a/n: Thanks to everybody who read and reviewed the last chapter! Give me a four-hour bus ride, and the last part of this happens. I promise plenty of action in the next chapter, and as always, please do let me know what you think!
chapter seven
"So, are you looking forward to going back?" asked Stella, grinning at Mac over the rim of her coffee cup. This was the first time she'd actually sat down for breakfast in a long time. Usually her morning routine consisted of a rushed breakfast, with coffee to go. This morning, however, she had made bacon and eggs to go along with the coffee.
"I can't work, but I'm looking forward to seeing the team," Mac replied, carefully forking a generous helping of eggs and bacon into his mouth and chewing.
"It wouldn't kill you to actually enjoy your time off, you know," she pointed out, taking a sip of her coffee. "We could knock some items off the to-do list."
"We'll have to take a look at that again tonight," he said, eyes drifting over to the innocent-looking piece of paper pinned to the fridge. "Maybe this weekend?"
"I'd be up for a walk in Central Park," Stella replied, her green eyes brilliant. "It's been a while since I've been there just for fun. Usually, I'm there because they've found a body."
Her last statement was laced with grimness. She'd been called to crime scenes all over the city, from the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building to the MOMA and the Museum of Natural History. It was hard to visit some attractions without picturing the associated crime scenes as well, from the body crushed in the Egyptian exhibit, to the body at the top of the Empire State Building. Shaking that last image away, she gave him another small smile.
"I can manage that," he said, forking the last of his bacon and eggs into his mouth. Standing up, he carried his plate to the sink and rinsed it. "I'll be ready to go within 10 minutes."
"Sounds good." Stella loaded their plates into the dishwasher, and headed off to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Half an hour later, she was backing into the NYPD parking lot, next to Flack's car. The dark vehicle glinted in the sun, and a small smile played around her lips. At least Flack's car represented normalcy. Some things never changed. "Okay," she said, pursing her lips slightly. "We're here."
Mac opened his door slowly, and stepped out into the street. The building towered over him. He stood in its shadow, staring up at the storeys of identical square windows. He turned back to Stella for a brief moment, and found her just a few feet behind him.
She took a few steps forward until she was standing next to him. Reaching out, she quickly took his hand. He shifted, but didn't pull away.
"Are you ready?" Stella asked, turning towards Mac, eyes warm.
"I think so," he replied, drawing in a deep breath. The slight nip of frost in the air bit at his lungs, and the feeling was somehow calming.
She gently let go of his hand, giving it a small pat. She took one look at the building she saw everyday, and strode toward the door. Pulling it open, she held it for Mac, and followed him into the bustling lobby. He balked just inside the doorway, stopping dead in the middle of a sea of people. They flowed seamlessly around him and Stella, barely even taking time to spare the two a second glance.
"Hey," she said softly in his ear, palm cupping his elbow. "You alright?"
"Fine." He shook himself, and turned to her with hint of a smile.
"Okay, let's go up," she said, gesturing to the elevators. She had to jolt him into movement with a small tug, but he followed willingly.
Once the elevator doors slid closed, Stella tried to think of something to say to fill the silence. She and Mac had never had problems talking; words had always flowed easily between them, but that was before. Now, he was a shell of the man she'd once known. His intelligence was still intact, but his personality and memories were shattered. It would take a lot more than a freak accident to destroy Mac Taylor, but it seemed as though his accident had done just that.
Standing next to him with silence hanging over them like a pall, Stella could feel the full extent of the gap between them. It was as if they were on opposite sides of a fjord, each standing at the edge of a cliff. She wanted so desperately to reach out and close the space between them, but it was too wide, and if she reached out farther, she'd fall headfirst into the abyss. He was truly so damaged, and Stella felt a sudden stab of guilt run through her. What if he wasn't ready for this? What if she had forced this on him too early? Before she could hit the ground floor button and walk them out of here, the elevator dinged, and the doors glided open. It was the moment of truth. Stella pinched her eyes closed for a split second, and squared her shoulders. There was no going back, and she hoped Mac had it in him to handle his return to the precinct so early.
