CSI: NY fic: Black Monday (Mac/Stella)
Jun. 6th, 2005 04:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardThis amuses me far too much.
You people made me write this. Mac/Stella, Snafu-verse, post Omerta, somewhere around the beginning/middle of the first story of the Mac trilogy, Black Monday. (The other two will be Habeus Corpus and Bloody Sunday.) Background: Mac is invited to speak at a forensics conference in Chicago. Stella makes him go despite his protests, and goes with him. He and she end up going out to dinner at a nice restaurant, and they run into The Parents. Not porn yet, but it will be.
Stella put her fingers on the sleeve of Mac’s arm, feeling him jump lightly at her touch. He turned toward her, eyes fever-bright with alcohol, and the look of absolute despair in them was something Stella never wanted to see again. It wasn’t the way he’d looked when he’d found out about Claire, but something far worse. There was something almost childish in his eyes, and try as she might, Stella couldn’t imagine Mac as a child, as a little boy playing baseball or lying on a park bench reading oversized children’s books.
Though now that she’d met Hamilton and Evelyn Taylor, she couldn’t actually picture them even owning children’s books, or letting their son play something as pedestrian as baseball.
“Mac,” she said, and stopped. What could she say? Your family is extremely fucked up, and I’m sorry I made you come to Chicago? I should have brought Danny or Aiden? I shouldn’t have made you agree to give the lecture? She coughed. “I’m sorry I made you take me out to dinner.”
Mac stared at her, then looked back down at his glass. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” Stella said as reasonably as she could.
Mac shook his head. “I shouldn’t have tried to come back.”
“It’s not your fault,” Stella said.
“But –”
“It’s not your fault,” she repeated as forcefully as she could, then switched to Greek. Your parents are some kind of fucked up, and I should never have made you come to Chicago. I’m sorry I made you agree to give the lecture. I don’t hate you. I see why you left Chicago now. I’m never going to make cracks about your family again. Hey, jerkface, listen to me. It’s my fault for making you come here, and it’s your parents’ fault for being selfish, and self-absorbed, and emotionally abusive. People like that shouldn’t even be allowed to have fish, let alone children.
Mac blinked at her. “I don’t –”
Stella grabbed his arms, pulling him toward her. “Mac. It’s not your fault. Look at me, damnit.”
He looked at her.
“Now tell me if you did anything at all to antagonize your parents in the past hour?”
“Besides not talking to them for twenty years?” Mac asked bitterly. “Not coming home after I left the Corps, or telling them I got married? Not letting them know where I lived, or my phone number, or – oh God.”
“In the past hour,” Stella repeated.
Mac shook his head slowly. “But – there was something. There had to be something.”
She’d heard it before, in the interrogation rooms or on a scene. Broken bodies, broken lives, broken minds, broken people. Not my people, she promised herself fiercely. Never my people. Not if I can stop it. “There wasn’t anything, Mac. You didn’t do anything. You barely said anything. Jesus Christ, Mac, you didn’t do a goddamned thing but fucking sit there. I’ve never –” seen you like that, she wanted to say, because there was something wrong about seeing her boss, about seeing Detective Lieutenant Mac fucking Taylor dead silent with his head down and his hands twisted around each other in his lap, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Not Stella’s, not his parents. Stella knew then, in that moment, why he’d left Chicago. Because sometimes having rich parents and everything a child could possibly want wasn’t what you needed, when the one thing you didn’t have was the one thing you needed more than anything else. Get the fuck away from my partner was what had been at the forefront of Stella’s mind the whole time during that trainwreck of an accounter, and it flashed before her eyes again as Mac looked down at his hands.
Not yours. A kind of fierce possessiveness had sprung up in her, and she’d put her hand on Mac’s knee, ignoring the way Mac jumped and stared at her with wide startled eyes when she did. He’d gone back to looking down at his hands afterwards, like a little boy being chastised instead of a fullgrown man who’d been away from home for decades now. This isn’t my Mac, she thought, and then realized, No. This is my Mac. These are the people that made him what he is. It made too much sense in that moment, and Stella wanted to wash the memory of them away anyway she could, press delete and rewind and – make everything back the way it was. Turn back time. Save him.
She reached out and curled her hand over his, and Mac clutched at her fingers with his soldier’s grip, turning his head up to look at her. The pure despair in his eyes was enough to make her weak kneed with horror. Save him. “Mac,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Is Maclarin your real name?”
Mac looked down at their clenched hands, and then shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “It’s Jefferson.”
“Jefferson Maclarin Taylor,” Stella said thoughtfully. “It has a nice ring.”
“My parents were going to name me Clarence,” Mac said.
“…okay.”
