More This This (CSI: NY) Mac/Stella
Title: More Than This
Author: Rachel
Category: CSI: NY
Pairing: Mac/Stella
Disclaimer: Please. Me? Own anything? Hardly. It all belongs to Anthony Zuiker. I’m just playing.
Distribution: Ask please
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Post- The Thing About Heroes (4x10)
Notes: My other TTAH fic, not at all related to the other one. Thanks Fruitbat00 for the beta. :)
Summary: But the truth is, you’ll never need more, you’ll never need more than this
Feedback: Is loved and much appreciated :)
We all share the pain of our histories
But the ache goes away if you could see
This night under stars, well, I call it peace
If you say, I'll never need more than this.
He held her close, inhaling the scent of her hair, feeling the warmth of her against him. He felt her trembles as she finally allowed herself to feel everything that she had been holding in: her worries, her fear, her concern and her complete and utter relief that it was finally over. Because he knew the reason Andy had chosen to target her, the reason that was so plainly obvious to everyone around them, the reason he had only just begun to understand: he was in love with her. She was his stability, she was there when he needed her, and when he tried to push her away, she wouldn’t allow it. She meant more to him than anyone since Claire, and it was so apparent and had been coming for so long, he couldn’t even pretend to be caught off guard by it.
That’s why his breakup with Peyton hadn’t hurt like it should have. Yes, it stung to be dumped, but there wasn’t that gut-punch he was expecting, that acute pain, that sharp sense of loss that normally accompanies a breakup. That night went he got the letter, he when to his usual Wednesday night gig and she was there. He didn’t ask if she had seen the letter, and she didn’t say. All that mattered was that she was there, and it was just... easier when she was around. After his set, they sat around, had a few drinks and then took a cab back her apartment, where she insisted that he crash on her couch.
It was the best night sleep he had since before London, and he hadn’t slept in his apartment since. After the first night, he offered to bring her ice cream after they spent all day running dead ends on a case, the next night, he drove her home and they made tea. After about a week, he gave up all pretense of going back to his own place. Now when he walked in, there was a blanket and a pillow waiting on the armrest.
Tonight, it was different, tonight he was different; he had stared down the barrel of gun, not for his country or for the honor of the city, but for sins of his past that he could never fix. And she had almost died... because of him, because how he felt about her, because of how he needed her. They both knew, they knew it was coming long before tonight, and if he was honest, he could figure that Peyton knew too, and that was more than part of the reason why she stayed in London. But to have Andy lay it so plainly in front of their faces, so boldly without ever saying the words. To flirt with her, to ask her out, to use her to get to him, because it so clearly affected him... well it was obvious the time for pretense had past.
He unlocked her door, with the key had always had but never used: knocking was something he always did, especially after Frankie because she needed her home to be a safe and private space, but she trusted him to have the key, otherwise she would have taken it back by now, and it seems silly not to use it when he was practically living there.
Rather than taking his normal place on the couch, where his pillow and blanket were waiting for him He bypassed it entirely, because really, they both knew why he slept there and after today, it seemed ridiculous to put extra distance between them for the sake of modesty or appearance, and headed straight for her bedroom. He tapped softly on the door, more to alert her to his presence than anything else; he knew she was about asleep he was. He opened the door and saw her curled on the bed, eyes wide, sparkling with tears, staring out her window. Her body shook with barely contained sobs though she was entirely silent, and didn’t so much as look up at him as he entered her room.
He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her soft, curly hair off her cheek. He felt some of the tension leave almost immediately at his touch. He closed his eyes and sighed thinking back at the long day he had had, and decided he was too tired, too lonely and too much in love to give a damn. So he lay down, spooning behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, finding her fingers and lacing them with his. He held her close, inhaling the scent of her hair, feeling the warmth of her against him. He felt her tremble as she finally allowed herself to feel everything that she had been holding in.
That’s where he found himself, in a moment of complete relief; knowing there were no more 333 calls to wake him up at night. Knowing Stella was safe, being able to hold her, touch her, take comfort in her. He pulled her tighter, taking another breath of her as he felt as sob hiccup in her stomach and heard it bubble up in her throat.
He held her while she cried, feeling unexpected tears fill his own eyes and spill over. His thumb swayed over the skin on her hand. Suddenly, she turned in his arms, green eyes bright with tears looked up at him, through him. Her hand touched his cheek, somewhere between a caress of affection and remembrance. His arm, still around her waist, urged her closer until the space between them was non-existent.
Then they touched, softly at first, shyly even, but the moment he got a taste of her, the kiss became passionate and desperate. He realized with a jolt that he needed her, truly needed her, and that he had almost lost her. And that this whole time he had spent not kissing her, he had been drowning in grief, in guilt, in Peyton, desperately trying to find understanding, or safety or trying to make sense of anything, when she was the key, when this was the most clarity he had had since the morning the towers fell. Lips pressed together, hands greedily sought out clothes and skin; anything to hold on to, to touch, to taste. His fingers ran through her curls, down the curve of her hip, over the small of her back, and he could not think or do anything but feel.
