CSI: NY - Mac/Stella - "Detonation"
Title: Detonation
Fandom: CSI: NY
Friendship: Mac Taylor and Stella Bonasera
Prompt: The large circular room was filled with muffled voices.
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Mac can't handle a crime scene.
The room was filled with muffled voices, all of them begging to be heard. A few even screamed, each other's words drowning out their stories. A few of them knew better, kept their whispers in a hush that almost lulled the living to sleep. Each story was different, turning through possibilities that most people never had to imagine. They were never happy endings. Every last one was a more violent and more gory version of a Grimm Brothers' tale.
Mac Taylor listened to the evidence. That was his job. He had been trained for years to watch a crime scene, studying its every detail, so that he could voice their stories to the world. It wasn't a pleasant job, but repetition helped him deal with it, to become emotionless with the victims.
He used it on friends, too, and enemies.
Murmurs still traveled up around the hallway as people watched the after effects of the explosion. He stopped Danny out of the corner of his eye, standing close to Lindsay. Her hands were still around her ears, and she shook slightly. Danny put a protective arm around her.
Stella kneeled in the rubble. It wasn't a large bomb - just big enough to knock out a wall of an apartment and scare everyone. She picked out dark pieces from the concrete, showing them to Mac before bagging them. "Small bomb," she muttered, picking up another piece, no larger than a thumbnail. "It'll take a while to recreate it, though."
Mac nodded slowly, eyes still concentrated on Danny and Lindsay.
"You alright, Mac?"
He blinked and looked down at Stella, who sat back on her heels, holding the evidence bag between two fingers. She gave him a curious look, her eyes narrowed because of the bright sun.
"If it's the bombing that's doing this to you, you can get onto another case. There're plenty of others."
"No," Mac answered, his voice rough. He bent down, reaching her level, then reached a gloved hand into the rubble, trying to find anything else he could with her. Hawkes would be taking pictures of the other side of the mess before they touched it. The ex-medical examiner walked through the hole in the wall once he finished, pointing back inside.
"Looks like most of the bomb stayed in there."
Stella nodded, then looked at Mac. "You ready to go in?"
"Yeah." Mac stared at the opening for a moment before standing up. The two of them crawled over the fallen concrete and glass, carefully looking to see what they were stepping on. Stella turned on her flashlight, shining it over the walls. Black soot marked where the explosion shook the walls of the apartment.
Mac took out his own flashlight from his kit, looking at the opposite side of the apartment. As his eyes trailed over the damage, he felt himself stiffen more and more.
When Stella put a hand on his shoulder, Mac jumped slightly and kept perfectly still.
"You are scared." At Mac's look, she sighed. "That's not an insult, Mac. If I had been through everything you have, I'd be nervous being in here, too."
He watched Stella's face for a moment, not wanting to answer her. "That's what is bothering me. Everyone is more comfortable in a crime scene than I am."
Stella patted his shoulder, causing the light from the flashlight to bounce around the room. "If you're not comfortable -"
"You're not supposed to be comfortable at a crime scene," Mac snapped. Stella nodded, looking a bit offended, then removed her hand. She continued to search around with the light as a guide point.
"Stella." Mac bit the inside of his cheek as he surveyed the room once more. She didn't turn. "I didn't mean that, alright? It's just -" He trailed off.
He couldn't stand bombs, not since Beirut. For a year after he returned home, Claire had always walked carefully around him, making sure not to make a sudden noise around him. It made Mac feel as though he was fragile, worthless. She only stopped being so careful once he dropped a plate onto the floor, pretending it was an accident, and not reacting to it at all.
Since that October, he hadn't slept well. He liked to attribute his insomnia to Claire's death, but he couldn't blame it completely. Every night since, he woke up often, finding himself testing the area for any signs of anything. It was only when he started to learn to sleep peacefully again that Claire went and the insomnia returned.
"I understand," Stella said, still not looking at him. "I said it already - if I had been through everything you have, I'd be nervous, too." She finally turned. "You can pull yourself off the case, you know."
Mac shook his head. "No." Bending, he looked at the large area of the bomb's shell that Hawkes had been referring to. He didn't touch it, but stared at the casing, noticing the small numbers written on one piece.
"It's not a time to be the hero." Stella kneeled next to him.
Mac wanted to pull himself off. If he had a different history and hadn't known all those days - Beirut, Lessing's bomb just weeks before… Some part of him needed to train himself to get used to it.