"Stella?" His voice came from far off, as if he was shouting from the cliff's edge. "We're here."
"Right." She turned to him, feigning a smile. She'd practiced it so much her muscles tautened easily, and she forced the corners of her eyes to crinkle. Faking it had become so easy over the past few weeks.
His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and his eyes burned into hers for a second. The familiar, soul-searching look almost threw her, but she forced herself to keep her smile in place, not to waver. She stepped over the threshold onto the 34th floor, and didn't look back.
Leading him down the now-familiar maze of corridors to his office, she paused outside the door, patting her pockets in order to find his key ring. She'd kind of adopted Mac's keys temporarily, since he had no idea what each one was for. Neither did she, but she held the set out to him anyway, hoping to see a spark of recognition flare behind his blue eyes.
Mac accepted the key ring, clearly unsure what to do with it. Hesitantly, he approached the door and started flicking through the keys. He hoped desperately that one would jump out at him, but they all looked the same. With a resigned sigh, he inserted the key currently in his fingers into the lock, and repeated the process.
"How's it going?" asked Stella from behind him, arms folded over her chest. There was a slight smile on her lips, and she wore a vaguely amused expression.
"Process of elimination," Mac replied drily, moving onto the next key. He turned it, and the lock clicked open. He pushed the door gently, and stepped inside his office. It was dark and smelled unused. The air was stagnant, stale. Automatically, he reached for the light switch, fingers scrabbling gently along the wall before flicking it on, bathing the small room in bright, fluorescent light. He moved slowly towards his desk, taking in the stack of paperwork. His fingers drifted across the manila folder of cold cases, and his eyes dimmed for a second.
"So, this is your office," Stella narrated, leaning in the doorframe, and trying her best to look casual.
"Yeah," Mac said softly, gingerly pulling out his chair and taking a seat. He reached for the case file next to his laptop, pulling it close and opening it slowly. Fingers trembling slightly, he scanned the top of the case file, eyes widening.
Stella watched, knowing exactly what was on the sheet he was reading.
"Robbie Cortland," he breathed, eyes moving rapidly down the page. He sighed and flipped to the next page. "And Armando Reyes. This was the last case I was working on before the accident."
"Yeah," Stella said, "it was. And now you can move that folder to the closed cases."
"Where's that?" he asked, turning around in his chair and looking around the room.
"Right over there," she said, stepping over the threshold and pointing to a box on the shelves behind him. "It's the closest one to you."
Mac nodded, standing up and stretching. He trailed his fingers slowly along the label on each box before finding the right one. He was about to reach for it when Stella swatted his hand for about the fifth time since he'd been discharged.
"Hey, no lifting. Doctor's orders." She moved quickly across the room, intercepting him before he could even consider a response.
"Right." He cleared his throat and stepped back, allowing her to carry the full box over to his desk and set it down. He slid the top off, and found himself staring at an almost empty box. The folders leaned against each other, and he fingered them gently, reading the names and scanning the first few pages of the case reports. After a few minutes of pensive reading, he looked up, brow furrowed. "I don't remember any of these. Not a single one."
"It's okay," Stella said soothingly, coming up behind him, and putting a gentle hand on his arm. "It'll come back. And even if it doesn't, you still solved the cases. You saved lives, gave people closure. Don't ever think that's not important."
"I just wish I could remember some of it," he replied, voice low and rough.
"Maybe it's better not to remember all of the crime scenes. God knows I'd like to forget some of them," Stella said, her voice rising in a dry laugh at the end of her statement. Even when she closed her eyes, she still saw bodies. She saw bloodstains in the legs of red wine running down the inside of her glass. She heard gunshots in every car backfire. Even when she retired or quit, she'd never be able to forget the absolute cold panic that comes with staring down the barrel of a gun, or worse, the feeling of cool steel pressed tightly against her skin.