He had never felt this with Peyton, it had never been this hot or demanding, he’d never felt his heart explode at her touch, or been driven to tears by her sadness. He had never felt saved by her, or needed her more than he needed anything else. His world didn’t stop with her smile, and he had never kissed her and forgotten how to breathe.
Their kisses slowed, becoming gentle and affectionate and finally tapered off with a final kiss on the lips. His eyes fluttered slowly open, she was panting against his skin, her eyes still shut, almost as if she were afraid to open them, afraid that he would be gone and this was just another dream and she would wake up in her bed, alone and unloved. He never wanted her to feel that again. He reached out, touching her cheek once more, gently pressing his forehead to hers.
“Mac...” she breathed, trying to find a way to say everything that needed to be said: about the kiss, about today, about the weeks he’d spent at her apartment, about the months she’d spent waiting for him, about the years they had spent growing closer, about how all of that had happened. But she didn’t have to explain, because he already knew, just like he knew she would be lying in bed awake, just like she had known why he moved onto her couch, just like he knew he loved her more than words alone could bear.
“Shh...” he whispered, ending her explanation. They were both too tired to do anything but accept this; too tired to over think, or talk themselves out of it. He kissed her hairline and tucked her head under his chin. He felt the last of the stress flow away from her and the relief relaxing into her bones. He held her, breathing in the scent of her hair, her nose buried in his chest.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered quietly, only for him to hear. He knew she was not just talking about tonight. Stella was full of strength and independence, both things he loved about her, but she never fully let anyone in, she never admitted to truly needing someone until now.
He reached down and tipped her chin up, only pulling far enough away so he could look into her eyes. With strength and unwavering truth, he whispered back, “There’s nowhere else I want to be.” She stared at the honest and love filled look in eyes that had seen so much grief and sadness, and she knew that she was making the right choice. She kept her head level with his as she closed her eyes, she felt his fingers running along the naked skin at the bottom of her shirt until they both drifted off.
For the first time in six years, Mac Taylor slept peacefully.
Don't live in forgotten times
May this always remind you
Of the sea under the skies blue looking glass
Let's make this our story, let's live in the glory
Time, it fades away,
Precious as a song
Cause someday we'll be gone - More Than This by Vanessa Carlton
Author: Rachel
Category: CSI: NY
Pairing: Mac/Stella
Disclaimer: Please. Me? Own anything? Hardly. It all belongs to Anthony Zuiker. I’m just playing.
Distribution: Ask please
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Post- The Thing About Heroes (4x10)
Notes: My other TTAH fic, not at all related to the other one. Thanks Fruitbat00 for the beta. :)
Summary: But the truth is, you’ll never need more, you’ll never need more than this
Feedback: Is loved and much appreciated :)
We all share the pain of our histories
But the ache goes away if you could see
This night under stars, well, I call it peace
If you say, I'll never need more than this.
He held her close, inhaling the scent of her hair, feeling the warmth of her against him. He felt her trembles as she finally allowed herself to feel everything that she had been holding in: her worries, her fear, her concern and her complete and utter relief that it was finally over. Because he knew the reason Andy had chosen to target her, the reason that was so plainly obvious to everyone around them, the reason he had only just begun to understand: he was in love with her. She was his stability, she was there when he needed her, and when he tried to push her away, she wouldn’t allow it. She meant more to him than anyone since Claire, and it was so apparent and had been coming for so long, he couldn’t even pretend to be caught off guard by it.
That’s why his breakup with Peyton hadn’t hurt like it should have. Yes, it stung to be dumped, but there wasn’t that gut-punch he was expecting, that acute pain, that sharp sense of loss that normally accompanies a breakup. That night went he got the letter, he when to his usual Wednesday night gig and she was there. He didn’t ask if she had seen the letter, and she didn’t say. All that mattered was that she was there, and it was just... easier when she was around. After his set, they sat around, had a few drinks and then took a cab back her apartment, where she insisted that he crash on her couch.
It was the best night sleep he had since before London, and he hadn’t slept in his apartment since. After the first night, he offered to bring her ice cream after they spent all day running dead ends on a case, the next night, he drove her home and they made tea. After about a week, he gave up all pretense of going back to his own place. Now when he walked in, there was a blanket and a pillow waiting on the armrest.
Tonight, it was different, tonight he was different; he had stared down the barrel of gun, not for his country or for the honor of the city, but for sins of his past that he could never fix. And she had almost died... because of him, because how he felt about her, because of how he needed her. They both knew, they knew it was coming long before tonight, and if he was honest, he could figure that Peyton knew too, and that was more than part of the reason why she stayed in London. But to have Andy lay it so plainly in front of their faces, so boldly without ever saying the words. To flirt with her, to ask her out, to use her to get to him, because it so clearly affected him... well it was obvious the time for pretense had past.
