This is a tribute to the victims of 9/11, whether they died or lost someone close to them. Though I didn't write this story for the reviews, it is appreciated when you give me concerns, critiques, and comments. Thanks!
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Central Park, on a cloudy day, was just as beautiful as on a sunny day. To Mac Taylor, it was even better, because it suited his mood. His captain, and entire CSI squad (though they had the good grace to be nervous and embarrassed), had joined forces to get him off the team. Certainly not permanently! But (and Stella put it the best), they all felt he had been "working his ass off for too damn long," and it was time to "sit down for the next two weeks and just breathe… especially now."
That was definitely Stella talking. She always had that way of saying exactly what he needed, but did not want, to hear.
He'd been on leave for three days, and was actually enjoying it. 'Enjoying' might have been a little strong. 'Not wanting to run immediately back into the lab and put on his white coat' was better.
It was September 10. There was only one more day to go.
Mac's thoughts returned to Don Flack, the detective injured in the May bombings. He was out of the hospital but not quite ready to be back on the force. As of Mac's departure, he'd been on light desk duty.
"Like there's ever anything interesting on desk duty," the younger man had grumbled. Everyone, however, and that included the young Flack, knew it was best for him.
At the memory of the bombing, the deep worry lines on Mac's brow deepened. They only led to harder, more painful memories of loss and death.
Just like five years ago.
September 11, 2001. Another infamous day.
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Mac continued walking, is eyes misty like the sky above Manhattan. His hands continued to grip the fabric inside his coat pockets like an eagle holding its prey. He tried to slow his footsteps, to lose himself in the nature as he had been wont to do while Claire was still alive. While she still existed outside of the memories of those who loved her.
As he had stalked towards the elevator with his coat in hand, seething from the betrayal of his team, Stella came after him.
"Mac!" The Greek detective had called. "Hold on a minute!"
She placed a soft hand on his shoulder. The anger rolling off the older man was palpable and harsh as the heat from dry desert sand.
"I'm sorry, Mac," she said softly. "This does in no way reflect how well you do your job. You're the best of us all!"
He rounded on his partner. "Then why am I on leave!" He hissed furiously. "I don't need any time off!"
"Yes you do," Stella replied gently. "Come with me." She led him into the locker room and sat him down on the wooden bench. Her cool hands grasped his face as she sat next to him, straddling the bench.
"You think I want you to leave CSI?" She whispered harshly. "Even for two weeks, it's going to be hard without you. I mean," she laughed briefly, "I can do it. You know that. But you just add this… intensity. It keeps us grounded, you know?"
Mac closed his eyes against the sudden tears he felt prickling in his eyes. His hands tightened in his lap and he leaned toward Stella's tender touch. "I miss her Stell," he whispered almost silently. "It's going to be five years in five days. Five years ago today... I kissed her goodbye and she came home. We ate dinner. We had wine. Merlot from France, I think. And then five days after that… she left me."
Stella shifted closer so she could take the grieving man into her arms. "She didn't leave you, Mac," she murmured into his ear. Her breath tickled the sensitive flesh. "She's still there. You know what 'Claire' means in French?"
The change of topics threw Mac for a moment. He looked at Stella's brown eyes and shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "I don't."
"It means 'light'," she replied. Again, she folded Mac into her embrace. He rested his head against her soft chest. "She was the light of your life, right? Well, she still is. Maybe not like she was, but she's like a lantern in the tunnel of your life. She helps you see. Right now, it's like the light's been turned off, or it's burning way too brightly. You just gotta take a little bit of time and get the oil burning right again."
Exactly like Stella. Always with the right words.
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Mac found a lonely bench just off the path and sat. The cold metal chilled him, but that was fine. His hands relaxed in his pockets.
A dark-haired woman limped past him from the direction opposite from which he had arrived. She glanced at him as she progressed slowly down the path. Mac watched her walk; her right leg seemed stiff or short and it caused her to walk slower and more difficultly than a young, beautiful woman should. Her right hand held a cane that she leaned on heavily with every step.
Unable to stop himself, Mac stood and went to her. "Ma'am?" She turned, startled, and faced him. "Can I… help you?"
Her green eyes flashed angrily. "I don't need any help, thank you," she said softly. While the words were gentle, her tone suggested that too many people asked that question for her comfort. "And I don't need your charity."
