Title: Les couleurs
Author: Ki
Disclaimers: They're not mine… nope. They're not!
Spoiler: a very slight one for 5.08 My Name is Mac Taylor.
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The wind was biting, punishingly cold. He had lost track of time as he ran. They were meaningless anyway, when he was driven solely by the restlessness welling up inside. For a week now, sleep had eluded him.
His steps felt leaden; his body operating on caffeine alone. He needed sleep, he knew. Yet, frustratingly, all he could do for the past week had been to toss and turn in bed and waited for the shades of the moon to fade and the orange sun to shine through his bedroom window again. Occasionally, utter exhaustion would pull him under for a few hours of blissful oblivion, but they were scarce.
He ignored the wind and kept running, willing his heart to pump faster and his legs to stretch further. He wanted to get warm, to sweat. He had been cold lately, not because of the temperature, but from a chill that came from within him, a chill against which blankets and thick winter jackets were useless.
And so he ran, a way he had adopted since he returned from Beirut. He let his feet pound the granite in a consistent rhythm and willed his mind to think of nothing but the next step, and the next. And the next.
It almost worked. Almost, but not quite. He had indeed trained his mind to set aside all thoughts about the cases and the bureaucratic crap that came with his position. But it defied him on one subject, the subject from which he most needed shelter, of which he most desperately needed a break.
Every time he passed by a woman with a head of wild curls, every time a sweet scent that might or might not resemble the smell of coconut mixed with vanilla filled his nostril, every time he raised his head and caught a glimpse of the stars that adorned the night sky, his shield would crumble and he would automatically think of his partner.
Mac Taylor was slowly learning how impossible it was to force Stella Bonasera, with her wild curls and her coconut and vanilla lotion and her fierce loyalty and inner strength, out of his mind.
And he needed to clear his head to think, to figure out what had happened and where things had gone so wrong, to see the big picture again. There was no doubt about his feelings for his partner. Those feelings were deep, and complicated. It was she who brought him back to the land of the living after Claire and 9/11; it was her hands that pulled him out of his self-imposed exile.
He knew of life without Stella Bonasera, had had a glimpse of it before she rescued him from himself, and could already imagine the dull existence that lacked joy and emotions. He did not want to live in that grey world, for he had already grown accustomed to the fiery red and striking emerald and shiny, sparkly gold she brought with her, so much so that he, too, now craved colours in his dreams.
But what he hadn't anticipated was how much his world now, one where Stella was still by his side, but kept at a distance, would resemble the one he dreaded facing.
He missed the colours that brightened up his world.
The tugging in his heart gave him pause, and he sighed. Glancing at his watch, seeing that it was approaching 3 am, he decided to turn around to go home. Sleep would once again elude him tonight, of that he was certain.
The wind was equally cold on his way back. The world around appeared to be even more lifeless than usual. The sight cemented his disdain to the colourless, cold world while his brain refused him the chance to stop thinking, stop analyzing. To stop caring.
Should he have told her he was ready when she asked him - demanded of him - at the crime scene that morning? No, he shouldn't. More than anything, the honesty between them was the one thing he held sacred. He would not lie to her, even for something that he craved.
But was he lying to himself?
The uncertainty was throwing him off. He was not used to second-guessing himself, even his emotions. He was cautious, never one to rush into any decision. He prided himself on his ability to make the right decision, and to hold no regrets in the choices he had made.
Apparently, not this time.
Maybe he was lying to himself; maybe it was the restlessness since Stella had backed away from him that morning that had forced him to realize how prepared he had been. Either way, he was ready to change that situation.
He had made the move, had gone to her apartment, but she had refused to speak with him. He knew she was inside the whole time, knew that she was listening to him through the door and the answering machine. He had made his intentions known. It was now her turn.
And Mac Taylor hated waiting.
What he saw after he rounded the last corner gave him pause. She hadn't spotted him yet, but there she was, all bundled up in her winter jacket and scarf, leaning against the wall outside his apartment.
She was looking down at her hands, the long, elegant fingers with the smooth skin. He wasn't close enough to see clearly, but he could recall, from his memory, how she would be playing with her fingers. It was her habit, something she would do when she was uncertain of herself.
He couldn't stop the annoyance that rose up within him, however. How could she be so careless, to disregard her own safety so much to stand outside his apartment building by herself in the dead of night? She knew, as well as he did, the crime rate, the statistics, the probability. She had processed as many crime scenes of single women attacked in the dark of night as he had. How could she knowingly put herself in such danger?
She must have sensed him the moment he started approaching the building again, because she lifted her head. Their eyes locked, and in that instant, his annoyance fled and his restlessness returned.
"Hi," she said with a smile as he neared her. His mind may be playing tricks on him, but she almost looked relieved to see him. "You're back."
He kept his grim expression and stopped in front of her, "How long have you been standing here?"
She shrugged, "Not long."
He took her in, seeing how she had snuggled into her jacket and wrapped her scarf tightly around herself. Reaching out, he snatched her hand and held it in his, "Your hands are ice cold."
"It's been a cold night."
"Stella - " he started, a trace of warning in his tone.
"It doesn't matter," she shook her head. "Look, you said you want to talk."
"And I do."
"So," she prompted, looking at him expectantly.
He tightened his hold on her hand, slowly re-familiarizing himself with the feel of it nestled inside his, with the tingling from the simple contact.
"Come in before you catch pneumonia," he said, before leading the way into the building.