"At least you still remember enough to do your job," he muttered bitterly, slapping the lid on the box.
"You'll be back," she said, sounding sure of herself. "You know your chances of recovery after time are good."
"What i-" he began, before she leaned across him and pushed his chest a little harder than he intended. Before he could react, she had him backed up against the table and was staring directly into his eyes. It was a little – no, a lot – intimidating, and in spite of himself, he swallowed nervously.
"I'm so tired of the what ifs, Mac Taylor," she said, her voice laced with a dangerous tone. "You only get one chance to live, and don't throw it all away just because you've lost some memories. They will come back. I'll make sure of it."
He nodded, unsure of what else to do in the circumstances. It wasn't often Stella got angry, but he'd seen her pushed to her limit and it wasn't pretty. He didn't want to be the target, either. "Right. I'm sorry." He looked up, unsure of what to do. Did he hug her? Take her hand? Pat her arm? Did she even want to be touched by him right now? He breathed out deeply, nostrils flaring.
"Now that we have that out of the way, you have a lab to see," she said, composing herself. "I don't want any negativity. You know you're damn lucky to be alive."
"I know that," he said softly, "and I'm grateful for it."
"I hope so," she replied, reaching around him for the boxes. She lifted them onto the shelf, checking to make sure they were in the right places, before stepping through the glass doors and out into the hallway.
He locked the door as he'd done many times before, and followed her down the hallway. He tried to take it all in at once: the pristine white lab coats carrying samples or equipment, the suits carrying folders and briefcases, and the uniforms. Everybody seemed to be in a hurry. He could sense the energy. Everybody walked so purposefully, and they all seemed to know where they were going, while he trailed a few steps behind Stella, half-paying attention as she pointed out the various labs, and offices.
She stopped outside one of the many labs, and opened the door, ushering him into a room filled with tables of evidence. Microscopes sat on every table, and huge machines lined the walls. "Look who decided to show up," she announced simply, a huge grin lighting up her face.
"Hey," said Danny, looking up from the bloodstained shirt he was swabbing. "How are ya doing? You look better than the last time I saw you."
"I bet I do," Mac replied, with his usual dry grin. "It's good to see you all, and I'm glad it's not from a hospital bed."
"Us too, boss, us too," Danny said emphatically. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm a little stiff and bruised, but other than that and my memory, I'm fine," Mac said, moving over to the main table, around which most of the team was gathered. Dishes containing hairs, fibers, and trace littered the clear tabletop, but he found himself drawn to the white button-down Danny had been holding.
Brow furrowed, Mac picked up the briefcase and set it on his desk. It was held shut with a combination lock. He gritted his teeth, knowing exactly what the combination was. Slowly, tentatively, he spun each of the three slots to the number three, and pulled the lock open. Sliding it gently off the briefcase, he flicked the clasps and pulled the briefcase open, dreading what was inside.
He sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to see, and looked down. His breath caught in the back of his throat, and he pulled out a white t-shirt, soaked in stiff patches of what was unmistakably dried blood. Forcing himself to hold it up, he inspected it for any trace he could pull off it, and then put it back in the briefcase, sinking back against the desk and burying his face in his hands.
"Mac? Hey, you with us?" asked Stella, passing her hand in front of his face.
Startled, he jolted slightly, blinking his blue eyes rapidly. "Yeah, sorry, I zoned out."
She chuckled lightly, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "We noticed," she said, an eyebrow cocked. Her expression then sobered, as recognition sank in. "Did you remember something?"
"No," he lied quickly. Something about the bloody shirt and its discovery nagged at him, ticking the back of his mind. He wanted to place it somewhere in his timeline of memories, but he couldn't slot it in anywhere. For now, it was a solitary occurrence, but he knew that there was more to the story.
"Are your memories coming back?" asked Lindsay curiously, emerging from behind her microscope. She stood next to Danny, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning on him slightly.