"I'm not being the hero. It's just a crime scene."
Stella continued to give him a doubtful look. She stood slowly. "I'm going to check on Lindsay if the paramedics aren't here yet."
"They should be," Mac said automatically. He wanted to find some reason for Stella to have to stay near him.
She shrugged. "She seemed… shaken, I suppose. I just want to make sure."
Before Mac could say anything else, Stella left, carefully going through the hole where the door should have been. She ducked under the newly-placed yellow tape around the area.
Mac sat alone in the room, his flashlight still on the numbers of the bomb. When he looked at it, staring closely at each detail of it, he remembered the last bomb he had to cut off. It was only a matter of cutting some wires. This one was already shattered.
Don Flack swam to mind, nearly unconscious on the ground, barely breathing, a tear through his stomach.
The soldier in Beirut came to mind, his eyes opened in shock, Mac grabbing his hand desperately.
"If you can hear me…"
"Detective?"
Mac jumped, slowly looking over his shoulder, expecting to see a dead man walking. A uniformed cop stood there, a gun at his hip and a flashlight in one hand. Mac squinted into the light.
"Bonasera said you cut your hand on the evidence." The light bobbed slightly as he held it. "She asked that we move you off the scene in case of contamination."
Mac blinked a few times, the nodded slowly. As he stood, he made sure not to let his hands show as he turned off his own flashlight. The cop moved enough for Mac to step out of the broken and splintered wood frame of the wall.
Outside, where the lights were brighter, Mac caught a glimpse of Stella's face. She flashed him a slightly uncertain look, almost worried. Mac gave her a half-smile in return, and she grinned back.
Even if she admitted to not understanding what he was feeling, Mac thought that some part of her understood with exactly. He had watched her for a while after she killed Frankie, noticing the subtle change in her expression when she held a gun.
It wasn't hard to notice how Mac's hands shook when he stood near the bomb. He had noticed it himself, tried to hide it, but Stella knew him better than that. He looked over his shoulder again as he packed up his case, thinking about which new scene to take on, when he stopped Stella's smile again.
He mouthed, "Thanks," feeling a bit embarrassed about the situation, but didn't show it.
She only nodded.
Fandom: CSI: NY
Friendship: Mac Taylor and Stella Bonasera
Prompt: The large circular room was filled with muffled voices.
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Mac can't handle a crime scene.
The room was filled with muffled voices, all of them begging to be heard. A few even screamed, each other's words drowning out their stories. A few of them knew better, kept their whispers in a hush that almost lulled the living to sleep. Each story was different, turning through possibilities that most people never had to imagine. They were never happy endings. Every last one was a more violent and more gory version of a Grimm Brothers' tale.
Mac Taylor listened to the evidence. That was his job. He had been trained for years to watch a crime scene, studying its every detail, so that he could voice their stories to the world. It wasn't a pleasant job, but repetition helped him deal with it, to become emotionless with the victims.
He used it on friends, too, and enemies.
Murmurs still traveled up around the hallway as people watched the after effects of the explosion. He stopped Danny out of the corner of his eye, standing close to Lindsay. Her hands were still around her ears, and she shook slightly. Danny put a protective arm around her.
Stella kneeled in the rubble. It wasn't a large bomb - just big enough to knock out a wall of an apartment and scare everyone. She picked out dark pieces from the concrete, showing them to Mac before bagging them. "Small bomb," she muttered, picking up another piece, no larger than a thumbnail. "It'll take a while to recreate it, though."
Mac nodded slowly, eyes still concentrated on Danny and Lindsay.
"You alright, Mac?"
He blinked and looked down at Stella, who sat back on her heels, holding the evidence bag between two fingers. She gave him a curious look, her eyes narrowed because of the bright sun.
"If it's the bombing that's doing this to you, you can get onto another case. There're plenty of others."
"No," Mac answered, his voice rough. He bent down, reaching her level, then reached a gloved hand into the rubble, trying to find anything else he could with her. Hawkes would be taking pictures of the other side of the mess before they touched it. The ex-medical examiner walked through the hole in the wall once he finished, pointing back inside.
"Looks like most of the bomb stayed in there."
Stella nodded, then looked at Mac. "You ready to go in?"