“Maclarin is my mother’s maiden name.” He sipped at his whiskey, watching the sheen of amber light it cast over the bar. “Evelyn Marie Maclarin Taylor. Clarence was – a compromise. Clarence Hamilton Taylor. But my uncle died, and my father named me after him. Jefferson Taylor.”
“I like Mac better,” Stella said. “It suits you.” She put one hand up to brush across his face, and Mac caught at her wrist with his free hand.
“Stella,” he said softly. “I –”
She leaned forward. “I’ll help you,” she said, remembering the way his muscles had tensed under her hand when she’d touched his knee. “Anyway I can.”
Mac’s eyes flickered toward the low cut of her dress, and then back toward her face. There was the faintest blush in his cheeks, but that could have been the alcohol. “I don’t think –”
“Partners,” Stella said. She tugged her hand free gently and put it on his leg, feeling the tension there. “Partners,” she repeated, “are like that.”
You know what's hard to write? Car chases. Car chases are hard to write, and it's not just because I've never driven a car. Screenwriters have it easy, they just write, "Insert car chase here" and the choreographers take care of everything else. But actually writing them, especially when you don't know the area they're taking place in? Hard.
"Now, the NYPD has yet to release a statement regarding this copnapping, but we'll continue to keep you updated. Now, back to your program."
You people made me write this. Mac/Stella, Snafu-verse, post Omerta, somewhere around the beginning/middle of the first story of the Mac trilogy, Black Monday. (The other two will be Habeus Corpus and Bloody Sunday.) Background: Mac is invited to speak at a forensics conference in Chicago. Stella makes him go despite his protests, and goes with him. He and she end up going out to dinner at a nice restaurant, and they run into The Parents. Not porn yet, but it will be.
Stella put her fingers on the sleeve of Mac’s arm, feeling him jump lightly at her touch. He turned toward her, eyes fever-bright with alcohol, and the look of absolute despair in them was something Stella never wanted to see again. It wasn’t the way he’d looked when he’d found out about Claire, but something far worse. There was something almost childish in his eyes, and try as she might, Stella couldn’t imagine Mac as a child, as a little boy playing baseball or lying on a park bench reading oversized children’s books.
Though now that she’d met Hamilton and Evelyn Taylor, she couldn’t actually picture them even owning children’s books, or letting their son play something as pedestrian as baseball.
“Mac,” she said, and stopped. What could she say? Your family is extremely fucked up, and I’m sorry I made you come to Chicago? I should have brought Danny or Aiden? I shouldn’t have made you agree to give the lecture? She coughed. “I’m sorry I made you take me out to dinner.”
Mac stared at her, then looked back down at his glass. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” Stella said as reasonably as she could.
Mac shook his head. “I shouldn’t have tried to come back.”
“It’s not your fault,” Stella said.
“But –”
“It’s not your fault,” she repeated as forcefully as she could, then switched to Greek. Your parents are some kind of fucked up, and I should never have made you come to Chicago. I’m sorry I made you agree to give the lecture. I don’t hate you. I see why you left Chicago now. I’m never going to make cracks about your family again. Hey, jerkface, listen to me. It’s my fault for making you come here, and it’s your parents’ fault for being selfish, and self-absorbed, and emotionally abusive. People like that shouldn’t even be allowed to have fish, let alone children.
Mac blinked at her. “I don’t –”
Stella grabbed his arms, pulling him toward her. “Mac. It’s not your fault. Look at me, damnit.”
He looked at her.
“Now tell me if you did anything at all to antagonize your parents in the past hour?”
“Besides not talking to them for twenty years?” Mac asked bitterly. “Not coming home after I left the Corps, or telling them I got married? Not letting them know where I lived, or my phone number, or – oh God.”
“In the past hour,” Stella repeated.
Mac shook his head slowly. “But – there was something. There had to be something.”
She’d heard it before, in the interrogation rooms or on a scene. Broken bodies, broken lives, broken minds, broken people. Not my people, she promised herself fiercely. Never my people. Not if I can stop it. “There wasn’t anything, Mac. You didn’t do anything. You barely said anything. Jesus Christ, Mac, you didn’t do a goddamned thing but fucking sit there. I’ve never –” seen you like that, she wanted to say, because there was something wrong about seeing her boss, about seeing Detective Lieutenant Mac fucking Taylor dead silent with his head down and his hands twisted around each other in his lap, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Not Stella’s, not his parents. Stella knew then, in that moment, why he’d left Chicago. Because sometimes having rich parents and everything a child could possibly want wasn’t what you needed, when the one thing you didn’t have was the one thing you needed more than anything else. Get the fuck away from my partner was what had been at the forefront of Stella’s mind the whole time during that trainwreck of an accounter, and it flashed before her eyes again as Mac looked down at his hands.
