I would like to start by thanking meadow567. She put this idea in my head and I couldn't get it out. I'm not going to neglect What The Eyes Can't See, and what happens in this doesn't have a bearing on what happens in that.
Also, if you haven't read WTECS, you could probably get away with not doing to read this, but it would help if you had. For those of you that have read WTECS, this takes place after 205 – shall we call it an "alternative ending"?
So, first things first. Whilst my code name is Axellia, my real name is actually Ann Donahue and I write for CSI:NY... no, wait, I'm getting confused again. I'm really a part-time student with no real job and two rabbits. And therefore, CSI:NY doesn't belong to me. Taylor does. And so does Maddy. And any other characters that you don't recognize. But other than that. They ain't mine!
Secondly, I have a massive thanks for my beta, sparkyCSI for being able to bounce ideas off her, and have her beta a zillion chapters at once!
Finally, the chapter title doesn't belong to me. It's Good Charlotte's. Actually, there's a possibility that a lot of the chapter titles will belong to them!
What The Eyes Don't See
Chapter One: The Chronicles of Life and Death
April first. Just.
Mac watched as the minute hand on the clock in his office became perfectly vertical, marking the start of a new date.
The lab was quiet – only minimal staff were working. His team was down on numbers. Kendall had transferred to a private lab in New Jersey, Stella was on maternity leave – her child due in a matter of weeks, Danny and Lindsay had left the day before to head to Mexico for the honeymoon, and detective wise, Flack was still AWOL.
It was understandable, really.
Mac sighed.
Flack's fiancé, Taylor, had... He sighed again.
Mac's relationship with Taylor had been... interesting. To say the least. A little over three years to the day she had appeared at the precinct, looking like a drowned rat, claiming she had information pertaining to an active case. She had, of course, also insisted that the information was coming from the ghost of the murdered victim.
As she continued to do on a regular basis afterwards.
Mac leant back in his chair, glancing out of through the glass walls to his office at Adam who was busy working away in the lab across the way, dancing slightly to the iPod he was listening to. Mac did a double take.
For a second, he wasn't the only person watching Adam.
In the corridor was a tall woman. Long, straightened, black hair. Long legs, hidden under a pair of... red and black chaps? And a bikini top barely covering her too-skinny frame.
That wasn't possibly.
The woman turned, as if sensing Mac was staring at her, her eyes, almost black, meeting his. She gave him a puzzled look.
Mac shut his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, she was gone.
It wasn't possible.
He was seeing things.
Because there was no way on Earth that Taylor Turner was just standing in the Crime Lab.
It was lack of sleep. That was the only reasonable explanation. Either that, or he was asleep.
No. He was awake. Which left the first option. His mind was telling him that pulling a treble was his limit and it was time to go home to bed and get some rest.
He pulled his jacked off the hook and slipped it on. Checking that the papers on his desk were in the appropriate places ready for the next day, he left his office, switching the light off and locking the door behind him. Giving the corridor a quick look up and down, he crossed over and entered the lab. 'Adam?'
The lab tech, with his back to him, continued dancing away as he prepared some evidence to run through the Mass Spec.
'Adam!' he shouted.
Adam whirled around, yanking the ear buds from his ears. 'Y-yes, Mac?' he stammered.
Mac gave him a small smile. 'When was the last time you had some sleep?'
Adam opened his mouth then closed it. He gave his watch a glance and, lips moving silently, tried to remember when he had walked into the lab. 'I don't know,' he admitted.
'Go home,' Mac told him gently.
'But what about-'
'Secure it and put it away. It can wait until tomorrow,' Mac told him. 'I need what little of my staff I still have to be working at one hundred percent. Go home and get some sleep.'
'I'm fine, Mac,' the young lab tech protested, even though it was evident in the dark bags under his eyes he was anything but.
'I know you are,' Mac nodded. 'But I still want you to go home. I'm going home myself,' he added.
Adam nodded and flashed him a grateful smile. 'See ya tomorrow, Mac.'
Mac nodded his head in goodbye and headed out.
The garage was still. At nearly one in the morning there was no one heading in or out – they were either already in the labs or back at their homes, probably in bed like most sane people should be. Mac headed over to his SUV, noting to himself to tell maintenance that the lights needed checking – the one by his car was flickering. He slid into the car and turned on the ignition, fiddling with the radio to find his favorite late night jazz show. He slid the truck into reverse, his eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror.
He was barely moving, but he slammed the brakes on.
Standing behind him, clear as day in the mirror, hands folded under her breasts as she cocked her head and stared, was Taylor.
Mac flung the vehicle into park before whirling around in his seat.
She was gone.
He took a deep breath before righting himself in the seat. He was clearly more tired than he thought. He reached over and turned the radio up, before slipping the truck back into reverse. Hesitantly, he glanced back into the mirror. Seeing nothing, he backed out and headed home.
---
Mac shut and locked the door behind him. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door and carried on into his living room, toeing his shoes off into the closet. He removed his jacket and hung it up, before loosening his tie and carrying on through the living room and into his bedroom. Carefully, he removed his clothes, hanging them up on the back of a chair and headed for the bathroom to jump in the shower.
