Thank you for clicking on my story. I hope you enjoy it and that it honors those lost on this day 9 years ago. Disclaimer – I don't own anything. Full disclaimer in my profile. Thanks again. –yoto
Mac Taylor finished signing the last of the paperwork he owed to Sinclair with a sigh. He didn't want to finish it, not today. He wanted to drown himself with work, ignore the sympathetic looks his team gave him, pretend it was another day. He's been in his office the entire morning, not daring to step a foot outside of it, trying to elude the day and everything it stood for. He knew it was highly improbable, but he would be damned if he didn't give it his best shot.
Hearing something coming from in front of him, he looked up – only to find that it was the sound of the calendar falling to the ground. He stared at the point, cursing the fates that made him face this day. After some contemplation, he stood and picked up the calendar. He stared at the date that seemed to mock him for the past nine years.
It was September 11th, 2010.
Mac sighed as he was brought into the memory of the years past and of the actual, infamous day – he remembers it all, from getting that phone call in the middle of the day, to the waiting for Claire to come home, to that moment in which he realized that she was Home in a different sort. Then he remembered the first year after, then the second, then the third; on and on until he found himself at the present, staring at the calendar like an idiot. He looked up, and thankfully found no one watching him. He sighed, grabbed the calendar, and threw it to the side, not bothering to look at it again. He sat down at his desk and turned towards the window, where the City was as busy as it ever was. He looked at the streets below, with the people rushing to their destination as always. He gazed at the clouds, which were as clear and magnificent as old times. He looked at the sun, only to find the same exact sun he's always known to shine wonderfully.
The world, as he knew it, seemed to mock him in his mourning.
His heart tightened at the memories that played over and over in his head, not allowing him to forget the cruel way the love of his life was taken from him – the way that she said goodbye to him the morning of, the way he worked so innocently in his office minutes before. The way that he sat at his desk so cherubically as the whole event unfolded, all the while unaware that Claire was in trouble until it was too late. He curses at himself for that – he should have KNOWN, he should have had SOME type of feeling that she was in trouble, possibly even thinking of him as her life was taken from her. And yet, he didn't. If memory served him right – and after thousands of times repaying it in his head, he would bet on it – he was in that same exact chair, at the same exact desk, doing the same exact thing he was doing only minutes before – paperwork - until he was 5 minutes too late. It was 5 minutes later in which there was a buzz in the lab, 5 minutes later in which he was informed, 5 minutes later in which he thought of his wife for the first time since the morning. After that, everything became more of a blur – he was on his phone, most of the time, trying to call Claire and ask if she was okay. He was trying to find out what part of the towers had been hit, how they had been hit, what really happened? Stella Bonasera, his no ex-partner, was in his office as soon as she heard the news, asking him if he got a hold of Claire.
It was Stella who stayed with him, comforting him, giving him hope. It was also that same woman who took the angry rants of a distraught Mac Taylor when he found out that Claire was pronounced dead, with no body to bury. Mac stood in his office at the middle of the night, when everyone else had gone home, yelling at his partner as she silently took whatever he gave her. He yelled at her for giving him false hope, for lifting his spirits when there was every reason not to, for making him think that Claire was still alive.
She was also the one who watched Detective Mac Taylor fall into his chair in tears, crying out for his lost wife. She was the same woman who rubbed his back, comforting him as he cried, even enveloping him in a hug that he welcomed. She ignored his angry words and only responded to when his true emotions finally came through – those of a mourning husband trying to figure out what went wrong. She held him there, for the longest time, and only released him when he was truly finished and ready to let her go.
Mac was pulled back into the world when he heard his office phone ring. He turned back from the window and picked it up without a second thought.
"Taylor."
Mac?
He knew that voice as soon as he heard it. "Stella! How's New Orleans treating you?"
It's all been great, Mac. She said, her words sounding heavy. But, I'm not calling for that. A moment of silence crossed the two, Stella taking a deep breath and Mac waiting for what she had to say. …How are you holding up?
It was a simply question, and yet Mac said to her, "I don't know." He truly didn't. He didn't know how he would hold up in this time around, seeing as the only person to truly understand the impact this day had on him was thousands of miles. He continued. "I… I just don't know what to do, Stell."
Mac had the feeling that Stella was nodding. Have you gone to the memorial site?
Mac flinched at the mention of the memorial site – he barely made it through with Stella there; he highly doubted that he could do it without her. "No, and I don't think I will." He said, his voice shaking.
He heard Stella sigh and knew she was frowning in disapproval. Mac, you have to go. For Claire. She thought for a second before saying, I know it's hard for you, you know that. But you still need to mourn for her. You can do that there, where there are others who are in the same boat. I can't help you as much as I'd like, Mac, given the circumstances. She inhaled. But, you need to do this. For yourself, for Claire. For me.
"For you?" Mac asked quietly. "Why for you?"
