(no subject)
TITLE: The Burden of Regret
AUTHOR: Huggle
RECIPIENT: taylorgibbs
FANDOM: CSI NY
RATING: Teen
SPOILERS: Nothing really
WARNINGS: None
BETA: slash4femme Thanks! All mistakes are mine!
DISCLAIMER: CSI NY and its characters don't belong to me.
SUMMARY: History was doomed to repeat itself.
“I have never seen a sky like that,” Don said.
Mac looked up from the magazine he was reading; he hadn’t even realised the younger man was awake. Don and Danny were squashed together as they peered out of the window. Mac leaned in enough to see over them, and had to agree. Lines of burnt orange streaked across the sky; here and there, they were embossed with cotton wool strands of cloud. Further up, the sky was bruised looking.
“Bad weather,” he said, and sat back; all the same, he felt his stomach do an uneasy flip. He had seen a lot of weather in a lot of countries when he had been in the marines; but like Don, he had never seen a sky quite so threatening.
A stewardess moved past him, heading towards the flight deck. Even though she was walking calmly, as if she might be going to fetch something for a passenger, he could see the tension in her form. She was trying to walk fast without hurrying, trying not to do anything that might alarm people. No one else seemed to have noticed; everyone on the port side of the plane was engrossed by the strange looking sky. Everyone on the other side was watching their reactions and hoping aloud that they landed before the weather came in.
Mac stood up. “Back in a minute,” he told his friends, and followed after the stewardess.
//
Two days earlier, the three of them had followed behind South Carolina authorities as they prepared to storm a motel room. One Gregory Sitorias, suspected of having raped and murdered four men in New York, was inside, and no one expected him to come quietly.
No one, even Mac, expected him to overpower the first two officers through the door, twist Don’s arm up his back and hold a knife to his throat.
Mac didn’t remember wading in; he was glad, in a way, because he could have gotten Don killed although the detective refused to see it that way. He did know from reading the report that he had used the distraction of the other officers to pounce on Sitorias, wrench his knife hand back enough to let Don out of its reach, and then hit him hard enough to break his jaw.
There had been some gentle teasing about that hidden temper of his, but Mac was glad Don hadn’t cottoned on to the real reason for his actions. That was something he clearly wasn’t ready to fully admit to himself.
//
They got to land, just in time. The captain announced a problem with the runway that meant they had to exit the plane as quickly as possible, which to Mac was another way of saying ‘get indoors, now’. As they were heading into the terminal, he looked back to see another plane twisting wildly off course, and going down just inside the fence.
Don and Danny started back towards it, on impulse, but Mac grabbed their jackets, and hauled them back inside as a safety vest-clad employee fought to close the door behind them.
The other passengers demanded explanations. Was it another attack? Was that why they were hurried off the aircraft? What about my bag, one woman shrilly insisted. Danny told her shortly that if she wanted to go back and get it, luck to her. She shut up after that.
They reached landside about two minutes later, what would normally be a slow, tired jaunt turned into more of a fast walk/jog. The terminal was the scene of chaos that he had expected. He hadn’t yet had a chance to explain what was happening to Don and Danny. The captain had forced him to promise not to say, in case anyone else overheard. It didn’t matter so much now.
The terminal was filled with people. There was no order, no distinction it seemed between the lines for flying within the USA, the lines for Europe or elsewhere. People were pushing, yelling, cursing. Somewhere in the middle of it, someone barked an accusation of queue jumping and a fight broke out. It was simply a crowd of people that had now spilt over into the mezzanine area. Tables outside of restaurants were overturned; people were shoved into glass display cabinets in front of the shops.
“What the fuck is going on,” Danny demanded.
Mac pulled them back, away from the panic, towards a corner, where they wouldn’t be caught up in the crush.
//
The knife had left an inch long cut on Don’s neck, not deep enough for stitches. The nurse dressed it and left, and they said nothing for a while. Don was seated on the bed, Mac standing beside it.
“You took a big chance there, Mac,” Don said, eventually. “Do me a favour - don’t be a hero, huh?”
Mac smiled. “Well, I couldn’t hang around for you to charm the knife away from him.”
Don chuckled, then winced and his hand went to the dressing on his neck. Mac stepped forward, and moved his hand away. No blood had soaked through, although the skin around the dressing looked pinched and red. He didn’t realise his hands were on Flack, until Don stared up at him and said, “Mac, I’m fine, honest.”
Mac nodded, and moved back. “Just as well. Stella would probably shoot me if you weren’t.”