It wasn't until Mac caught the flash of the diamond on her ring finger that he realized that they were married. He might have guessed it from the way they looked at each other, from the way they touched. Gathering himself, he focused on Lindsay's questions. "I've had a few flashes of memories, but they're not linear. Most of it is gone, though," he explained, looking around the lab again.
"What triggers flashbacks?" asked Danny, pulling Lindsay a little closer.
"Sometimes everyday objects trigger memories, but I haven't had many yet," Mac said, scanning the lab once again. He desperately hoped that some faces would pop out at him, but nothing jumped out.
"Like what?" Lindsay prompted, her fingers intertwined with Danny's for emotional support.
Mac hesitated. The most prominent memory was when he'd seen Stella give him that genuine smile, and it had triggered an onslaught of memories. That night he'd taken her to the diner after their first case was so far away, but yet it had stood out somehow. He wanted to keep that private, just between the two of them. Telling anybody else would destroy the moment. "Stella and I got coffee after I got out of the hospital, and we walked past this alley, and I just remembered that there had been a crime scene there," he said, drawing himself up a little more. "I could remember details about the vic, and how she'd been killed, and why."
"That's great!" Lindsay exclaimed excitedly, with a soft smile. "See, you're well on your way."
"I hope so," Mac replied, trying to muster up a smile. Truth be told, his flashbacks had been few and far between, and they didn't necessarily tell him important things about his past, his life with Claire, or how to do his job.
"So, Mac, are we on for grabbing a coffee some time?" asked Danny. He still kept his grip on Lindsay, who didn't mind at all. "We're about to finish this case, and after that I'll be pretty flexible until another case comes up."
"I'd hate for you to have unfinished paperwork," cracked Stella, with one hand on her hip. She grinned, flashing a mouthful of straight white teeth, and her green eyes sparkled as she teased him gently.
"Aww, come on Stell, I can get it authorized by the boss," Danny smirked, glancing at Mac with dancing eyes.
"It'll be good for him," he added persuasively, seeing Stella's arched eyebrow.
"I can't say no when you put it like that," Stella admitted, sobering up as she recalled his schedule for the next day. "Mac's got physio until 10:00, but you could always pick him up from there."
"Sounds like a plan," said Danny, as he closed the gap between the two groups, and stood directly in front of the two detectives. "I'll pick you up from there, Mac. Text me the address, okay, Stell?"
"Done," she replied, whipping her phone from her pocket. Punching in her password, she pulled up the address, and quickly fired off the text to him.
"Hey, have you guys seen Flack, Adam, or Hawkes yet?" Lindsay asked, crossing the room to stand with the major group. "They're all looking forward to seeing you."
Stella checked her watch quickly. "We were just going to head over there. Then we'll head down to the morgue to see Sid."
"Well, we won't keep you. We're close to finishing up in here, anyway," Lindsay said warmly, waving as Stella closed the glass door to the lab behind her. Once they were safely out of earshot, she turned to Danny, a huge grin lighting up her entire face. "Have I told you how happy I am that they're living together?"
"Flack's office is this way," Stella said, leading Mac down the unending hallway. She stopped outside the clear glass doors and knocked, even though she knew that he probably wouldn't have minded had she just walked in.
Flack looked up from his computer screen, a smile immediately stretching across his face as he saw them standing outside his door. Gesturing for them to come in, he straightened up and closed the document he'd been working on. "It's good to see ya, Mac," he said, by way of a greeting. "How are you doing?"
"That seems to be the question of the day," Mac replied drily, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of Flack's desk. "I'm fine, much better."
"I hear you're crashing at Stella's place," Flack said, grinning. "How's that?"
"He doesn't snore," Stella put in teasingly. "Or sleepwalk."
"Always a plus," Flack agreed, clapping Mac gently on the shoulder. "It's great to see you up on your feet. Rumour has it that you're catching up with Danny tomorrow. When's my turn?"