Not yours. A kind of fierce possessiveness had sprung up in her, and she’d put her hand on Mac’s knee, ignoring the way Mac jumped and stared at her with wide startled eyes when she did. He’d gone back to looking down at his hands afterwards, like a little boy being chastised instead of a fullgrown man who’d been away from home for decades now. This isn’t my Mac, she thought, and then realized, No. This is my Mac. These are the people that made him what he is. It made too much sense in that moment, and Stella wanted to wash the memory of them away anyway she could, press delete and rewind and – make everything back the way it was. Turn back time. Save him.
She reached out and curled her hand over his, and Mac clutched at her fingers with his soldier’s grip, turning his head up to look at her. The pure despair in his eyes was enough to make her weak kneed with horror. Save him. “Mac,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Is Maclarin your real name?”
Mac looked down at their clenched hands, and then shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “It’s Jefferson.”
“Jefferson Maclarin Taylor,” Stella said thoughtfully. “It has a nice ring.”
“My parents were going to name me Clarence,” Mac said.
“…okay.”
“Maclarin is my mother’s maiden name.” He sipped at his whiskey, watching the sheen of amber light it cast over the bar. “Evelyn Marie Maclarin Taylor. Clarence was – a compromise. Clarence Hamilton Taylor. But my uncle died, and my father named me after him. Jefferson Taylor.”
“I like Mac better,” Stella said. “It suits you.” She put one hand up to brush across his face, and Mac caught at her wrist with his free hand.
“Stella,” he said softly. “I –”
She leaned forward. “I’ll help you,” she said, remembering the way his muscles had tensed under her hand when she’d touched his knee. “Anyway I can.”
Mac’s eyes flickered toward the low cut of her dress, and then back toward her face. There was the faintest blush in his cheeks, but that could have been the alcohol. “I don’t think –”
“Partners,” Stella said. She tugged her hand free gently and put it on his leg, feeling the tension there. “Partners,” she repeated, “are like that.”
You know what's hard to write? Car chases. Car chases are hard to write, and it's not just because I've never driven a car. Screenwriters have it easy, they just write, "Insert car chase here" and the choreographers take care of everything else. But actually writing them, especially when you don't know the area they're taking place in? Hard.
"Now, the NYPD has yet to release a statement regarding this copnapping, but we'll continue to keep you updated. Now, back to your program."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-07 12:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 01:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 01:20 am (UTC)Well, "bad" is a relative term, I guess. I mean, marks or not, emotional stuff... *fucks* a person up pretty badly, or can. I mean hey, you spend 18 years with mommy and daddy casually belittling you and ignoring any feat of accomplishment unless it means something to *them*, and seizing on any failure, or connecting any topic of conversation to the kid's personal shortcomings? Yeah. Not happy. These are the kind of parents who screw up their kid by holding him up to adult standards that he will *never* be able to meet.
So she's just reacting to Mac's trauma. Which is...well, kind of scary, since she's never seen Mac like that before.
She's reacting very understandably. And you write very well that-- I don't want to say "disconnect", exactly, but dischordance between how he sees the dinner (he must've done *something* wrong, and doesn't see anything remiss with his parents' behavior), and how Stella sees it (stay away from my partner, freaks).
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 01:37 am (UTC)And that he still can't meet twenty or thirty years later, because he went the wrong way in life. First the Marines, then the NYPD, and Hamilton Taylor may be a judge, but that doesn't mean Mac did his whole police thing just to follow in his father's footprints. He'd rather Mac had gone on to be Senator Taylor or something. Of course, neither of them has a clue what he's been doing for the past twenty years, so automatic reactions - "I saw your picture in the paper. You're a police officer?" "You're married? Is this your wife? How long have you been married? Why didn't you tell us?"
She's reacting very understandably. And you write very well that-- I don't want to say "disconnect", exactly, but dischordance between how he sees the dinner (he must've done *something* wrong, and doesn't see anything remiss with his parents' behavior), and how Stella sees it (stay away from my partner, freaks).
Oh, good. Mac is...well on his way to getting drunk, and his parental relationship? Never good. And in his eyes, he did do something wrong, although he can't figure out what.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 01:46 am (UTC)And that's the trick he's probably never going to be able to figure out, at this rate: no matter *what* he does, it will be wrong. Something will be amiss. Even if he'd followed every step perfectly, the steps would change.
"I saw your picture in the paper. You're a police officer?" "You're married? Is this your wife? How long have you been married? Why didn't you tell us?"
Oh, christ on a pony, is this ever going to be a painful (good painful) conversation written out. *wince* Oh, Mac.
And in his eyes, he did do something wrong, although he can't figure out what.
