Personal Best. Sid Hammerback, prompt 33, Question.
Title: Personal Best
Fandom: CSI: New York
Characters: Sid Hammerback, Mac Taylor
Prompt: #33 Question
Word Count: 711
Rating: PG
Table: Two
Summary: Epilogue to 5x18, Point of no Return. Sid decides to try to beat a personal best.
Disclaimer: CSI: NY is owned by CBS and Alliance Atlantis.
An anonymous bar, blocks away from work. The perfect setting to ensure you ended the evening blotto, hammered, tanked, wasted, drunk, whatever you wanted to call it. Sid was sat at the bar, hunched over his drink, determined to get through as much scotch as he could before he either ended up in a cab on his way home, or passed out in a heap somewhere. At the moment, he preferred the passed out option. At least it wouldn't sully his beautiful home anymore.
Enough of that had happened already.
He drained the glass before nodding at the barman to refill it. Sid knew that he was treating twelve year old scotch without the due reverence it deserved, but dammit, that's what he wanted.
"Trying for a personal best, Sid?" Sid turned on the stool to face the owner of the voice, swaying slightly as he peered at Mac.
"Huh?" he asked, confused, his balance off.
"Whoa there." Mac moved quickly to make sure Sid didn't fall off of his seat. Once Sid was safe, Mac sat on the stool next to him, nodding at the barman to give him a glass. "Was just wondering if you were intending to try and beat your personal best blood alcohol level. I can help keep track if you want."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Sid asked, frowning. "No one should find me here." He knew at some level he wasn't making sense, that was the effect of the alcohol on his system. And the rational voice should just shut up now.
"I rang your wife. She said you weren't home, so I figured I'd start looking at the bars. And look, here you are."
"Funny," Sid said, "This was supposed to be a quiet drink... or ten." Mac just sat silently, looking straight ahead. "How the hell did I miss this?" Sid suddenly said angrily. "I should have realized... it's my job to have realized what was going on."
"Sid, if you tried to keep track of all the ME's and techs that worked for you, you'd never have time to actually do your job," Mac replied. "You said it yourself, Marty was one of the brightest and best. You trusted him to get on with it."
"He was supposed to be my friend. He came into my home, he knew my family. Hell, I trusted him and Anabel to be alone with my kids. He could have been killing back then, and I allowed him to spend time with them."
"That's what this is about, isn't it? He let you down personally. For what it's worth, I think your kids were safe. They didn't have what he wanted."
"And if they did?"
"Sid? They didn't. That's what counts here. They're safe, Marty's off the streets..."
"And Anabel is still dead."
Mac took a sip of his drink. "She meant a lot to you, didn't she?"
Sid stopped talking long enough to down his scotch, and didn't even need to ask before the barman filled it up again. "I gave her away at their wedding, Mac. She told me that I was the 'closest thing she had to a father'. And now she's gone."
"You know she'd be kicking your butt right about now for acting like this?"
Sid snorted. "Probably." He raised his glass. "To Anabel. May she be kicking people into shape wherever she may be."
It was the sunlight blazing through the open curtains that woke Sid up. He lay still on the strange bed, blinking for a moment, wishing that whoever had put the icepick through his skull would go away and do it on their own time, not his.
No, it was just a hangover. And he was in Mac's apartment, crashed out in the spare bed.
The smell of coffee was what roused him, made him struggle up, head for the shower (Mac had obviously gone to work early and left the coffee pot on for him), and begin the day - after finding some aspirin.
Later on, he was alone in his office, nursing another cup of coffee, willing the headache to lessen while writing a report for the Pino's case when the text from Mac came through.
BA - 0.21. Better luck next time!
Fandom: CSI: New York
Characters: Sid Hammerback, Mac Taylor
Prompt: #33 Question
Word Count: 711
Rating: PG
Table: Two
Summary: Epilogue to 5x18, Point of no Return. Sid decides to try to beat a personal best.
Disclaimer: CSI: NY is owned by CBS and Alliance Atlantis.
An anonymous bar, blocks away from work. The perfect setting to ensure you ended the evening blotto, hammered, tanked, wasted, drunk, whatever you wanted to call it. Sid was sat at the bar, hunched over his drink, determined to get through as much scotch as he could before he either ended up in a cab on his way home, or passed out in a heap somewhere. At the moment, he preferred the passed out option. At least it wouldn't sully his beautiful home anymore.
Enough of that had happened already.
He drained the glass before nodding at the barman to refill it. Sid knew that he was treating twelve year old scotch without the due reverence it deserved, but dammit, that's what he wanted.
"Trying for a personal best, Sid?" Sid turned on the stool to face the owner of the voice, swaying slightly as he peered at Mac.
"Huh?" he asked, confused, his balance off.
"Whoa there." Mac moved quickly to make sure Sid didn't fall off of his seat. Once Sid was safe, Mac sat on the stool next to him, nodding at the barman to give him a glass. "Was just wondering if you were intending to try and beat your personal best blood alcohol level. I can help keep track if you want."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Sid asked, frowning. "No one should find me here." He knew at some level he wasn't making sense, that was the effect of the alcohol on his system. And the rational voice should just shut up now.
"I rang your wife. She said you weren't home, so I figured I'd start looking at the bars. And look, here you are."
"Funny," Sid said, "This was supposed to be a quiet drink... or ten." Mac just sat silently, looking straight ahead. "How the hell did I miss this?" Sid suddenly said angrily. "I should have realized... it's my job to have realized what was going on."
"Sid, if you tried to keep track of all the ME's and techs that worked for you, you'd never have time to actually do your job," Mac replied. "You said it yourself, Marty was one of the brightest and best. You trusted him to get on with it."
"He was supposed to be my friend. He came into my home, he knew my family. Hell, I trusted him and Anabel to be alone with my kids. He could have been killing back then, and I allowed him to spend time with them."
"That's what this is about, isn't it? He let you down personally. For what it's worth, I think your kids were safe. They didn't have what he wanted."
"And if they did?"
"Sid? They didn't. That's what counts here. They're safe, Marty's off the streets..."
"And Anabel is still dead."
Mac took a sip of his drink. "She meant a lot to you, didn't she?"
Sid stopped talking long enough to down his scotch, and didn't even need to ask before the barman filled it up again. "I gave her away at their wedding, Mac. She told me that I was the 'closest thing she had to a father'. And now she's gone."
"You know she'd be kicking your butt right about now for acting like this?"
Sid snorted. "Probably." He raised his glass. "To Anabel. May she be kicking people into shape wherever she may be."
It was the sunlight blazing through the open curtains that woke Sid up. He lay still on the strange bed, blinking for a moment, wishing that whoever had put the icepick through his skull would go away and do it on their own time, not his.
No, it was just a hangover. And he was in Mac's apartment, crashed out in the spare bed.
The smell of coffee was what roused him, made him struggle up, head for the shower (Mac had obviously gone to work early and left the coffee pot on for him), and begin the day - after finding some aspirin.
Later on, he was alone in his office, nursing another cup of coffee, willing the headache to lessen while writing a report for the Pino's case when the text from Mac came through.
BA - 0.21. Better luck next time!