With Each Passing Day
By Dimgwrthien
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.
Mac put a hand to his forehead, trying to think straight. He was barely dressed, having thrown on a shirt and pants he found lying around the room. He barely even registered that one sock was missing. His senses only returned to him when Claire threw herself against the door, stopping him from leaving.
He wanted impatiently for her to tell him not to go, to bring her if he had to go. It was the only thing he could imagine her doing. It caught him by surprise when Claire threw her arms around him. "Don't do anything stupid," she whispered.
"Already am." Mac pulled her into a one-armed hug before he tugged the door open. She watched him leave down the hall, her eyes never leaving his back.
(With Each Passing Day)
Mac could see the cop cars rushing down the road. He stayed behind them, taking advantage of their speeding to hurry. Surprisingly, he saw that they led to the lab itself. Mac frowned, glancing at the clock as he drove. Only twenty minutes had passed, and he knew he was right around the corner.
The cops seemed congregated around the lab, their guns out, several trying to find a way in through the doors. They appeared to be bolted out and darkened as though with paint. Mac parked behind the cops, pulled down the visor with the CSI badge, and got out.
"What's going on?" he shouted to one of the cops, who barely looked over his shoulder at Mac.
The cop was a big guy, black, and had his dark hair closely cropped to his head. Mac noticed the scar running down his arm from the elbow to wrist.
"As far as we can tell, it's a hostage situation." He glanced at Mac's badge. "Taylor, right?"
Mac nodded.
"We're getting in more backup before we try to get in." The cop's hands didn't waver like some of the others. Mac could tell that he had been working that job for at least ten years. "How'd you know?"
"Bonasera called me." Mac motioned to his cell phone without taking his eyes off the doors.
"She manage to get you?" The cop furrowed his brow. "Anything in the background? Voice recognition? Know who's there?"
"Gun shot in the background."
The cop nodded. "Tell the chief over there." He jerked his head to the side. "May help with preparing."
Mac looked in the direction the cop nodded and saw a tall man there, his forehead soaked in sweat no matter how cold it was out. He spoke to several officers, making motions to the building, their guns, the others, and anywhere else he could. Mac noticed that it didn't look like the man would stop ordering them around for anything.
Carefully, Mac walked to the back of the building. Part of it was uncovered by the cops where the wall was too solid for anyone to think about protecting it. He looked up the solid wall, squinting out the sun. There had to be something.
"Officer!" Mac yelled over to the cop again, who glanced up and looked around before following Mac. He still held his gun ready, though it was pointed to the ground. The cop followed Mac's finger up the wall to where he pointed.
"Vent?" he asked.
Mac nodded. "If you want to get it, the vent system always leads through the building, right?"
Frowning as he thought, the officer looked back up the wall. "I think you're right."
(With Each Passing Day)
By the time the ladder was up against the wall and the vent opened, Mac had forced a gun and bullet-proof vest out of the chief. Several officers stood around the ladder, waiting for the signal.
"What're you doing?"
Mac looked around until he saw the same officer he had been speaking to before. "I'm not leaving my lab."
"You're not an officer." The man frowned and carefully slid several bullets into his gun. "This isn't your job."
"I was an officer before working in the lab and I was in the Marines. I'm qualified." Mac met his eyes. "I'm not leaving my lab."
"Alright." The officer handed over the small box of ammunition. "May want these, then."
Mac slid open his gun and took a handful of the bullets, loading them all in. He hated the feeling of the bullets, starting after the Marines when he knew he had gotten too close to them for comfort. He did his job, though, securing the weapon and sticking it in his holster.
One of the other cops started to climb the ladder as another held it steady. He held a flashlight in one hand as he went, which made his climb rather like an awkward limp. Mac watched, then saw another officer follow. He took the opportunity to follow, knowing that the big officer was behind him. The gun hit his leg as he climbed and once he reached the vent and climbed in, he touched the holster to reassure himself it was there.
The vent was wide and tall, at least tall enough for the large officer's back to only barely brush the top. Mac followed the lights the others cast in front of him and listened for sounds.
They didn't come for at least a hundred feet. He started to hear voices through the vent. Most of them were low whispers with their sharp hisses while one of them was louder, angrier.