"I wasn't offering any," Mac retorted, angrier than he had right to be. "You just – never mind. Forget it." He turned on his heel and began to walk away.
"Wait!" Her voice, not a decibel higher, stopped him in his tracks. Mac gripped the inside of his pockets even more powerfully and turned around slowly. The woman was frowning slightly, much of her weight centered on the cane.
"What do you want?"
"To help you," Mac answered immediately. "Just to help. That's all I've ever wanted."
She took a step towards him. "Why do you think I need help?" Her gaze was fiery and independent. "Do I look helpless to you?" Another step.
"Far from it," he answered honestly. He shrugged slightly and looked away, towards the city. Unwillingly, tears welled in his eyes.
The uneven sounds of her tentative footsteps reached his ears before her hand touched his arm. "Sit with me," she suggested. Her hands guided him back to the cold bench.
She asked, "Why aren't you at home with your wife?" Her gaze rested on the golden wedding band on Mac's finger. He still wore it, even after five years.
He murmured, "She died." He left it at that.
The woman nodded once, a slight movement of her head. "Was it five years ago?" She glanced quickly as his face to gauge the reaction.
Without opening his eyes, Mac nodded. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye. It trailed hotly down his cheek to the bottom of his chin, where it fell, glistening like a star, onto the ground.
They were strangers, yes, but even strangers can see pain in each other and try to stay it away. The woman, acutely aware of his suffering, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him gently to her. His head rested solidly on her shoulder.
"What was her name?" The woman asked quietly.
"Claire," Mac whispered. His voice was full of words left unsaid and promises left unfulfilled.
"And yours?"
"Mac Taylor," he answered, still leaning heavily on the woman he didn't know.
The woman was silent for a long time. Her hands remained in motion however. One ran up and down his back in a soothing manner. The other rested gently on the back of his neck. Her cool skin was like balm on a 3rd degree burn.
"My name's Claire too," she finally whispered. This came as a great shock to Mac. Yet as he thought about it, it made more sense. Only a Claire could be so kind, so understanding.
"I lost my fiancé that day. He was a stockbroker. I was shopping that day underground. We were going to meet up for brunch. And then it just… exploded. I was so afraid. I thought I was going to die. So I ran upstairs for him. I needed to find him so we could get out together. But it collapsed on us before I could get to his floor. The rubble trapped me inside for nearly twenty hours. I waited for the rescue teams to find me, praying and crying the entire time. My leg was crushed; that's why I limp. When they finally found me I was delirious with pain, thirst, and hunger. All of the hospitals were packed to capacity, but they found an emergency room for me and operated. I asked for him the entire time. 'Where is my fiancé?' I'd moan and yell. 'I need to find him.' It was only after the operation that they told me he hadn't been found yet. And he was never found. Only a bloody, broken watch I gave him for his birthday just a few weeks before. It said, 'For my one and only – Claire.'"
Mac felt Claire's tears in his hair and on his cheek. He looked up, and with a gentle finger brushed them away. "How have you faired?" He asked her, staring deep in her teary eyes.
"Not well," she sniffed. "I miss him very much. I sold the apartment we lived in, moved to a smaller one on the West Side. Everything he touched, everything that reminded me of him I got rid of. Except…." She laughed quietly. "We rented the movie West Side Story the night before. We watched it and I cried and cried like I do every time I watch a spin-off of Romeo and Juliet. And afterwards, he took me in his arms and whispered over and over, 'Te adoro, Claire.' And when I woke up in my bed the movie was on the bedside table with a little note that said, 'I love you, Claire. More than Tony loved Maria, than Riff loved the Jets, or Anita loved America. Remember to meet me for brunch at the Towers!'
"I never returned the movie. I never watched it again, either. His love, his soul… it's still there."
She turned her gaze to Mac, and asked him gently, "And yourself?"
He shook his head vigorously. "I'm a detective. I knew about it the second it happened. I ran out of the lab – I work as a crime scene investigator – and went to the Towers. But they had already fallen. For a week I waited, just praying someone would find her. And they did find her. Just… not alive. My partner, Stella, she was with me the whole time. I raved and screamed, lost control. Finally I threw everything out. Anything that was even remotely connected to her, gone. But, this beach ball…. We were planning to go to the beach one day. I bought her this beach ball, and she blew it up. The one thing I couldn't throw away, out of everything, was that beach ball. Her breath is still in it. Even now, I've thrown myself into my work. That's why I'm not in the lab now. My squad made me take two weeks leave for it, just so I could get my head on straight."