"Get in line," Mac joked, then smiled to show he had been kidding. Turning to the taller man, he considered the question. "I'm pretty flexible, really. When works for you?"
"We've gotten our suspect into custody, nabbed him last night," said Flack. "He's been locked up downstairs overnight. Hopefully we'll get a confession to add to the evidence. If you're down, we could grab lunch sometime this week."
"Sounds good to me," Mac agreed, "but you'll have to come pick me up since I'm not allowed to drive."
"I can do that," Flack said. His phone beeped, and he held up one finger, before fishing it out of his pocket. He checked the screen, tapping it a few times, before looking up, turning it off, and putting it back in his pocket. "Danny just got a confession."
"Already? It's early." Stella checked her phone for the time. It was just after nine, which looked good for finishing up paperwork and having a relatively quiet next few days, at least until another case came in. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed, and she fixed Flack with a piercing stare. "Why didn't you tell me you got him last night?"
"I texted you early this morning," Flack mollified her. "Have you checked your phone?"
"No," admitted Stella, fishing out said device accordingly. "I guess I forgot to take it off silent."
"It's all good," Flack said, a faint smile on his face. "Look, I gotta go talk to Danny. Carson's all lawyered up, and even if they do get a confession, his guys might be able to pull some strings, or convince him not to sign the confession statement."
"Sure," Stella said understandingly, "we'll let you get on your way."
"I'll see you guys later," Flack said, scooping his keys off his desk and grabbing his copy of the case file. He turned at the threshold. "Have you been to the morgue yet? I'm sure Sid will want to see you both."
"Ready for a trip to the morgue?" Stella asked Mac, waving to Flack as he disappeared down the hallway toward the elevator.
He sighed, and followed her in the opposite direction. "As ready as I'll ever be for a trip to the morgue, I guess."
"Funny." Stella gently smacked his arm, and hit the call elevator button.
The morgue was in the basement of the NYPD building, which meant that by default, the floor was darker than anywhere else. Mac could feel the tangible drop in temperature as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, goosebumps sprouting on his arms.
Stella led him confidently to a door halfway down the hallway, and walked right in, ignoring the way he balked in the doorframe, feeling as though he were interrupting something.
Sid was finishing whipstitching the Y-incision on one of the bodies' chests. Hearing footsteps, he put down the needle and looked up, snapping his glasses apart and pushing them together so they hung just above the V-neck of his scrubs. His face lit up when he saw the two detectives. "Welcome back, Mac," he said, a warm smile stretching across his face. "How are you doing?"
"I'm doing well, thank you," Mac replied, still remaining a cautious distance away from the gleaming steel autopsy table.
"That's great. How's your head?" the ME asked, wearing a concerned expression.
"It's alright," Mac said, rubbing his hand across his forehead. "My memory is gone, though. The doctors say that most of it should come back over time, although I'm still waiting."
Sid tsked, and fixed the younger man with an intense stare. "With severe retrograde amnesia, it can take years for most of it to come back, but you should make a good recovery."
"Years. That's what I'm afraid of," Mac said, blue eyes dimming a little at the thought. "I remember so little, just one crime scene and a few things from earlier in my career. I guess I'm worried that none of it will ever come back, and I'll spend my entire life wondering about Claire."
"We'll help remind you," Sid said, putting a gentle hand on the detective's forearm. "I know I have pictures lying around of you and Claire, and surely you have some pictures somewhere."
"I would appreciate that," Mac said solemnly. "I just want to get part of her back."
"That's understandable," Sid sad, smiling sadly. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, but I know that you're in the best possible hands."
"I hope so," Stella said, her tongue flicking out over her lower lip, nervously. "I guess it's a step in the right direction that we have the guys responsible put away."
"It certainly is," Sid agreed, "even though it won't help you heal faster, at least justice has been served."
"Exactly," Stella said. "Now we just have to get Mac back to himself."
The problem was that was more easily said than done.