//
The streets were no better than the terminal building. They sought refuge in a store that had been looted clean, waiting in the back where they could watch the windows and door without easily being seen themselves.
“For real?” Don asked.
Mac nodded. If he doubted what he’d seen with his own eyes, and what the captain had told him when Mac had used his badge to get the truth, then the sheer panic on the ground had settled the matter. “According to the pilot, maybe an hour, at the outside. It’s not much time.”
They stood in silence, Mac watching them, Don watching him, Danny staring at his shoes. He spoke first. “I gotta try and reach Lindsay. They must know back at the lab-“
“If that’s where they are,” Don protested. “Danny...”
“Look, just don’t, okay? I need to be with her.” He pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, shoving his glasses up in the process. A minute passed, and he had it under control again. He stepped forward, and pulled them both into a hug. “It’s been good, guys. Be safe, okay?”
He was gone without another word, stepping out through the broken window. They never saw him again.
//
His wife’s name was Claire, and on Sunday mornings she would wake him with a kiss and the smell of pancakes and maple syrup. She was a health freak, but she knew that a balance was important. So while the rest of the week they toiled hard at their respective jobs, Sunday was spent together doing the many different things they couldn’t the rest of the time. Presuming he had that morning off, and there were no emergencies to spoil their plans.
She laughed sometimes when he kissed her, when the intensity of the moment got too much. Or when he rested his hand on her hip, and rubbed his fingers there, finding a particularly sensitive spot that made her squirm and bat at his hand as she tried to wriggle away.
For more than a year after she was gone, Mac remembered her laugh as clearly as if he had heard it only a moment before, and she had just stepped out of the room.
//
Don managed to phone his father and his sister. The conversation with his dad was short, but strong, and Mac stepped away to give him some privacy. Don couldn’t reach his sister in person; he had to settle for leaving a message on her machine, and the number on the shop’s phone, should she get the message in time.
Mac phoned the lab, but no one answered. Perhaps Danny had made it across town to Lindsay. Perhaps they were all there together. He hoped so, or with their families. He didn’t want to think of them being alone.
When he was done, Don came over and sat down next to Mac on the floor. He had two bottles of warm soda that he had found behind the counter. He passed one over, and opened his own.
“This constitutes looting,” Mac warned, as he took a sip.
“You can have my badge,” Don said. His voice still sounded thick. “Anyway, I left my wallet on the counter.”
Outside, the street had quietened somewhat. A cop car had passed maybe fifteen minutes before, a loudhailer urging people to get to the nearest shelter, or at least indoors. A lot of people had taken that advice but no one had troubled them in their own little hideaway.
Mac glanced at his watch. Anytime now, he reckoned, and wondered briefly if it would hurt. He set down the bottle and turned over onto his knees.
“Don.”
Don looked up. His eyes were red and swollen, and Mac knew this was hard for him. A little prior notice and they could have started back early and all been where they were supposed to be: Danny with Lindsay, Don with his father and sister. And he himself? He supposed he would have either been in his office, or down at Ground Zero, ironically the place where he felt the greatest physical connection to his wife.
He wasn’t selfish enough to think this was better.
A low rumble started, feeling distant enough that for a moment it seemed like it would subside. It didn’t, and the glass windows remaining intact rattled in their frames. A unit felt over and smashed open. The till slid straight off the counter and fell to the floor, springing open and spilling coins and notes across the carpet.
He took Don’s face in his hands. After the memorial service, he had asked himself why he and Claire hadn’t tried for kids. He knew the answer: his job, her job, the cost, the fact that neither of them were convinced it was a fit world for children and that it showed any sign of getting better. Those excuses suddenly became just that, and he felt bitter over the time they had unknowingly wasted.
And as always, history seemed doomed to repeat itself.
A bright light was streaming through the window now, too strong for mere daylight. It was growing warm, even hot. He rested his forehead on Don’s, felt the younger man’s arms come up and around him, the warmth of Don’s breath on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For not getting you back sooner.”
He felt Don smile. “I got to say my goodbyes, Mac. I couldn’t have left you on your own.”
//
O’Regan’s was more blue than green, especially on nights like tonight. Detective Baker’s leaving party was going well, Danny and Aidan were dancing on top of the pool table, and Stella was just coming through the door.
Mac nursed his beer as he sat on a stool at the bar. It was for appearance, more than anything; he was no drinker, but Baker would take it as a slight if everyone didn’t toast his health and good fortune - a lot. The detective was a good man - stolid, a little lacking in imagination, but worthy all the same.