By the time he turned the water off, the fatigue was setting in. He stepped out and wrapped a towel around himself, shivering slightly at the cold of his bathroom and headed over to the sink. Mac grabbed his blue toothbrush, squeezed some toothpaste onto the bristles and stood upright. With the toothbrush clamped between his teeth, he leant over and wiped the condensation off the mirror.
Behind his reflection was Taylor.
The toothbrush dropped from him mouth, into the basin, the toothpaste smearing against the ceramic bowl as the brush landed with a small clatter. Mac whirled around. She was still there. 'Taylor!'
Taylor cocked her head at him. 'Are you referring to me or yourself?'
Mac's eyes bulged out of his head.
'I guess that would be me.' Taylor's eyes widened in delight. 'You can see me?'
Mac shook his head and turned back to the sink, running the cold water and splashing it over his face. He turned back around, the cold water slowly dripping off his face and onto his bare chest. She was still there.
'You can see me, can't you!' Taylor exclaimed in delight, clapping her hands together in excitement. She stopped clapping and grinned. 'Oh, the irony of this situation.'
'You can't be here,' Mac finally managed, shaking his head in disbelief. 'It's not possible.'
Taylor folded her arms and leant back against the wall. 'Nope. It's not. You just need your head checking.'
Mac shook his head at her and hurried out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
'Yeah, doors don't seem to be a problem anymore,' Taylor told him, walking through said object and joining him in his bedroom. She looked around. It was minimal. The main thing being the bed. At the foot of it was a large TV, which Mac was flicking on. 'Alright, be rude. Ignore me.'
Mac did just that, pulling back the covers to his bed and pulling out a pair of dark blue pajamas.
Taylor walked over to the bed and sat down on the end of it, just in front of Mac. 'Ignore me if you want,' she told him with a shrug. 'But you're about to show me Little Mac.'
Mac clutched at the nightwear and headed back to the bathroom. As Taylor rose to her feet, Mac turned back. 'You stay there,' he ordered.
'So you're going to acknowledge me?'
'Stay there,' he repeated before slamming the door closed behind him. He reemerged a couple of minutes later.
She was still there. This time, lying on the bed, arms behind her head, as she watched the news. She glanced over at him. 'I wasn't really going to look at Little Mac, you know. Because, no offence, but ew!'
Mac glared at her. 'Do you mind?'
Taylor shrugged. 'Not really. But I do want to know how it is that, of all the people I can see, you seem to be the only person that can see me. Because, whilst I do appreciate the irony of it all, I don't get why it had to be the one person that didn't believe me.'
Mac took a deep breath. 'You're all in my head.'
Taylor arched an eyebrow. 'And you choose to imagine me in your bed wearing a bikini and chaps? Mac Taylor, you have a dirty mind. And if Don ever found out about that, you'd be in trouble.'
'Don't you think you should go haunt Don?' Mac asked her, wondering why he was choosing to see Taylor in that image, but his face remaining impassive.
Taylor sat upright and sighed. 'I can't,' she muttered.
'Can't or won't?'
Taylor looked over at him. 'I'm too scared to,' she admitted. 'I don't know how he'd take it. Or how I'd take it if he couldn't see me. Do you know how that would feel – to see someone you love, but you couldn't touch, they couldn't see you?' She shook her head. 'I'm not ready for that.'
Mac walked over to the bed. 'And you've decided to haunt me?'
'Well, I always said I would haunt your ass just to prove ghosts exist,' she shrugged. 'Either that or I'm all just a figment of your head and you need a CAT scan.' She looked over at him and frowned. 'Which, like I said, either means you have unresolved feelings for me, or you're feeling guilty.'
'I can assure you it's neither,' Mac told her, his face stoic.
She looked down at herself. 'I guess I preferred those options. Because, the fact I'm in this monstrous outfit – that it's going to be the last thing I'm ever gonna wear? Ouch. I ought to haunt Gary's ass for picking this out for me. Or Christina's for that Dirrty video. At least I can't feel the cold.'
'You talk too much,' Mac pointed out.
Taylor shrugged. 'I've only had myself for company. I keep forgetting to wait for a reply.'
'You didn't ask a question that warranted a reply.'
'Good point,' Taylor nodded, rolling over onto her side and propping her head up with her arm. 'You gonna get into the bed or are you just going to stand there staring at it?'
'This is an April Fool's Joke, isn't it?' he asked her.
'Here's hoping,' Taylor muttered.
'How long do you plan on staying there?' Mac asked as he hesitantly climbed into bed, the discomfort at sharing a bed with a ghost, much less the ghost of Taylor, evident upon his face.
'I'm not going anywhere,' Taylor told him.
'That figures,' Mac grumbled as he turned the light off, settling back to watch the television. 'You'd best disappear soon,' he told her.
Taylor rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. 'Fine. But I'll be back in the morning.' She sat upright. 'And for the record, I've been through all this before. I'm here. I'm real. And I don't think I'm going anywhere fast. So if you need to do some tests tomorrow to prove that, we can do that.'
Mac reached over for the remote. 'Goodbye, Taylor,' he said as he rolled back into position.
But she was gone.
Mac shook his head. 'I need to get some sleep,' he muttered as he switched the television off.