She gave him a look that could only be translated into like you're one to talk, but followed him in nonetheless. He could feel her eyes on him as they walked. Something felt off, it was as if she was re-assuring herself that he was really in front of her.
Once inside his apartment, he started to his coffee machine, "You want to wait 5 minutes while I grab a quick shower?"
She nodded without saying a word, and he gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go and moving to the shower.
The quick shower helped. He felt more awake and ready. Dressed in his sweats, he moved out to his living room once again.
Stella was still there, her winter jacket draped across the arm of his couch, one steaming mug of coffee on the coffee table in front of him.
She turned when she heard him walk in, "Hey, that was quick."
He nodded and watched her as she cradled her own coffee mug in her hands.
"That's for you," she pointed towards the coffee on the table. "No cream, two sugars."
He smiled his appreciation, more for the thought than the beverage, and settled down on the couch, facing her.
"Stella, why did you wait outside?" he had to ask.
"We need to talk," she answered. "That's what you said, right?"
He looked at her closely, taking in her expression, "Yea, we do."
Then they were both silent, their eyes boring into one another's, and waited.
"You haven't been sleeping," she finally said, looking at him intently with a frown marring her features.
"Neither have you," he countered.
"I'm fine," she shook her head. "At least I didn't feel the need to go out running in the middle of the night."
He wondered if he should give her any explanation, "No, but you waited outside my apartment until I get back. Why?"
"Let it go, Mac. It's not important."
"It's upsetting enough that you waited in the cold for me. Stella, please, I need to know. You are worrying me."
She looked away from him, and frankly, he was getting worried. The more reluctant Stella had been with sharing some news, the more serious it was.
She was still refusing to look him in the eyes, he noted. Reaching out to take her hand in his again, he inquired softly, "Stella, I know there is something, and it's worrying me. Would you please tell me what it is?"
Mac knew he was playing dirty, knew that he wasn't giving Stella much choice in denying him, but he needed to know. He needed to push, because the last time he had let her dwell in her own misery he could have lost her to that cruel disease had things turned out differently.
Finally, she sighed, "I - I was collecting the clothes of a victim at Mercy when they brought this guy in. They kept calling him Mr. Taylor. That automatically got my interest, so I was listening. Then, someone asked for his name, his first name."
Stella paused abruptly, her hands were shaking a little. Mac didn't have to hear anymore. He knew what the patient's first name was.
"I'm right here, Stella. I'm fine."
She let out a chuckle, "I know that. I knew that then, too, because I kept thinking if it were you, I would have gotten a call already. So it couldn't have been you. But, you know."
He did know. He understood.
He tugged at her hand until she sat down next to him. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their supposed talk put on hold as they enjoyed the moment of connection.
Time was slipping by, and Mac could feel his own eyelids droop.
"You're tired," she stated, standing up and breaking the moment. "I'll go and let you get some shut-eye before shift."
He held onto her hand even as she stood up. She turned, looking at him with a sombre expression, "We're taking things slow again, aren't we?"
He nodded. Yes, they had to, because he had to learn how to be around her as someone more than a friend again, and she had to do the same. That didn't mean her pulling away from him isn't hurt though.
He stood, facing her, his eyes looking deep into his, silently asking her.
To his disappointment, she turned away and started for the door, "I better get going. Good night, Mac."
"Good night, Stella." He watched as she slipped out, and looked out to the window until she got into a cab and disappeared into the night.
His world was still grey and dull, but at least now, he knew a sun rise was in the horizon.
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A/N: first off… THANK YOU for the reviews :P. I'm so excited the reviews have passed the 100 mark! Yay! That makes me happy…
And so I thought to celebrate that occasion, I'd write an extra special one this chapter… and oh yea… I ended up re-writing the whole chapter last night…. Bleh…
And so, very sorry that this is late… I know I promised Wednesday, but a little bothersome little thing called "real life" got in the way with 2 finals, 2 papers, 1 newsletter, 1 Christmas dinner, and 1 concert to organize all within 1 week… all in addition to a full time job… I almost thought I wouldn't be able to put a chapter out this week, but then… well, it's a little late, but here you go!
Now, onto the episodes… wow on yesterday… I love their separate scene, of Stella with Lindsay, and then Mac with Lindsay & Danny… and of course, their scene together about the FBI! Woohoo :)… but then, is it just me, or does it seem that on shows that feature the local police, they all hate the FBI's, and on shows that feature the FBI, they all hate the locals? I mean… how can the US legal / police system ever work if they all hate each other? I can't understand that…
And yes, this barely touches on My name is Mac Taylor… I'm saving that for the next chapter because, well, it's funner this way and also I can wait to see next week's episodes before I post it, just in case what Stella is hiding from Mac is different from what we all think (maybe she's been pregnant like Lindsay all along?????)
Oh, and btw, here's a little snippet I found on CSI Files: Lenkov (CSI: NY Executive producer) also said CSI: NY will "revisit" the chemistry between fellow detectives Don Flack (Eddie Cahill) and Jessica Angell (Emmanuelle Vaugier), but he wasn't so sure about possible sparks between Stella and lab geek Adam Ross (AJ Buckley). Lenkov said the two "play nice together", but he's "not sure there's a romance there." Let's drink to that!
And one last thing... someone asked me what my plans are for during the holidays... I haven't decided yet, though I'm leaning towards putting this on a hiatus or creating "Holiday Special" instead... not too sure... what you think ?