“Mac?” Stella touched his elbow. She smelled like the night air, a heavenly change from the stale smell of sweat and liquor. “Sorry I’m late. I see you all started without me.” She smiled as she looked around, and rolled her eyes as Danny nearly toppled off the pool table only to have Aidan catch him just in time.
He nodded, and glanced over her shoulder. The man behind her was looking around with a casual interest, but all the same he was memorising faces, and that made Mac wonder.
“This is Don Flack,” Stella said, and Mac shook hands. He got a smile - short and a little quirky. Not the best place to meet your new boss, at your predecessor’s leaving party. “He was in the lab when I was leaving, so I brought him along. Beer?”
He said no, Don Flack said yes, and then Stella was off to deal with Danny, who had filched a lampshade from somewhere and was pretending it was a hat. That left them at the bar, next to each other, each with a drink that lay untouched.
“Your father used to be a cop, too,” Mac said.
Don nodded. “Yeah. It’s practically a tradition in our family. You know how it goes.”
Mac grinned. Yes, and he knew how hard it could be under the burden of following in a father’s footsteps. If you didn’t want to, there was the guilt. If you did, there was the knowledge that you weren’t treading on virgin territory, that you would never quite live up to the standard set unwittingly by your father.
He caught himself stealing sly glances at Flack, while the man studied the room. He was young, but there was a toughness there, hiding in plain sight. He wondered if many perps misjudged Flack, only to learn at cost their mistake. He wondered if Flack had a girlfriend. He wondered why he felt drunk when he hadn’t touched his beer.
Flack was staring back at him, and Mac felt heat spread through his cheeks. Still, he didn’t look away. It was like being caught in a lie, like that time his mother had found him dumping his homework in the trash. Man up, his father had said, later, when he was allowed out of his room. You did it, you own up. Don’t flinch.
“So.” Flack was still grinning as he became the one to look away, at the beer, the room, over to the table where Stella had been pulled up beside Danny and Aiden inside of talking them down. “Your father didn’t.”
Mac took a sip of the beer. It was too warm now, and tasted flat. He shook his head. “No.” This was where he reciprocated. My father was in the US army and he helped liberate a concentration camp. He never told me anything else about it, so I know it haunted him every day until he died. He probably wouldn’t understand that right now I’m thinking of asking you out.
Instead, he pushed the beer away and clapped Flack’s soldier. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”
He felt eyes on him all the way to the door.
AUTHOR: Huggle
RECIPIENT: taylorgibbs
FANDOM: CSI NY
RATING: Teen
SPOILERS: Nothing really
WARNINGS: None
BETA: slash4femme Thanks! All mistakes are mine!
DISCLAIMER: CSI NY and its characters don't belong to me.
SUMMARY: History was doomed to repeat itself.
“I have never seen a sky like that,” Don said.
Mac looked up from the magazine he was reading; he hadn’t even realised the younger man was awake. Don and Danny were squashed together as they peered out of the window. Mac leaned in enough to see over them, and had to agree. Lines of burnt orange streaked across the sky; here and there, they were embossed with cotton wool strands of cloud. Further up, the sky was bruised looking.
“Bad weather,” he said, and sat back; all the same, he felt his stomach do an uneasy flip. He had seen a lot of weather in a lot of countries when he had been in the marines; but like Don, he had never seen a sky quite so threatening.
A stewardess moved past him, heading towards the flight deck. Even though she was walking calmly, as if she might be going to fetch something for a passenger, he could see the tension in her form. She was trying to walk fast without hurrying, trying not to do anything that might alarm people. No one else seemed to have noticed; everyone on the port side of the plane was engrossed by the strange looking sky. Everyone on the other side was watching their reactions and hoping aloud that they landed before the weather came in.
Mac stood up. “Back in a minute,” he told his friends, and followed after the stewardess.
//
Two days earlier, the three of them had followed behind South Carolina authorities as they prepared to storm a motel room. One Gregory Sitorias, suspected of having raped and murdered four men in New York, was inside, and no one expected him to come quietly.
No one, even Mac, expected him to overpower the first two officers through the door, twist Don’s arm up his back and hold a knife to his throat.
Mac didn’t remember wading in; he was glad, in a way, because he could have gotten Don killed although the detective refused to see it that way. He did know from reading the report that he had used the distraction of the other officers to pounce on Sitorias, wrench his knife hand back enough to let Don out of its reach, and then hit him hard enough to break his jaw.
There had been some gentle teasing about that hidden temper of his, but Mac was glad Don hadn’t cottoned on to the real reason for his actions. That was something he clearly wasn’t ready to fully admit to himself.
