaze wandered to the point Jo had indicated with a slight nod of her head. Flack was talking to a woman in tatters, who was shaking rather visibly from across the distance even. "Most beggars and homeless people don't call a find like this in. I'm not entirely sure whether I should be grateful or find it suspicious, if I'm honest here," he said. Unfortunately, most people like the woman were very shy if not afraid of police to begin with.

"Hm," Jo sounded, slightly squinting her eyes as she let her mind mull over the first-glance evidence. She watched him raise his eyebrow slightly, silently asking for her to elaborate on her obvious doubts. "The victim is a tall, heavy guy –– too heavy for one person, let alone a woman her size. Unless…"

"Unless she got help?" Mac suggested.

"Or…" Jo began, flashing him a slightly winning smile, before casting her gaze a little higher, "maybe he wasn't actually lifted but dropped."

Mac's gaze followed hers and noted two small balconies with rusty railings on the side of the building. He considered the possibilities. One was definitely too far to the left for it to have made for a successful dump. The other, however, might have served for the purposes Jo was considering. The half-broken balustrade definitely hinted at it. It might have just happened recently… His eyes connected with hers again.

"You reckon that could have broken in a struggle by a good push or so?" Flack wondered, pointing at the balustrade and looking down into the alleyway upon Danny and Lindsay, who were processing the scene downstairs while Jo was tackling the abandoned studio, most particularly the balcony. All they knew was that it belonged to a red haired woman in her twenties whose name the landlord hadn't even asked. He hadn't been all that helpful honestly –– the typical guy who didn't care who brought the money in as long as it did get in. The studio was lived in quite obviously, but there were few personal effects like photos or such to derive anything from.

"It definitely could have," Jo stated as she let her eyes slide over it, taking it all in very carefully. "The building's about ready to be torn down. The iron seems rusty enough. Plus, I believe I spotted some blood over there. So, yeah, I'll bet my money on it…" She finished with a smile.

Satisfied with the answer he got, he smiled back and nodded before turning his attention to Mac, who stood right beside him. "I'm just going to go and talk with the neighbors. Maybe they heard or saw something that can get us on track."

Mac nodded, at which the Detective disappeared. He turned back to Jo then, who was trying to take samples of the blood she had spotted earlier on the edge of the broken balustrade. It had been bent away a little bit, forcing her to stretch her arm to the fullest, holding onto the unbroken bit in order not to fall –– just in case. Still, she didn't quite seem able to reach far enough. "Jo…" he spoke softly in warning to convey his doubts on what she was doing. She had only said a moment ago herself that the balustrade was very rusty. He could only barely contain the urge to reach over and hold her for one reason or another. He wasn't quite sure why that was his first instinct, nor was he certain why he didn't do just that anyway. She could easily fall. She seemed to know this, too.

"Mac. Hold on to me for a minute, will ya?" she said, looking over her shoulder at him slightly before turning her attention back to the damn blood drop.

Mac didn't need to be told twice, giving in to his initial instinct and reaching over, putting his hands on her waist, holding onto her tightly –– maybe a little tighter than she had asked for. He watched her let go of the balustrade with her other hand as she felt him holding her so that she could reach just that little inch farther and finally swipe the q-tip across the blood smudge. However, what he had feared might occur, actually happened in the next moment.

A little too happy maybe with finally having reached the blood smudge, Jo leaned back just a little too vigorously, putting too much of her weight on the balustrade so that Mac could let go of her again. As a result, it nearly immediately gave way under her left hand and broke further, causing Jo to lose her balance… only to be steadied and pulled back at the last second by Mac, whose hands had only loosened their grip but not yet left her waist. One second might have been all that had been needed for her to topple down from the balcony to her death or at least to serious injury.

She never screamed, mainly because she hadn't had time to do so. Jo's heart and breath had definitely stopped for a second between the railing breaking and Mac tightening his hold again to pull her away from the edge of the balcony. Jo's fear of heights definitely hadn't helped much, even if she saw the same look of fear and possibly surprise reflected in Mac's eyes when she fell back against the man, instinctively meeting his gaze, feeling her heart pounding, her entire body shaking.

Mac's heart only began beating pseudo-normally when she fell against him, a confirmation for him of sorts that she hadn't crashed down and that he had been just in time. He remembered having felt that way when he first saw her after she had had to shoot John Curtis, when he had held Jo to him as they took his body away. At the same time, it was quite incomparable, though. He had almost seen her crash down that balcony beside him… "That better be of relevance…" he muttered, the only words spoken between them in the silence following what had nearly happened.

Just like the look in her eyes after she had shot John Curtis had filled Mac's mind for days to come after it had happened, the near-accident settled now in Mac Taylor's mind, making him forget all about his dream. He was certain that this close call would haunt him for at least the rest of the week.

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