With Each Passing Day
By Dimgwrthien
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.
The air in Mac's office seemed restive in itself, a further limb of his own attitude. As he continued typing, he found himself pausing every paragraph or so. Images of both Claire and Stella's faces kept swimming through his mind, and there didn't seem to be a way to stop himself from worrying over the two.
Outside of the glass walls, Stella walked across the hall into the break room. Mac glanced at his clock. Noon had just passed. Since when did work go by that slow?
He left his office after a second of consideration, following Stella and another detective into the break room. Stella and the other - Mac fought to remember her as Rachel - stood by the table, just beside the window. They seemed to be discussing an odd mixture of recent results on a case and their plans for New Years.
Stella looked up only when Mac started depositing coins into the machine for a drink. He couldn't see her face from where he stood, but she suddenly fell silent.
Mac finally turned to face her, and Stella turned back to Rachel. As she opened her mouth to continue talking, Mac cut in, "Stella. A word in my office."
She paused, and though Mac could only see half of her face now, it was obvious that she sighed and looked more annoyed than before.
"Not right now," she answered shortly.
"I need to talk to you." Mac didn't know how much force it would take to get Stella inside his office. He knew he'd have to go on until she folded, though. Knowing Stella, it would take a few threats and even more hours.
"Anything you need to say can be said here, can't it?" Stella finally turned, facing him, her hands on the table behind her.
"Alright." Mac nodded slowly, glancing sideways at Rachel. The blonde-haired girl looked between him and Stella, seeming confused. It was obvious she wanted to leave the room as quickly as possible, get out of what seemed to be a battlefield, but Rachel stayed put, merely shrinking away. He looked back at Stella, seeing her stand there as before, leaned against the table. He licked his lips as he tried to think of something to say. "You're fired, Stella."
Stella's eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head. "No, I'm not."
Mac didn't answer. Rachel muttered something about seeing Stella later, then left the room as quickly as she could without running.
Stella shook her head again, and Mac started to feel back about his lie. It was for a good purpose, he tried to tell himself, though he wasn't sure how long it would last. Stella seemed angrier than before. "Why?" she asked after a moment.
"You're not." Stella visibly straightened, looking relieved and disbelieving. "You just came close to it, though. When I say we're talking in my office, that's what you do. We don't wait a minute, we don't say no. You just follow me."
"What the hell was that for?" Stella asked loudly.
"A word in my office," Mac repeated.
"No!" Stella shook her head harder this time, still seeming dazed and confused. "You tell me I'm fired so that I'll talk to you?"
"That's what happens when you don't listen the first time." Mac could feel the downhill slope the conversation was sinking into, but couldn't bring himself to stop it. "Do I have to baby you all the way there or are you coming?"
"Do I have to repeat myself? Anything you have to say to me can be said right here."
Mac bent down to pick up the soda bottle that had fallen from the machine long before. He didn't open it. He wanted to throw it at Stella, but his reflection in the bathroom mirror came back to him. I've got to make this right.
"I'm sorry." One step at a time. Got to make things right again. Mac toyed with the cap of his drink. "I'm really sorry, Stella."
She didn't answer, but Mac could tell that she expected more.
"Everything - all of these fights - they're my fault. If I hadn't…" He closed his eyes. There were small shooting stars behind his eyelids that were easier to look at than Stella's expression. "I've been so distracted lately, and I can't -" Even think of a reason for my wife to stay with me. "I can't concentrate on anything long enough to make it right."
When he opened his eyes, he could see that Stella's jaw had tightened. He couldn't tell if she was angry or annoyed or just thinking, but the expression made him wary.
"I'm not asking for you to forgive me. I was harsh back th- well, more than once today. I'm just asking for you to realize that I'm not myself lately."
Stella leaned against the table again, and her position wasn't as defensive as before. She remained silent, and the silence was deafening for a long time. The soda machine behind Mac started to provide white noise as it became humming, and Stella gave him a half-smile.
"What's been going on?" she asked as she took a seat at the table in one of the high stools.
