With Each Passing Day

By Dimgwrthien

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.

Mac tugged at the pillow beside him, trying to move it so that he didn't notice its emptiness so much. He gave up and moved the blanket to cover it. The lump was still lonely-looking, but at least it didn't bother him as much.

He mentally cursed himself over and over, telling himself that tomorrow he'd find Claire, apologize again, do whatever it took to make her forget. Today had already passed painfully enough, leading away Claire and her sister and the rest of them.

She's not forgetting, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut so that light starbursts appeared on the backs of his eyelids.

His mind created an image, one that he was trying to avoid. He'd bump into Stella at work. She'd make no comment, try not to mention anything as she passed over a folder on the latest case. Mac would grab her arms, tell her to stay out of his life, to stop anything else like this from happening. And Claire would still be angry at him.

There was the unmistakable sound of a key in the keyhole and the door opening. Mac sat up, listening closely as the door opened. He looked at the luminous alarm clock by the bed: close to three in the morning.

Once Claire's footsteps got closer to the bedroom, Mac leaned back into the pillows, closing his eyes. Part of him silently hoped that if he tried to look asleep, there'd be a chance that she wouldn't leave again, whether just outside the bedroom or back outside.

Her footsteps were closer, and he could feel her hair on his neck as she kissed his forehead. Mac resisted the urge to touch her, to tell her to go to sleep.

"Sorry," she whispered to him. Her voice sounded broken and high, and he could guess what she spent that walk doing.

Once Claire started to move again, Mac realized that she wasn't planning to stay in the room with him any longer. He sat up, not caring that it made his feigned sleep look fake.

"Claire."

She stopped in the doorway, but didn't look at him. When he hesitated, she turned. She only wore her sweater from earlier, and Mac realized that she hadn't taken a coat when she left. Flecks of snow dotted Claire's hair, and she shivered lightly.

"Take the bed." Mac stood up, not bothering to take a pillow or blanket. Claire didn't move, so he carefully walked closer to her, standing in the doorway beside her.

Claire didn't react at all. Mac leaned forward, keeping his movements slow as he hugged her. She shivered harder, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was his fault. When Claire wrapped her arms around him, holding him painfully tight, he knew that it wasn't.

"I love you," he whispered, rubbing her back. Claire didn't answer, but sniffed instead. Mac stared at the doorframe for a minute, trying to think of something to do. There wasn't a point to impressing her at this point, so Mac carefully let go of her and pushed her in the direction of the bed.

"Get some sleep." He walked with her, even those few feet, then watched her as she crawled into bed, jeans, shoes, and all.

"Mac -"

He shook his head. There were still tears in her eyes, and he didn't want to concentrate on them. "In the morning, alright?" Mac didn't let Claire answer, but kissed her cheek. "We'll talk in the morning. Right now… get some sleep."

"Love you."

"Love you, too." Mac kissed her again on the forehead, then left the room. He closed the door partway as he left, then turned to face the couch. It didn't look appealing.

Mac settled onto the couch, bending his legs closer to his chest not to save room, but to comfort himself. It was the same as with the pillow, he noticed. Too many years had made him too used to a familiar warmth.

(With Each Passing Day)

When Mac woke up, - or rather, thought he couldn't sit still any longer - he looked around for a distraction. Claire couldn't be up yet, not if she got in that late. It wouldn't be smart to wake her, either.

Mac stood up and picked up his coat from the coat rack. Time to think. That's what he needed. And he couldn't think in here, not in an apartment that felt too crowded now. Maybe outside. He couldn't tell if it was still snowing. Maybe it would be better if it still were. When didn't it snow just after Christmas?

The hall outside was empty. Mac walked down it slowly, glancing at each door as he passed. He never noticed how many of the locks had key scratches on them. It was as though no one could ever see exactly where their key was headed or as though every lock had been broken into dozens of times.

There was snow on the sill of a window at the end of the hall. It didn't look as though it was moving, and it had a dull color to it. The snow had to have stopped the night before.

He approached the window, looking down at the street below. People were out, most likely trying to catch the stores at the cheapest time of the year. The snow was around their ankles in some parts and beaten down under feet and tires in others.

A door opened behind Mac. He didn't bother to turn.

"I hope you're not leaving on me," came Claire's voice.