He unlocked her door, with the key had always had but never used: knocking was something he always did, especially after Frankie because she needed her home to be a safe and private space, but she trusted him to have the key, otherwise she would have taken it back by now, and it seems silly not to use it when he was practically living there.
Rather than taking his normal place on the couch, where his pillow and blanket were waiting for him He bypassed it entirely, because really, they both knew why he slept there and after today, it seemed ridiculous to put extra distance between them for the sake of modesty or appearance, and headed straight for her bedroom. He tapped softly on the door, more to alert her to his presence than anything else; he knew she was about asleep he was. He opened the door and saw her curled on the bed, eyes wide, sparkling with tears, staring out her window. Her body shook with barely contained sobs though she was entirely silent, and didn’t so much as look up at him as he entered her room.
He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her soft, curly hair off her cheek. He felt some of the tension leave almost immediately at his touch. He closed his eyes and sighed thinking back at the long day he had had, and decided he was too tired, too lonely and too much in love to give a damn. So he lay down, spooning behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, finding her fingers and lacing them with his. He held her close, inhaling the scent of her hair, feeling the warmth of her against him. He felt her tremble as she finally allowed herself to feel everything that she had been holding in.
That’s where he found himself, in a moment of complete relief; knowing there were no more 333 calls to wake him up at night. Knowing Stella was safe, being able to hold her, touch her, take comfort in her. He pulled her tighter, taking another breath of her as he felt as sob hiccup in her stomach and heard it bubble up in her throat.
He held her while she cried, feeling unexpected tears fill his own eyes and spill over. His thumb swayed over the skin on her hand. Suddenly, she turned in his arms, green eyes bright with tears looked up at him, through him. Her hand touched his cheek, somewhere between a caress of affection and remembrance. His arm, still around her waist, urged her closer until the space between them was non-existent.
Then they touched, softly at first, shyly even, but the moment he got a taste of her, the kiss became passionate and desperate. He realized with a jolt that he needed her, truly needed her, and that he had almost lost her. And that this whole time he had spent not kissing her, he had been drowning in grief, in guilt, in Peyton, desperately trying to find understanding, or safety or trying to make sense of anything, when she was the key, when this was the most clarity he had had since the morning the towers fell. Lips pressed together, hands greedily sought out clothes and skin; anything to hold on to, to touch, to taste. His fingers ran through her curls, down the curve of her hip, over the small of her back, and he could not think or do anything but feel.
He had never felt this with Peyton, it had never been this hot or demanding, he’d never felt his heart explode at her touch, or been driven to tears by her sadness. He had never felt saved by her, or needed her more than he needed anything else. His world didn’t stop with her smile, and he had never kissed her and forgotten how to breathe.
Their kisses slowed, becoming gentle and affectionate and finally tapered off with a final kiss on the lips. His eyes fluttered slowly open, she was panting against his skin, her eyes still shut, almost as if she were afraid to open them, afraid that he would be gone and this was just another dream and she would wake up in her bed, alone and unloved. He never wanted her to feel that again. He reached out, touching her cheek once more, gently pressing his forehead to hers.
“Mac...” she breathed, trying to find a way to say everything that needed to be said: about the kiss, about today, about the weeks he’d spent at her apartment, about the months she’d spent waiting for him, about the years they had spent growing closer, about how all of that had happened. But she didn’t have to explain, because he already knew, just like he knew she would be lying in bed awake, just like she had known why he moved onto her couch, just like he knew he loved her more than words alone could bear.
“Shh...” he whispered, ending her explanation. They were both too tired to do anything but accept this; too tired to over think, or talk themselves out of it. He kissed her hairline and tucked her head under his chin. He felt the last of the stress flow away from her and the relief relaxing into her bones. He held her, breathing in the scent of her hair, her nose buried in his chest.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered quietly, only for him to hear. He knew she was not just talking about tonight. Stella was full of strength and independence, both things he loved about her, but she never fully let anyone in, she never admitted to truly needing someone until now.
He reached down and tipped her chin up, only pulling far enough away so he could look into her eyes. With strength and unwavering truth, he whispered back, “There’s nowhere else I want to be.” She stared at the honest and love filled look in eyes that had seen so much grief and sadness, and she knew that she was making the right choice. She kept her head level with his as she closed her eyes, she felt his fingers running along the naked skin at the bottom of her shirt until they both drifted off.
For the first time in six years, Mac Taylor slept peacefully.
Don't live in forgotten times
May this always remind you
Of the sea under the skies blue looking glass
Let's make this our story, let's live in the glory
Time, it fades away,
Precious as a song
Cause someday we'll be gone - More Than This by Vanessa Carlton