Mac stared at her. What's been going on? He spent the last two days hating her as she hated him, and she could just sit down and start a normal conversation? He carefully took a seat, facing Stella.
"Lots of things," he said, smiling.
Stella smiled back, though she looked sad. It looked pitying instead. "I know it's none of my business, but is it anything with Claire?"
Mac laughed. "If it were just Claire, none of this would be happening. I've been with Claire long enough to" - deal with her? - "understands her. It's everything and Claire." Mac slouched forward, hitting his elbows against the table and running his fingers through his short hair.
"Who died?" Stella asked, and Mac could tell that she was attempting a joke.
"My father," he answered without thinking.
When Stella froze, her mouth forming an 'o' of understanding and shame, Mac realized what he had said. He still couldn't forget that day in the hospital, nor his father's desperate and unending pleas to kill him. Every argument with Claire brought it to the forefront of his mind, lingering there like an unwanted memory that seemed out of place. And if you hadn't gone, you'd still be arguing with her about that. And because you went, you'll remember that until the day you die. Should have pulled the damn plug, maybe then you wouldn't have to -
"I'm sorry," Stella said after a moment's recovery. Mac could see embarrassment behind her bright green eyes. "I didn't mean to -"
Mac shut his eyes again. As before, it was easier to talk to the personified shooting stars in his eyelids rather than Stella. They winked at him happily, letting him know that things were finally starting to look up, even if they did lead him on to morbid subjects.
"Don't apologize."
Stella remained silent, and Mac could feel her watching him. When he opened his eyes, she was. Her mouth twitched at the side as she looked for words. "Look, Mac, I really didn't mean to say that." She hesitated again. "What was he like?"
"He wasn't anything spectacular, if that's what you're asking." Mac looked around the break room for a minute. How hadn't be realized how dark it was in here before? He stood up and smiled. "Get back to work, Stella."
(With Each Passing Day)
The city looked too big standing there, but Claire dealt with it. Skyscrapers surrounded her, but they didn't cause the same kind of claustrophobia they did at first. Damnit, it had spent her whole life in cities. Why did this one feel so bad?
The doors behind her opened and closed, and Claire stepped forward to get away from them. The surge of people seemed to thin out the further she was from the building she worked in. By the time she made her way down a block to where a cluster waited for the 'don't walk' sign to grant them permission to move did she feel as though she had room to move.
Another block, and Claire saw a small deli. She tilted her head at it, seeing the line that stretched out of the small store and onto the sidewalk, yet there were only about six people in line. One of them was a little girl, dark-haired and wide-eyed, who was old enough to now suck her thumb, but too young to be able to leave the comfort, thus leaving her in a state of perpetual thumb-sucking and self-denial. Claire smiled at the girl, whose lips threatened to turn up into a smile, but the girl looked away, back at her father who held her by the hand.
Next to the deli was a coffee shop. Claire walked towards it, concentrating on the warm steam she could see rise from one of the paper cups a man inside held. The wind whipped at her jacket, and Claire buttoned it before walking inside. There was no line. She glanced at the people sitting at small tables as she approached the register.
A woman behind the counter wore a green apron and raised her eyebrows with Claire arrived. "What can I get you?"
Claire read through the names of the coffees on the white board behind the woman and sighed. "Could I just get something strong?
She nodded as she pulled out a cup and turned to the counter behind her. "You look like an Irish Coffee kinda woman."
Smiling, Claire nodded. "That sounds about right today." Claire looked around, seeing the faces buried in newspapers and tabloids, others focused on books, and one woman who studied a ring on her finger carefully. Claire took a seat at the tall table behind the woman with the ring. She could watch the woman from back there, just long enough to understand the woman's expressions. She had a reddish-brown shade of hair, cut short so that Claire automatically thought masculine when she saw the girl. She couldn't have been older than twenty, and Claire knew that she was taking an engagement ring out on a test drive. The diamond was large enough to tell her I love you, but not large enough to say Not for long.
"Coffee's done," called the woman from behind the counter. Claire nodded and walked over to grab the steaming cup. The bell over the door rang as another person walked in, and Claire headed back to her seat.