When Mac turned around, he saw her there, still dressed as she had been the night before. Her hair was messy, though, and even from a distance, she looked tired.

That makes two of us, Mac thought crudely and smiled in his head.

"What did you decide?" he asked instead.

"Come on back." Claire's arms were crossed, and he couldn't help but let her tired eyes make the decision for him. Her words weren't an answer, and he knew that. There would be more to discuss inside, under the cover of walls, even if the walls really did have ears.

He walked slowly, allowing Claire time to sit on the couch by the time he locked the door after himself. Her arms were still crossed, and she looked a bit lost and confused. He studied her face as he sat down, noticing how she didn't look at him.

He wanted to ask her again, but remained silent.

She answered his question without further prompting. "You know as well as anyone else in the world that no one can summarize emotions in a word or a sentence or even a page sometimes. So I'm not answering that question, exactly. In short, I've decided I do love you. I never lied to you when I said I'll always love you."

"Claire -"

"No." She raised her hand slightly. Claire still didn't meet his eyes. "Mac, just give me a minute or two, and I swear I'll listen to you without a word. I just need to get this off my chest."

He watched her as she seemed to struggle for words. She started to meet his eyes, just seconds at a time, until she started talking with her eyes boring into him.

"I've known you for years, Mac. What I always found funny about you was how I never saw you flirt." Mac opened his mouth, but Claire shook her head. "Maybe I'm starting this wrong. I'll start later." She brushed back her hair. "You came home one day, months ago. You were late, like usual. That's the first problem, Mac."

"Claire." Mac shook his head slowly. "That isn't what this is about."

"It is." There were tears starting in Claire's eyes, and Mac forced himself to look away. "This isn't about Stella. It never was."

"When did this start, than?" Mac asked sharply. "How long have you been thinking this over?"

She didn't answer for a moment. "A long time," she finally said. "About since when we moved here. Haven't you noticed anything?"

"What?"

"Look at it this way." Claire stared him down again with her wet eyes, and Mac felt a sudden rush of guilt. "We wake up in the morning, wish the other a good day, head to work. I come home, wait a couple damn hours for you, and then you come home. We have dinner, make small talk about our days, then go to sleep. Before -"

"Are you blaming this on my moving here?" Mac cut in, disbelieving. "Honestly, Claire. I would have thought that you, of everyone -"

"That I what?" Her voice was louder now, and he could see that she wasn't just upset now. "What, Mac? Did you think that I would be perfectly fine moving like that? Did you think that I would manage to fit so seamlessly into this city like perfect, saintly cop Mac?"

"I thought you'd at least be happy for me!"

His head hurt already, and his throat made him feel as though he had screamed the last few words. He watched her, saw each small part of Claire fall and build itself up. He didn't want this, not now, not ever.

"I was happy for you!" Claire hit her knee with a balled-up fist. "Jesus Christ, Mac, I was happy for you. Otherwise, I wouldn't have agreed to this. I couldn't wait for you to get that goddamn letter!" She hit her knee again. "My only point is that we've changed. I'm not blaming your job, I'm not blaming mine. I'm only saying that we changed the time we came here, and it isn't for the better. And don't offer to move back because I know that won't change anything."

"Claire -"

"You said you'd let me finish." Her voice held its same angry tone, but she was quiet once more. "I know you, Mac. When I married you, I knew I was taking all of you, not just the parts I like. I know that work has always and will always go first for you. I know that you would spend the entire night working if you had to, and I've seen you do it." Claire interlocked her fingers behind her head so that she faced her lap. "That doesn't bother me. I understand. I just don't like having to see you work yourself to death, and I don't like having to sacrifice time together like that."

"We both knew what hours would be -"

"I know," she repeated. "You can't blame me for not liking it, though. And now…" Claire shook her head. "That one night, you came home and started talking about Stella."

"You asked about her."

"It's called making a stab at conversation!" Claire shook her head again. "You came home from work late and just got into bed. I'm sorry if I like talking to you."

"We talk everyday."

"About what? Buildings? The new statue in the park? When was the last time we had a real conversation? About how much we've always wanted to go to France or about -"

"We've talked about children," Mac answered evenly. "And I think you're forgetting my side of this story."

"I know what your side is. And don't blame my son for any of this."

"I was going to."

