Title: Just Once
Author: Banana Tooth
Rating: T
Spoilers: Episode 5-11: Forbidden Fruit
Disclaimer: I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.
Author's Note: This is angsty and depressing, and nothing like my usual stories. To make up for this, I'm posting it at the same time as another story, "Try," which is just a big ball o' fluff. So…go read that instead.
When she leaves his office, she's so angry she can't see straight.
She's used to having a temper—she's had that all her life. But this is different. This settles over her after that first white-hot flash, holds her calm and steady as she plans out what to do. This carries her all the way through until it's done, until there's no going back.
Then it leaves her. Leaves her cold and shaking and sick, alone in her apartment, with nothing but the image of Mac's eyes.
She's angry with herself, then, that that's what scares her—not her job, not what she's done, but Mac's face when he finds out.
She doesn't regret doing it. There's nothing else to stop Diakos, nothing to keep him from killing anyone in his way. The Major Case people will bungle it, string it along, maybe for years. Maybe until he leaves the country and they declare the case closed. It has to be her. It has to be now.
She can get another job. She knew, going in, that Mac could fire her. He'll probably have to fire her. Not even he can make this go away.
No. All that worries her, what feels like it's gripping her heart with icy fingers, is the thought of his eyes.
Except she can't quite picture them, because she's never done this to him before. She's seen him in almost every situation imaginable over the years, seen him grieving, angered, hurt, upset—but it's never been her. They've had arguments, sure, but never this.
She leans her face against her arms and tries to picture herself apart from the lab. She won't give up on Diakos, of course. She has the resources, knows the right people, to keep going. Maybe it will be better this way, anyway…she won't have to play by the rules anymore.
She thinks of Aiden, and can't help herself. She cries.
She's still crying a little, and trying not to, when she hails the cab. The driver looks at her with a sort of weary sympathy, and she thinks he must see this kind of thing all the time.
She concentrates on steadying herself, and tries to think of what to say. She has no idea, really. She just knows she has to see him again, once more, before he knows. While his eyes still light up when he sees her—before they're dark from pain and betrayal. She needs to say goodbye.
She's not crying anymore when the cab stops, but she knows she must look awful. She catches sight of herself in a window—it's a dim reflection, but enough to confirm her suspicions. She brushes her fingers across her eyes again and takes a deep breath.
"It's Stella," she says as steadily as she can into his intercom. He buzzes her in almost before the words are out of her mouth, and he's waiting for her as she gets off the elevator.
The sight of him stabs her like a physical blow. Every line of his face, his body, is so beautiful and achingly familiar and lost to her, forever.
He's instantly all concern when he sees her and that hurts her too, because even after what happened yesterday, here he is, worried and protective. "Stella," he says, closing his door behind them. "Stella, what is it?"
She just looks at him. She wants, irrationally, to tell him, to just spill it all right here. To get it over with. Maybe it would be better, if he found out now…but she can't do that.
"What's wrong?" he's asking again. "Did something happen?"
He's stepping closer, and she's afraid he's going to take her in his arms. That will be the end of her control, she's sure—she'll break down and cry all over him. She squares her shoulders as if to ward him off and breathes in carefully, watching him.
He looks tired, she notices. He's looked tired a lot lately, and she thinks with a pang of guilt that she really doesn't know what's going on with him; she's been too wrapped up in her own affairs. It must be weeks since they've had a real conversation. "Are you all right, Mac?" she asks.
"I'm fine. Tell me what's wrong," he says.
She can feel herself slipping, losing ground, and she knows she has to leave. This is it, she thinks, her last few, fleeting moments, and she lets her eyes travel slowly from his hair to his shoulders, taking him in, memorizing him, clinging desperately to her composure.
"Stella," he says.
She has to touch him. She can't help it. She lifts her hand and sets it along his cheek, brushing her thumb against his skin. It startles her, how warm he is. "Listen, Mac. Whatever happens…" She trails off, because she doesn't know how to finish. She knows what she wants to say, but she can't.
"What?" he says softly, encouraging her on.
She kisses him then, her palm against his face, because she's always wanted to. Kisses him soft and slow, taking her time, making it last.
It's not enough. It's such a tiny little thing, really, when it has to last her forever. She pulls away and doesn't meet his eyes.
"Goodbye, Mac," she says, and knows that's what it is.
She opens his door and heads blindly for the elevator, hearing him calling after her. She doesn't look back.
She doesn't cry any more. She's beyond that. She stares out the window of the cab, dry-eyed and almost steady, and takes her own elevator up, and puts her key in the door.
She could have sworn her hands weren't shaking until now. She jerks and tugs at the lock, and it doesn't budge. Faintly, as if it's far away, she hears the elevator bell, and out of the corner of her eye sees the figure get off.
She thinks she must be wrong and refuses to look again, still struggling with the key, until his hand closes over it and turns it smoothly. She leans her forehead against the doorframe, feeling him close behind her, feeling defeated. "What are you doing here?" she asks, low and exhausted.
He swings the door open and holds it, waiting for her. As if it's his door. As if he has any right… "Let's go inside," he says.
She doesn't want to let him in, but she's not going to make a scene in the hall. Finally she goes in and he follows her.
She switches on a lamp and sets her keys on the table, keeping her back to him, until he touches her elbow lightly and turns her to face him. She pulls away from his touch and sees the hurt in his eyes, but she's angry. He had no business following her. This is her home and she wants to be alone and that should be obvious.
"What are you doing here, Mac?" she asks again, almost spitting the words at him, but he isn't fazed.
"Why did you come to my apartment?" he asks directly, his eyes challenging her.
She doesn't have an answer for that, but he didn't answer her, either. "Why did you come here?" she returns.
"Tell me what this is about." He sounds stern, and her temper flares.
"We're not at work, Mac. You can't tell me what to do."
"Is that what this is?" he says and she's instantly sorry. That was a childish thing to say, and beneath her. She sighs.
"No."
"Then tell me. Is this about what happened yesterday?"
She doesn't answer for a moment. She didn't expect this—she never expected him to push. Finally she says, "It's my problem, Mac. I'll deal with it."
"No," he says, unswervingly. "Stella. You brought me into it when you came to my apartment. Now tell me what it is."
He's right, she knows that, and she feels her anger building again. "I think you'd better go."
He steps closer to her and his hands close over her wrists. "First tell me why you came."
She tries to jerk away, but this time he doesn't yield. His face is close to hers, his eyes boring into her. Something like cold fury comes over her and she says, "This is my house, Mac. Get out."
Something flashes in his eyes and she's not sure what it is but she's perversely glad that she's finally shaken him, gotten to him somehow. She doesn't have time to analyze it, though, because he takes one forceful step forward, propelling her with him. She knocks up against the wall hard enough that it seems to jar her bones and his big hands pin her wrists to it and his mouth is on hers, hard and unyielding.
It knocks the breath from her and she can't get it back and all her coherent thoughts have fled. She tries to free her hands again, to no avail. When he breaks off for breath she manages only a vague sound of protest before he's kissing her again, fiercely, relentlessly.
He drives his knee between both of hers so that his whole body is hard against hers, flattening her against the wall, constricting her lungs, and she thinks, what if I just gave in. What if we both did, just for tonight, just once before…
But the thought is barely formed in her mind before he's shoving away from her, as suddenly as he pushed her to the wall in the first place, and she stares at him, dazed, stunned, trying to get her breath. "Goodbye, Stella," he says, and is gone.
His eyes and his voice are darkly tinged with anger. She knows it's nothing, compared to when he finds out.
She sinks to the floor and wraps her arms around her knees, and waits until she can breathe again.