Because I need to know that you're going to be okay now that I'm gone. She said truthfully. She had been worried about him, honestly. She had been with him through enough to have that justified. She just needed to know that she could lead her own lab without worrying about the one she left behind.
Mac froze for a minute, looking down at the streets below. "… fine. I'll go. For you, and for Claire." He said goodbye to her, promising to call her back after he went, and hung up. He grabbed his coat, told Danny he was in charge, and left the precinct and into the city he looked down on only minutes ago.
It was there, on the ground, did he realize that his view from above wasn't at all accurate.
Looking around, he saw the look on people's faces had been ones of sadness, hatred, or mourning. He had even seen a couple of people crying while he was stopped at a red light on the way there. Most people walking were looking down at the ground, while drivers had turned off their radios for a moment of silence as they heard the echo of the announcer at the site read off names.
He parked his car, and he walked up to the memorial grounds. He took a deep breath, and remembered what Stella had told him not so long ago. He exhaled, one thought on his mind –
For Claire.
He walked up to a bunch of candles in the memorial sight, and saw the pictures of those lost, the flowers left by those they left behind. He found himself searching his pockets for a candle, but realized that he didn't have one. He only had a picture of Claire.
"Is that her?"
He turned his head to find an elderly woman with bright blue eyes looking at his picture. She looked up at him and smiled sympathetically, her gaze an all-knowing one that came with age. She was holding two candles and a bouquet of roses with a picture caught between two of the roses.
Mac looked down at the picture. "Yes. Her name was Claire. Claire Conrad Taylor." He looked at the picture in the roses. "Is that him?"
The woman nodded, placing the roses on the ground and retrieving the photo. "His name was Zach. Zachary London. He and I were married for 45 years. He worked in the World Trade Centers as a janitor, since he retired from his teaching job a couple of years earlier. They loved him there…" her voice trailed off, a tear clear in her eye.
Mac couldn't help but share his story with her. "Claire worked in the Towers, too, although she had a desk job. She… she was the love of my life."
The elder looked back at his photo while Mac looked at hers. "She's very beautiful." She said, a pleasant smile on her face.
Mac nodded. "Thank you." He continued to look at Zach's picture. "You're husband. He looked to be a fine man." He said, hoping she would find it as a compliment. She did, and smiled wider, her eyes lighting up at the compliment. He looked down at the candles. "Were you going to light them for him?"
"Yes, dear, I was." She confirmed, placing them down. "But…" she started, looking down at the candles before her. Mac wondered what she was up to when she passed the lighter to him.
"Have you lit a candle for her?" When Mac shook his head, she simply replied, "Take one of mine. Maybe… maybe they can find some peace in knowing that we found comfort in each other's story."
Mac looked at the woman who had started to cry. "Miss…?" He started, realizing that he didn't even know her name.
The woman smiled. "Maura. Maura London." She wiped a couple of tears away. "And don't you worry about it. I came here for the last 9 years, hoping that I could find someone who's friendly here, who would make me believe in the fact that this day truly was for mourning and comforting each other. You, young man, have finally given me hope in this world. A hope I lost when I lost Zach." She looked down at her picture for a second before continuing. "Thank you, Mr…?"
"Mac. Mac Taylor." Mac said, smiling at her before lighting his candle for Claire and handing her the lighter. She smiled at him and lit her own candle for Zach. The two stood there for a while, lost in their thoughts, until they heard it –
"Claire Conrad Taylor… Zachary London."
Both of them looked towards the podium at that time, the moment they had been dreading coming to light. Mac looked back at the woman just in time to see her start to cry. Feeling tears in his own eyes, he did the one thing he needed to do.
Mac embraced the woman in a hug.
"Mrs. London…" he started, "I'm so sorry about Mr. London. So sorry..." His tears fell freely now, some intertwining with Ms. London's are they fell to the ground.
Maura London closed her eyes and continued crying softly, now fully embracing Mac. "Mr. Taylor, I'm truly sorry for your loss as well."
They stood there, in their embrace, understanding and feeling the pain that the other held.
Unknowingly, a camera man for CBS has spotted the two's hug, and pointed his camera at them to capture it live, broadcasting it to the entire nation.
And somewhere in New Orleans, an emerald-eyed woman saw the embrace on her television in her office, and for the first time in a long time, smiled in relief.
This day will never stop happening, Mac. She thought, but now, you have a friend who can understand it all even more than I can.
And she was right – Mac and Maura stayed together throughout the entire service, and they remained friends afterwards. But every year, on that infamous day, both could freely go through the stages of mourning together. For them, they found understanding, hope, and love at the sight of such terrible events. They found a friendship born from death.
And from somewhere else, two very special people were smiling down at them.
September 11th is something I will never forget. I hope that I have honored those who lost their lives on that day in this fic, and I hope that you all have a safe year. If you know someone who lost their lives on that day, I am truly sorry for your loss. Never forget, never again. Review if you want, wither it's a true review or a story about 9/11. As a fellow writer, I would be honored to hear what you guys have to say. Thanks again for reading. -yoto