"Here," one of the cops hissed from the front of the vent. "We're dropping out here. Sounds like they're going to be in the next room."
The officers nodded their agreement, and the one in front unhooked the vent and slid out onto the floor below. Each followed.
Sure enough, the room was empty. Mac finally pulled the gun out of his holster and clicked off the safety.
As he followed the other officers, his mind kept flashing back and forth. Guns going off for practice, aiming at their human-shaped targets. The snipers kept to themselves, carefully calling to each other their orders, taking their slow, prized aim, watching the bullet as though it moved through palpable air. The rest shot blindly, knowing that at some point, they would hit their targets. Light could shine through the holes in the boards, and one even looked as though it had a pair of shining eyes.
His mind flashed to Claire's face just minutes before, pleading with him. Don't do anything stupid. His mind answered her pleading now - I can't help it.
A cop hit the door hard, breaking the lock in one blow. He darted to the side, gun aimed at a figure Mac couldn't see. Mac followed, aiming up at the only man in the room he couldn't recognize. The man stared back at the cops, still holding his gun up, aimed at a small crowd of lab techs. Mac counted them, trying to remember each name. He caught Stella's eye about halfway through and noticed that she was half-hidden behind a desk, her cell phone on the floor a few feet away. There was some blood on the floor around her, though Mac couldn't tell if it was hers or not.
"Put down your weapon!" yelled a cop, gun aimed right at the man's chest.
The man's hands shook. "No."
"Put down your -"
"No!" The man shot a bullet almost randomly, but Mac realized what he was doing. It ricocheted off the equipment, breaking several test tubes. "Not until I get what I'm here for!"
The cop remained silent.
"You're not putting my sister in prison!" He aimed again, shooting at a fume vent, which shattered. "Just give me the evidence you got, an' I'll go."
When no one made a move, he sent a bullet into the air. "Give me the damn evidence!" He aimed his gun to the officer's head, and the others tightened their grips on their guns. "Don't even try that!" he yelled, his voice between hysterical and a sob. He tugged at his shirt collar. "I can blow this place to hell!" He pulled out a handful of wires from under his shirt.
It wasn't real, and all of the cops could see that. They still shifted on their feet, hands starting to grow unsteady.
"Let it go," the cop said, his voice low. "If you leave the lab right now, you won't have so many charges against you."
The man toyed with the wires, bringing them close to each other. "Any second now! Just give me the evidence!" He watched them through watery eyes. "You're - you're not doing this to her! Not to me!"
Mac squinted and saw the serial number printed on one of the wires. He glanced at the other cops near him, trying to understand if they saw it, too. From the look on the big cop's face, he had a feeling he saw. As the man brought the wires closer and closer, the cop's face darkened steadily until he finally threw himself over everyone in front of him, bringing them all to the ground.
Mac gasped as he made contact against the floor, the cop's arm over him. A gun went off, though he couldn't see whose it was, and the lab filled with a dirty grey smoke. At the same time, the bomb exploded in a loud bang, echoing over the walls and into their heads. Mac looked up, trying to peer through the smoke to see the damage done, but cold metal collided with his head and everything slowly faded out to black.
(With Each Passing Day)
Mac groaned as he woke and noticed something cold against his chest. He shivered and motioned to move it away, but it remained.
"Don't think you're getting out of this that easy," someone said over him. Mac opened his eyes slowly, getting used to the light. His neck and leg hurt like hell, and it took him a moment to realize he was lying on the ground with shattered bits of equipment surrounding him. The paramedic sat over him, taking the stethoscope off Mac's chest. "Nothing severe," he said, noticing where Mac looked. "Ray here was a bit overenthusiastic. Hit you in the head with his gun."
Mac looked to his other side to see the large cop who he had spoken to first as he went to the lab. Ray gave him an apologetic smile.
"Didn't mean to. Guess I should learn you can't shoot smoke."
"It's alright." Mac pressed a hand against his ear, noticing the dull ringing still there. "Anyone hurt?"
Ray glanced at the doctor, but neither answered.
"Anyone?" Mac prompted, closing his eyes and preparing for the worst. Silver stars shot behind his eyelids.
"One death and a few injuries," Ray answered, his voice low. "Death doesn't include our madman. Other than that, no one came out with worse than a few cuts and scrapes. They're out by the ambulance."