"Yeah." Mac stared at the opening for a moment before standing up. The two of them crawled over the fallen concrete and glass, carefully looking to see what they were stepping on. Stella turned on her flashlight, shining it over the walls. Black soot marked where the explosion shook the walls of the apartment.
Mac took out his own flashlight from his kit, looking at the opposite side of the apartment. As his eyes trailed over the damage, he felt himself stiffen more and more.
When Stella put a hand on his shoulder, Mac jumped slightly and kept perfectly still.
"You are scared." At Mac's look, she sighed. "That's not an insult, Mac. If I had been through everything you have, I'd be nervous being in here, too."
He watched Stella's face for a moment, not wanting to answer her. "That's what is bothering me. Everyone is more comfortable in a crime scene than I am."
Stella patted his shoulder, causing the light from the flashlight to bounce around the room. "If you're not comfortable -"
"You're not supposed to be comfortable at a crime scene," Mac snapped. Stella nodded, looking a bit offended, then removed her hand. She continued to search around with the light as a guide point.
"Stella." Mac bit the inside of his cheek as he surveyed the room once more. She didn't turn. "I didn't mean that, alright? It's just -" He trailed off.
He couldn't stand bombs, not since Beirut. For a year after he returned home, Claire had always walked carefully around him, making sure not to make a sudden noise around him. It made Mac feel as though he was fragile, worthless. She only stopped being so careful once he dropped a plate onto the floor, pretending it was an accident, and not reacting to it at all.
Since that October, he hadn't slept well. He liked to attribute his insomnia to Claire's death, but he couldn't blame it completely. Every night since, he woke up often, finding himself testing the area for any signs of anything. It was only when he started to learn to sleep peacefully again that Claire went and the insomnia returned.
"I understand," Stella said, still not looking at him. "I said it already - if I had been through everything you have, I'd be nervous, too." She finally turned. "You can pull yourself off the case, you know."
Mac shook his head. "No." Bending, he looked at the large area of the bomb's shell that Hawkes had been referring to. He didn't touch it, but stared at the casing, noticing the small numbers written on one piece.
"It's not a time to be the hero." Stella kneeled next to him.
Mac wanted to pull himself off. If he had a different history and hadn't known all those days - Beirut, Lessing's bomb just weeks before… Some part of him needed to train himself to get used to it.
"I'm not being the hero. It's just a crime scene."
Stella continued to give him a doubtful look. She stood slowly. "I'm going to check on Lindsay if the paramedics aren't here yet."
"They should be," Mac said automatically. He wanted to find some reason for Stella to have to stay near him.
She shrugged. "She seemed… shaken, I suppose. I just want to make sure."
Before Mac could say anything else, Stella left, carefully going through the hole where the door should have been. She ducked under the newly-placed yellow tape around the area.
Mac sat alone in the room, his flashlight still on the numbers of the bomb. When he looked at it, staring closely at each detail of it, he remembered the last bomb he had to cut off. It was only a matter of cutting some wires. This one was already shattered.
Don Flack swam to mind, nearly unconscious on the ground, barely breathing, a tear through his stomach.
The soldier in Beirut came to mind, his eyes opened in shock, Mac grabbing his hand desperately.
"If you can hear me…"
"Detective?"
Mac jumped, slowly looking over his shoulder, expecting to see a dead man walking. A uniformed cop stood there, a gun at his hip and a flashlight in one hand. Mac squinted into the light.
"Bonasera said you cut your hand on the evidence." The light bobbed slightly as he held it. "She asked that we move you off the scene in case of contamination."
Mac blinked a few times, the nodded slowly. As he stood, he made sure not to let his hands show as he turned off his own flashlight. The cop moved enough for Mac to step out of the broken and splintered wood frame of the wall.
Outside, where the lights were brighter, Mac caught a glimpse of Stella's face. She flashed him a slightly uncertain look, almost worried. Mac gave her a half-smile in return, and she grinned back.
Even if she admitted to not understanding what he was feeling, Mac thought that some part of her understood with exactly. He had watched her for a while after she killed Frankie, noticing the subtle change in her expression when she held a gun.
It wasn't hard to notice how Mac's hands shook when he stood near the bomb. He had noticed it himself, tried to hide it, but Stella knew him better than that. He looked over his shoulder again as he packed up his case, thinking about which new scene to take on, when he stopped Stella's smile again.
He mouthed, "Thanks," feeling a bit embarrassed about the situation, but didn't show it.
She only nodded.