Claire watched him for a moment as though expecting Mac to add something. When he didn't, she continued. "Back to the original topic. I walked in on you and your coworker. And I know you're going to say that she started it, and I know you're going to say you didn't want to, you didn't mean to, all of that."

"That's exactly -"

"I don't believe you."

Claire's word bit into Mac painfully. How could she not believe him? He opened his mouth, wanting to find something to say to prove himself right, but nothing came out. He had been complimenting her, had been studying her. There was no point to make himself innocent, and nothing he could offer to Claire.

"Mac." Claire sighed. "I've already told you my feelings about her. I think she's… she's a good girl, smart, pretty. I agree with everything you've said. That night, you had said I was jealous, and I said there was nothing between you to be jealous of."

"You're jealous now."

"Yes." Mac felt his jaw freeze again, a feeling that was becoming uncomfortably familiar. "Now that I'm paying attention, there is something between the two of you. I know that she loves you, and you love her. I don't mean infidelity, but some sort of love. She's tied in with your work, and you love everything that goes with it." Claire laughed weakly. "I know how you work, Mac. She's like evidence to you, and you have to devote yourself to it instead of your own life."

(With Each Passing Day)

Mac tapped at the keys on his computer. Work had renewed itself back into his schedule with the end of the holidays, and his argument with Claire had not gone unforgotten. He had spent the night before on the couch - not a punishment from Claire, but rather from himself. He knew that trying to get into the same bed with Claire would have led to another argument, and he didn't know if he was ready for it yet.

Something still bothered him beyond the conversation. He hadn't been able to find a way to defend himself against her accusation about Stella. What was it that -

"Mac?"

He recognized Stella's voice and didn't look up. He didn't want to let himself realize he could tell her mood from her tone. "Stella. You have the tox reports for the case?"

"No, but -"

"I need to finish this." Mac made a slight nodding to the computer, still not looking at her. Her frown was palpable, but he tried to ignore it.

"Can't I talk to you for a minute?"

He continued to type. Stella approached him, and Mac could hear her footsteps and see her from the corner of his eye. She slammed a paper on his desk.

"Brought up the autopsy from the morgue for you. Enjoy."

Mac felt his fingers freeze over the letters on the keyboard. Her tone was the same as Claire's had been, and Stella hadn't moved away.

"Can we talk now?"

"Alright." Mac still didn't look up, though he stopped typing. "Here's what I have to say: I don't want to talk right now. Find me another time if you want to talk. For now, please don't talk to me, don't talk to my wife, and don't come back in here unless it's for work."

Stella remained silent for a moment, and when she spoke, it was still in the same angry tone Claire used. "I had come in here to apologize again and offer to talk to Claire to explain this. I change my mind though. I hope you rot for being such a bastard."

"Get the hell out of my office," Mac snapped.

Her heels clicked as she walked out of the office, and the glass door slammed so hard that Mac thought it would shatter. He hoped it would shatter, offer him some sort of distraction for a minute. When it didn't, he stood up and headed for the bathroom. He kept his steps slow at first, letting Stella's retreating form take the lead. Once she was out of sight and he was in the large hallway, he hurried until he reached the bleak, grey door.

Mac closed it behind himself. He was tempted to lock it, but he knew that would cause more trouble than he already had to deal with.

At the sink, Mac turned on the faucet and dipped his cupped hands under, letting them fill with water. He let it drop back into the basin with a splash. The water wrapped itself around the white sides of the bowl, circling and dropping into the grey pipes with a gargle.

He studied his reflection. He looked tired, more than before, and he wasn't smiling.

"I've got to make this right," he whispered to his reflection, seeing the frowning lips barely move to form the words. He waited for the reflection to tell him that he couldn't. It didn't. "I've got to make this right," he repeated, rubbing his forehead with a wet hand. It left a few droplets of water in his hair.

The door opened, and one of the younger detectives walked in. Mac remembered his name as Edward, something Stella had told him on his first day.

Don't think about that. You're making things right, and this isn't helping.

"Hey, Mister Taylor," Edward said as he headed for a stall. "Labs looks nice now that it's been rebuilt, huh?"

Mac nodded quickly. "Yeah, a lot nicer."

"How're you?" Edward asked. "Noticed you and Bonasera seemed to be -"

"Just discussing results," Mac cut in. There wasn't any room for a personal life, not in a lab crowded with science majors and cops, not in this job.

Maybe Claire had been right about him.