Yeah, exactly. He did something wrong, and even if he can pinpoint what it is--if he could, say, when he was a kid, point to something wrong and try to fix it--as I said above, the wrong thing and the right thing changes, so there's never any right way to be that satisfies his parents, because they're...well, they're self-absorbed, emotionally inept snits. They can't take care of their own emotional needs and end up taking it out on their kid.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 02:00 am (UTC)Exactly. Which is, doubtless, why he's such a control freak. If it's in his hands, the status quo can't change. Except when it does, and it's out of his hands.
Oh, christ on a pony, is this ever going to be a painful (good painful) conversation written out. *wince* Oh, Mac.
Uh-huh. Especially considering Stella's immediate reaction is going to be something along the general lines of *leap across the table, strangle*, or, more politely, "I'm not his wife. I'm his partner. And who the hell are you?" Mac: "...someone shoot me now. No, really. I have my service revolver, so Stella, why don't you just take it and -"
He did something wrong, and even if he can pinpoint what it is--if he could, say, when he was a kid, point to something wrong and try to fix it--as I said above, the wrong thing and the right thing changes, so there's never any right way to be that satisfies his parents, because they're...well, they're self-absorbed, emotionally inept snits. They can't take care of their own emotional needs and end up taking it out on their kid.
Oh, God, is "Bloody Sunday" ever going to be painful. *wince*
Even when their kid isn't a kid any longer. Oh, dear.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-07 04:07 am (UTC)And this is pretty much exactly how I imagine his relationship with his parents has played out: every material thing a kid could want, none of the emotional things. He *would* shut out his past like this, and he *would* just absolutely wilt in the face of having to deal with them, and immediately assume the entire burden of blame.
Them being partners, Stella's acute sense of that, and her keen sense of how close he is to drowning right now...this *is* how she would reach out to him, and keep him safe. Anything she needed to.
And, he almost ended up being "Clarence"? Poor bastard.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 01:27 am (UTC)Oh, thank God. Hearing that from you is...a good thing. Because that's the problem with most M/S, them being out of character, because it's going to take something seriously screwed up to make Mac come out of his shell.
And this is pretty much exactly how I imagine his relationship with his parents has played out: every material thing a kid could want, none of the emotional things. He *would* shut out his past like this, and he *would* just absolutely wilt in the face of having to deal with them, and immediately assume the entire burden of blame.
Exactly. Like Stella says, it explains a lot, and maybe she doesn't like it and doesn't want to believe it, but it's the truth. There's the evidence staring her in the face. And heaven help Mac if he ever has to actually deal with his parents for more than an hour. In front of people he knows - I mean, besides Stella, because that was bad enough.
Oh, wait, that's the entire point of "Bloody Sunday."
Them being partners, Stella's acute sense of that, and her keen sense of how close he is to drowning right now...this *is* how she would reach out to him, and keep him safe. Anything she needed to.
She figures that Mac needs an anchor, a physical anchor before he floats away and she can't reach him, and just touching, just words, isn't going to be enough right now.
And, he almost ended up being "Clarence"? Poor bastard.
That's what I said. Imagine how different CSI: NY would be if it starred Detective Clarence Taylor instead of Detective Mac Taylor. *shiver*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 04:12 am (UTC)Yep. Mac doesn't take this sort of thing lightly. Him coming out of his shell is a *major* thing for him, and a scary one. And Stella's well aware of the seriousness of this, of the ramifications. She knows him too well not to be.
Exactly. Like Stella says, it explains a lot, and maybe she doesn't like it and doesn't want to believe it, but it's the truth. There's the evidence staring her in the face. And heaven help Mac if he ever has to actually deal with his parents for more than an hour. In front of people he knows - I mean, besides Stella, because that was bad enough.
Oh, wait, that's the entire point of "Bloody Sunday."
Yay!
(I don't like tormenting Mac. Really, I don't. I just enjoy seeing him *deal* with torment.) And, yes, it does explain a lot. I'm operating on pretty much the same theory with his parents: that they were rich and neglectful and basically *sucked* all the way around (and we'll see a hint of that in the threesome!fic, although it's not the driving force). And I think that Mac is absolutely horror-struck at having this side of his past, of *him*, revealed in front of Stella. Oddly, she may be the best person *to* have it revealed in front of. Anyone else? He'd implode even worse.
She figures that Mac needs an anchor, a physical anchor before he floats away and she can't reach him, and just touching, just words, isn't going to be enough right now.
*nod* And it makes so much sense for her (for *them*) with her strong belief in partners, in doing whatever you have to do to keep your partner afloat and safe. It's very much the same impetus that drives the threesome in that story for me, and it's similar, I think, to
That's what I said. Imagine how different CSI: NY would be if it starred Detective Clarence Taylor instead of Detective Mac Taylor. *shiver*
Or Rick Calucci, which was the character's original name! Anyway, yeah. Clarence just doesn't have the same...macho panache to it that Mac does. Jefferson Maclarin Taylor may be a mouthful, but it's still a damn sight better than Clarence.