They remained in that position for nearly an hour. More tears were shed, but hardly any words, and no other pedestrians happened by.
It was turning dusky when Mac stood. He pulled Claire to her feet. She rose unsteadily and leaned on her cane.
"Are you going to the memorial service tomorrow?" She asked him.
He nodded solemnly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "This is my number, in case… you need help." They smiled together, small movements of amusement.
"Thank you, Mac." She turned and was about to walk away when Mac asked, "What was his name?"
She was silent for a moment, and then answered, "Tobias. Tobias Daniels." Still, she did not move. She turned to face Mac again, and stated, "You really like her, don't you?"
"Who?" He was unsure of who she meant.
"Your partner," Claire said with another smile. "Stella. And she really likes you too. Maybe you should take her to dinner."
Mac blushed. "I don't –"
Claire touched the side of his face. Her palm cupped his cheek. "I know it sounds hypocritical," she said, "seeing as I haven't completely moved on, but I'm working on it. I've a guy whom I see on occasion. It'd do you a world of good to have someone too."
She turned and walked away. Mac watched her limp determinedly down the path until he couldn't see her anymore.
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He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He hit the first speed dial, and Stella answered on the third ring.
"Bonasera," she said crisply.
"Hey Stella," Mac said quietly. He sat down on the bench once more.
"Mac!" She said, delighted. "How are you?"
"Good. What are you doing tonight?"
She thought for a moment, and answered, "I'm off at seven, but I've got some paperwork to –"
"Can't it wait?"
Stella was shocked. "You're asking me to hold off paperwork?"
"This is really important."
She was worried now. "What's up, Mac?"
"Can I take you to dinner tonight?"
"What?" She was confused.
"I'd like to take you to dinner tonight."
"As in two friends getting together, or… a date?"
Mac swallowed nervously. "The latter."
Stella was silent for a long time. Mac thought for a second she had hung up on him. Her voice was small and unsure as she answered, "All right, Mac. Where?"
"Adriano's," he said instantly, naming her favorite restaurant.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries; Mac was sure that the date would be forced and very boring.
Stella could not believe how much God smiled on her that day. Even the evidence was going the way she wanted it to.
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Adriano's was chic, formal, and had the atmosphere of an Italian bistro in the middle of Tuscany. Stella looked particularly elegant in a midnight-blue dress Lindsay had suggested, along with a pair of short yet strappy heels. Her makeup was bold, beautiful, and highlighted her dark Greek eyes
Mac waited nervously in a fine tuxedo Danny had suggested when the older man had called the younger man for advice. Once Danny had shook the shock from himself, of course.
He saw Stella walk gracefully into the restaurant. Her astounding beauty forced him to his feet instinctively. She glanced in his direction and blushed, a distinctively un-Stella-like reaction.
Their table was private but offered a wonderful view of the other patrons. Mac pulled Stella's chair out for her.
"Thank you, Mac," she grinned. She spread the cloth napkin over her lap and took a drought of ice water.
Feeling perceptive, as he sat down, Mac said, "You don't trust this." It was not a question.
Stella looked into his clear eyes. "Yes, I do," she stated, stressing the 'I'. "I'm just not sure you do."
"What do you mean?"
"You're so blind, Mac," she said sadly. "I know it's been five years. And I know how painful it is. But you didn't see it. Not once, in the last few years. Not even after Frankie. And you know how bad that was!" Her voice was getting louder; many diners looked their way. Resorting to a vehement hiss, she continued. "You see these?" She lifted her hands. The flickering candlelight threw the little white scars into relief. "You have any idea why I fought so hard?"
Tears were welling in her eyes. Mac tried to steal his heart against them, but they broke every wall and barrier he had set around himself.
"I fought for you, Mac. You and everything you stand for. Everything you believe in. Remember Blue, the police horse?"
He did indeed.
"I was angry, yeah. The way you almost compromised the case, or at least that what it seemed like to me. But Blue was an innocent life. He didn't deserve to die, just like his rider didn't. And you tried everything you could to prevent anything happening to him. I mean," she added with a sniffle, "nothing did happen to him and that was really lucky. It was just your desire to keep him alive. God, I love that about you."
"I lov-"
Mac silenced her with a full kiss upon her lips.
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September 11, 2006.
It dawned cool and bright.