//
They got to land, just in time. The captain announced a problem with the runway that meant they had to exit the plane as quickly as possible, which to Mac was another way of saying ‘get indoors, now’. As they were heading into the terminal, he looked back to see another plane twisting wildly off course, and going down just inside the fence.
Don and Danny started back towards it, on impulse, but Mac grabbed their jackets, and hauled them back inside as a safety vest-clad employee fought to close the door behind them.
The other passengers demanded explanations. Was it another attack? Was that why they were hurried off the aircraft? What about my bag, one woman shrilly insisted. Danny told her shortly that if she wanted to go back and get it, luck to her. She shut up after that.
They reached landside about two minutes later, what would normally be a slow, tired jaunt turned into more of a fast walk/jog. The terminal was the scene of chaos that he had expected. He hadn’t yet had a chance to explain what was happening to Don and Danny. The captain had forced him to promise not to say, in case anyone else overheard. It didn’t matter so much now.
The terminal was filled with people. There was no order, no distinction it seemed between the lines for flying within the USA, the lines for Europe or elsewhere. People were pushing, yelling, cursing. Somewhere in the middle of it, someone barked an accusation of queue jumping and a fight broke out. It was simply a crowd of people that had now spilt over into the mezzanine area. Tables outside of restaurants were overturned; people were shoved into glass display cabinets in front of the shops.
“What the fuck is going on,” Danny demanded.
Mac pulled them back, away from the panic, towards a corner, where they wouldn’t be caught up in the crush.
//
The knife had left an inch long cut on Don’s neck, not deep enough for stitches. The nurse dressed it and left, and they said nothing for a while. Don was seated on the bed, Mac standing beside it.
“You took a big chance there, Mac,” Don said, eventually. “Do me a favour - don’t be a hero, huh?”
Mac smiled. “Well, I couldn’t hang around for you to charm the knife away from him.”
Don chuckled, then winced and his hand went to the dressing on his neck. Mac stepped forward, and moved his hand away. No blood had soaked through, although the skin around the dressing looked pinched and red. He didn’t realise his hands were on Flack, until Don stared up at him and said, “Mac, I’m fine, honest.”
Mac nodded, and moved back. “Just as well. Stella would probably shoot me if you weren’t.”
//
The streets were no better than the terminal building. They sought refuge in a store that had been looted clean, waiting in the back where they could watch the windows and door without easily being seen themselves.
“For real?” Don asked.
Mac nodded. If he doubted what he’d seen with his own eyes, and what the captain had told him when Mac had used his badge to get the truth, then the sheer panic on the ground had settled the matter. “According to the pilot, maybe an hour, at the outside. It’s not much time.”
They stood in silence, Mac watching them, Don watching him, Danny staring at his shoes. He spoke first. “I gotta try and reach Lindsay. They must know back at the lab-“
“If that’s where they are,” Don protested. “Danny...”
“Look, just don’t, okay? I need to be with her.” He pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, shoving his glasses up in the process. A minute passed, and he had it under control again. He stepped forward, and pulled them both into a hug. “It’s been good, guys. Be safe, okay?”
He was gone without another word, stepping out through the broken window. They never saw him again.
//
His wife’s name was Claire, and on Sunday mornings she would wake him with a kiss and the smell of pancakes and maple syrup. She was a health freak, but she knew that a balance was important. So while the rest of the week they toiled hard at their respective jobs, Sunday was spent together doing the many different things they couldn’t the rest of the time. Presuming he had that morning off, and there were no emergencies to spoil their plans.
She laughed sometimes when he kissed her, when the intensity of the moment got too much. Or when he rested his hand on her hip, and rubbed his fingers there, finding a particularly sensitive spot that made her squirm and bat at his hand as she tried to wriggle away.
For more than a year after she was gone, Mac remembered her laugh as clearly as if he had heard it only a moment before, and she had just stepped out of the room.
//
Don managed to phone his father and his sister. The conversation with his dad was short, but strong, and Mac stepped away to give him some privacy. Don couldn’t reach his sister in person; he had to settle for leaving a message on her machine, and the number on the shop’s phone, should she get the message in time.
Mac phoned the lab, but no one answered. Perhaps Danny had made it across town to Lindsay. Perhaps they were all there together. He hoped so, or with their families. He didn’t want to think of them being alone.
When he was done, Don came over and sat down next to Mac on the floor. He had two bottles of warm soda that he had found behind the counter. He passed one over, and opened his own.
“This constitutes looting,” Mac warned, as he took a sip.
“You can have my badge,” Don said. His voice still sounded thick. “Anyway, I left my wallet on the counter.”