Mac's breath caught in his throat. He sat up quickly, ignoring the doctor's insistent hands trying to pull him back to the ground. Ray caught Mac's head and forced him to look up at the ceiling before he got a good look around.
"What am I not supposed to see?" he asked dully, not bothering to fight the man's hands.
"It's not that. You got a nose bleed," Ray answered.
Mac touched under his nose and put his fingers in front of his eyes. They were dirty from the smoke, but not bloody. "No I don't. What am I not supposed to see?"
Ray didn't answer for a second, and his voice came out hesitantly. "People just don't like usually seeing this kinda thing."
"I work with this kind of thing," Mac answered. Ray let go of Mac's head and moved back an inch or two. Mac glanced around the lab.
First, he only noticed the shattered glass and broken plastic, as well as the blown-up evidence boxes. He winced as he looked at each thing, knowing how much trouble it could only cause them. Then he started to notice what Ray referred to. Blood still stained part of the floor, as well as a burned arm beside Mac's leg. Mac shifted, trying to stay far away from it as he considered whose it could have been. A paramedic walked around the lab slowly, collecting the frayed and burned body parts. One hand with a few missing fingers had more burn marks, and Mac understood that it was their killer's.
"Rick went," Ray whispered. "They already took him out. Thank God he died in one piece. I don't want to see his wife's face during the funeral."
Mac clenched his jaw and shrugged the paramedic's arm off as he bent his legs into his chest. He didn't have the time to dwell, to talk, to do anything, when the doors opened. He recognized the two figures coming through the smoke almost instantly.
Claire brushed her hair back absently as she neared him. She kneeled down so that Mac could see her face clearly. She didn't smile. "You alright?" she asked, her voice cracked and raw. Mac nodded, but Claire still glanced over at the paramedic.
"He's fine," he answered. "Just a hit on the head. He'll just have a bruise for a week or two and be dizzy for a few hours." The paramedic pulled up Mac's pant leg a inch or two to show a white bandage. "Got cut up by some glass, but we wrapped that up fine."
Claire nodded and grabbed Mac, pulling him into a tight hug. "I hate you so much," she whispered. "Don't - you - dare ever go doing stupid things again."
"I can't help it," Mac answered, hugging her back.
"I hate you so much," Claire whispered again, but he could tell that she was smiling. "All you ever do is put yourself in stupid places." She broke away from the hug, her hands still around his arms. "You -" She fought for words, then quit. She glanced up at Stella, who stood a few feet behind them, then back at Mac. "She - she's a nice girl," Claire said with a small smile, then stood up. Stella glanced at Claire, who gave her the same smile.
Stella kneeled where Claire had been. "Thanks," she said, looking away from Mac, down at the floor. Mac could see that her arm was bandaged. "I'm really sorry for making you do that."
Mac opened his mouth, but Stella shook her head, silencing him. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have -"
"If you hadn't, you'd still be in here. Worse, he'd still have a gun to everyone's head." Mac nodded at the paramedic who carried the blown-up body and felt bile rise into his throat. "It's his fault."
Stella nodded slowly, then met Mac's eyes. "I - thank you, Mac," she whispered. She backed away from him, turning to leave, then Claire touched Stella's shoulder and stopped her. Mac wanted to hear what they were saying, but he heard Ray speak to him.
"I'm sorry about doing that," he said. "When the bomb - I just got nervous. I've been here so long, but I've never seen a bomb go off."
"It's alright." Mac turned away from the two women and smiled at Ray. "I think everyone was nervous around that."
"You sure as hell weren't." Ray cocked his head to the side and Mac was instantly reminded of a dog. "You seen bombs before?"
"It's a long story," he answered flatly, then glanced back at Claire and Stella. He noticed that Stella gave Claire a smile and looked over to him before leaving. Claire turned back to Mac and held out her hand. Mac took it and got to his feet. He closed his eyes for a second, realizing that he really was dizzy, then grabbed Claire's shoulder to stay still. Claire only looked up at him as she held his arm, her eyes still full of concern, but with the same small smile.
"She is a nice girl," she repeated.
"What were you talking about?"
Claire shrugged. "Things. Let's just go home, alright?"