Mac watched the light filter in through the window next to his bed. He raised his head to look at the dusty glow that illuminated the curly-haired woman spooned next to him. The t-shirt he had given her to wear that night had ridden up, and her flat stomach gave a tempting sight.
Suddenly emboldened, he leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on her warm skin. She shifted, but did not awaken. Even bolder, he nuzzled her soft skin and continued his ministrations. Only when she began to stroke his hair in greeting did he know Stella was awake.
He leaned forward and kissed her solidly on the forehead. "Morning," he whispered.
She looked up at him with sleep-laden eyes. "Morning Mac," she replied. She rested her weight on her forearms and sat up. "What time is it?"
"About six."
Stella breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I don't have to get up yet."
Mac chuckled, but immediately felt guilty. Being the day, he didn't feel like he should be happy.
As always, Stella saw exactly what he was feeling in his eyes. She reached for his face and took it in her hands. "I know today's going to be hard for you," she whispered, "but do you really think Claire'd want you to be completely miserable?"
Mac shook his head in her grasp. "She wouldn't," he agreed. "And I'm not going to dwell on it."
He captured her lips in his own.
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Danny met up with Stella as she exited the elevator. "We've got a suicide," he said without preamble. "You're gonna wanna see the note she left, Stel. And call Mac."
With piqued curiosity, Stella snapped on a pair of latex gloves and pulled on her lab coat. Hawkes waited anxiously with a sheet of white paper and a picture of the victim. "What's up Hawkes?" Stella asked with a frown.
"Me and Lindsay got called in on a suicide early this morning," he replied. "It's straightforward. A single woman, Claire MacKenna, 29, strangled herself this morning around midnight, one AM. A neighbor found her; she said that she smelled something nasty."
"Excrement," Stella nodded.
"Right," Hawkes agreed. "But, this note… she mentions Mac. Talks about the Towers. Her fiancé died five years ago."
Stella's frown deepened. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell. "I'm gonna call Mac," she said. "You're sure this is a suicide?"
Hawkes affirmed. "Between me and Sid, there's no doubt."
Stella walked away quickly, cell phone in hand. Mac's own was ringing miles away.
"Taylor," he answered crisply.
"Mac, do you know a Claire MacKenna?"
He paled so fast Stella thought she could hear it over the phone. "Is she dark-haired with a limp?" He asked quietly.
"I don't know about a limp," she replied softly, "but her hair is black. She committed suicide last night. In her note, she mentions you."
"I met her yesterday," Mac whispered. "We spoke in the park. She lost her fiancé in 9/11."
"You might need to come in, Mac," Stella said quietly. "This note… you need to read it."
He hung up then, already on his way out.
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Goodbye, everyone.
To say it's been a pleasure would be a half-truth. My childhood was wonderful, except for the accident that took my parents from me nine years ago. No siblings to fight with, no real best friends. Then I met Toby. He made me laugh till I cried when that's what I wanted to do in the first place. He made me want to be more than a boring secretary. We watched so many versions of Romeo and Juliet I stopped counting; West Side Story was our favorite.
Al Qaeda took him from me. We were going to get married in December, but they destroyed that hope. They took away my love and the ability to walk right. I hate them.
I went to the park yesterday and met a man who felt the same pain I did. I saw it the moment I looked into his blue eyes. That and the love he carried. Not just for his wife, but for the strong, courageous woman who loves and cares for him. I wish I had found someone else like Mac Taylor did. If you ever read this, Mac, and wonder why I've done what I have, just remember that you're luckier than I. I would have never found someone who means as much as Toby did to me ever again. You found Stella, or she found you. Toby would want me to be happy. I'm happy now, in his arms in heaven, or wherever.
Be strong, Mac. Stronger than me.
Claire.
Mac felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as he looked at the handwritten suicide letter. Stella stood behind him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You talked about a lot yesterday," she stated softly. Mac nodded mutely, too shocked for words.
Without them, Stella wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his warm back. "It's gonna be fine, Mac. I promise."
He turned in her arms to face her. "I know, Stel," he murmured in her thick curls. He buried one hand their and wrapped another around her waist. They rested comfortably together, two people caught in a maelstrom. Luckily, they had found anchors.
Mac smiled slightly and closed his eyes. Stella's scent surrounded him. He breathed deeply and nuzzled her neck. Though 9/11 had crushed his soul, he now had a reason to rise from the ashes.