Outside, the street had quietened somewhat. A cop car had passed maybe fifteen minutes before, a loudhailer urging people to get to the nearest shelter, or at least indoors. A lot of people had taken that advice but no one had troubled them in their own little hideaway.
Mac glanced at his watch. Anytime now, he reckoned, and wondered briefly if it would hurt. He set down the bottle and turned over onto his knees.
“Don.”
Don looked up. His eyes were red and swollen, and Mac knew this was hard for him. A little prior notice and they could have started back early and all been where they were supposed to be: Danny with Lindsay, Don with his father and sister. And he himself? He supposed he would have either been in his office, or down at Ground Zero, ironically the place where he felt the greatest physical connection to his wife.
He wasn’t selfish enough to think this was better.
A low rumble started, feeling distant enough that for a moment it seemed like it would subside. It didn’t, and the glass windows remaining intact rattled in their frames. A unit felt over and smashed open. The till slid straight off the counter and fell to the floor, springing open and spilling coins and notes across the carpet.
He took Don’s face in his hands. After the memorial service, he had asked himself why he and Claire hadn’t tried for kids. He knew the answer: his job, her job, the cost, the fact that neither of them were convinced it was a fit world for children and that it showed any sign of getting better. Those excuses suddenly became just that, and he felt bitter over the time they had unknowingly wasted.
And as always, history seemed doomed to repeat itself.
A bright light was streaming through the window now, too strong for mere daylight. It was growing warm, even hot. He rested his forehead on Don’s, felt the younger man’s arms come up and around him, the warmth of Don’s breath on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For not getting you back sooner.”
He felt Don smile. “I got to say my goodbyes, Mac. I couldn’t have left you on your own.”
//
O’Regan’s was more blue than green, especially on nights like tonight. Detective Baker’s leaving party was going well, Danny and Aidan were dancing on top of the pool table, and Stella was just coming through the door.
Mac nursed his beer as he sat on a stool at the bar. It was for appearance, more than anything; he was no drinker, but Baker would take it as a slight if everyone didn’t toast his health and good fortune - a lot. The detective was a good man - stolid, a little lacking in imagination, but worthy all the same.
“Mac?” Stella touched his elbow. She smelled like the night air, a heavenly change from the stale smell of sweat and liquor. “Sorry I’m late. I see you all started without me.” She smiled as she looked around, and rolled her eyes as Danny nearly toppled off the pool table only to have Aidan catch him just in time.
He nodded, and glanced over her shoulder. The man behind her was looking around with a casual interest, but all the same he was memorising faces, and that made Mac wonder.
“This is Don Flack,” Stella said, and Mac shook hands. He got a smile - short and a little quirky. Not the best place to meet your new boss, at your predecessor’s leaving party. “He was in the lab when I was leaving, so I brought him along. Beer?”
He said no, Don Flack said yes, and then Stella was off to deal with Danny, who had filched a lampshade from somewhere and was pretending it was a hat. That left them at the bar, next to each other, each with a drink that lay untouched.
“Your father used to be a cop, too,” Mac said.
Don nodded. “Yeah. It’s practically a tradition in our family. You know how it goes.”
Mac grinned. Yes, and he knew how hard it could be under the burden of following in a father’s footsteps. If you didn’t want to, there was the guilt. If you did, there was the knowledge that you weren’t treading on virgin territory, that you would never quite live up to the standard set unwittingly by your father.
He caught himself stealing sly glances at Flack, while the man studied the room. He was young, but there was a toughness there, hiding in plain sight. He wondered if many perps misjudged Flack, only to learn at cost their mistake. He wondered if Flack had a girlfriend. He wondered why he felt drunk when he hadn’t touched his beer.
Flack was staring back at him, and Mac felt heat spread through his cheeks. Still, he didn’t look away. It was like being caught in a lie, like that time his mother had found him dumping his homework in the trash. Man up, his father had said, later, when he was allowed out of his room. You did it, you own up. Don’t flinch.
“So.” Flack was still grinning as he became the one to look away, at the beer, the room, over to the table where Stella had been pulled up beside Danny and Aiden inside of talking them down. “Your father didn’t.”
Mac took a sip of the beer. It was too warm now, and tasted flat. He shook his head. “No.” This was where he reciprocated. My father was in the US army and he helped liberate a concentration camp. He never told me anything else about it, so I know it haunted him every day until he died. He probably wouldn’t understand that right now I’m thinking of asking you out.
Instead, he pushed the beer away and clapped Flack’s soldier. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”
He felt eyes on him all the way to the door.