"Claire!"
She looked up from her coffee. Mac stood in the doorway, smiling at her. Claire raised a hand in greeting, and Mac walked over to her table.
"I came to pick you up after work, but I didn't see you. Someone said you came over this way." Mac spoke quickly as he sat down opposite her.
Claire nodded. "Yeah. I was going to take the subway. Didn't know you were coming." She examined her coffee and almost smelt the light hint of alcohol in it. "Want a drink?"
"No thanks." Mac studied her closely, his expression neutral. Claire looked back at him, then took a sip of her drink. "Want to head out for dinner tonight?"
"I was think of just -"
"That wasn't really a question." Mac smiled and reached across the table, putting his hand on hers. Claire wanted to take hers back, but she left it still. "Please."
Claire had fallen in love with Mac's eyes first. She wasn't any believer in eyes being the window to the soul, not when so many eyes looked the same with different minds behind those eyes, but there was something Mac-like about Mac's eyes. She didn't concentrate on them until they were already married. It was standing on the alter, just after their first kiss as Mister and Missus Taylor, that's us ma'am did she start to notice it.
And now he watched her closely, his eyes saying a million words that she knew he'd never chance to say out loud. Mac was never a man of words, and he had to learn to let everything else speak for him.
They pleaded with her, reasoned with her, told her that life is one mistake after another. And she could believe them.
"Fine," she answered. "Where're we going?"
"Still need to pick where." Mac looked at the table as he played with her fingers. "Want to go find somewhere?"
Claire smiled as she stood, still holding the warm cup of coffee. Mac's eyes really would need to say everything for him since she knew dinner would not include any sort of apology, not after their last conversation. Maybe conversation wasn't the word she wanted to use for it since conversations never gave her a guilty feeling in her stomach or made her want to vomit so many times in one day. Conversations never stopped her from working or gave her headaches that didn't give up for hours on end. Nor did conversations give her nightmares again and again and again.
Nightmares. Claire couldn't stand them in her sleep. As a child, nightmares were bodies chasing her, which changed to guns against her head as she aged. Mac had chased off those nightmares, had introduced them into her daily life long enough that she couldn't find a way to be scared of them, at least not scared in the same way. Now nightmares were missing people that she knew, flames that disrupted peaceful days, and the sudden jumpy attacks that no one could see coming.
He opened the car door for her, and Claire slid into her seat. The guilty feeling was intensified once Mac sat next to her, warming up the car. It was amazing how winter's freezing air managed to slip into the engine so quickly.
"Claire -" Mac started, letting his hand slide off of the key.
She knew exactly what he was going to say. Claire leaned into Mac, kissing him long and sweet and slow until he kissed her back.
(With Each Passing Day)
Claire let a sigh pass over her as she relaxed on the bed. Her body was sweaty and overworked and sore, but it was a relieved feeling. She smiled to herself, still feeling the momentum and pressure of sex and Mac's hands on her and her own hands on him. Mac's company had always been enough for her to love him and stay with him, but she had to admit that, at night, there was plenty more to Mac.
The clock said ten, but it felt so much earlier for the first time in days. Mac was already up, finding their clothes that had been torn off as they had made their way to the bed. She craned her neck enough to barely see him and laughed. Plenty more to Mac, indeed. He looked awkward, half-naked on the edge of their bed, struggling to find some cover. Claire sat up, holding the covers close to her naked chest and laughed harder.
"What's so funny?" Mac asked, glancing at her. He started to put his shirt on.
She tried to stop laughing long enough to tell him, but the laughs wouldn't stop, and she didn't have an answer.
Mac smiled and moved to lie beside her, propped on his elbows. "Alright, then." He leaned down to kiss her, and Claire tried to kiss him back. Once she felt another snort of laughter, she pulled away.
"What's going on?" he asked, starting to laugh himself.
Claire started to understand the answer herself. We get over each other so easily. How do we manage to fight for two days and just be fine? We're weird people, and it's hilarious. The words wouldn't form in her mouth, though, and she let herself continue laughing.