CSI: NY fic: Black Monday Mac/Stella, pt. 3

[bedlamsbard]

More of the Mac/Stella, shorter than the other two. Omerta 1 is in progress - you've already seen most of the first chapter before, I'm just tweaking it so that it lines up with the end of New York Minute. And trying not to freak out.



Much as she hated to think about it, there were moments. Moments when Mac was lost in time and in his own mind, when all the lab walked wary around him, because then he wasn’t Mac anymore. Not the Mac they knew. Because something had gone wrong, and nobody knew what it was, and instinct took over. Those were the moments when even Stella hesitated to go in his office, because in those moments Mac was unpredictable. Alien. When he might kill you just for looking at him wrong, and the glass walls of his office were a weapon, not an advantage. Stella’d processed people killed by shattering glass, and it didn’t take much imagination to put the faces of her coworkers onto the bodies of the dead. All because the, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning,” side of Mac’s brain took over, because of something. Anything. And nobody knew what it was.

It could be this.

And the thought flickered briefly through Stella’s mind as she pulled Mac down the hall, only letting go of him to pull her keycard out of her purse and slide it into the lock. By now Mac was looking a little more glazed than he had before, his eyes more bright with alcohol and lust than blind despair. Stella let herself hesitate by the bed, wondering if she should strip her dress off now and give Mac a show, or if that would freak him out too much and she should let him take it off for her.

Mac solved that problem for her by taking a few steps closer. He bent his head down to nuzzle at her hair, then kissed her neck. He didn’t meet her eyes. Stella let him, and tried not to think about Claire, or Hamilton and Evelyn Taylor, or anything but Mac. Help him, she thought, and this was a good start, because he was doing something without having to be prompted. Putting his hands on her of his own volition, without blood and bodies and the thick reek of gunpowder where he had to touch just to be sure.

She couldn’t just stand here forever, and her feet were killing her, so she put her hand up to touch his cheek, feeling him shudder briefly under her palm. He breathed – quick but steady, and she wanted to slow that heartbeat until it almost stopped, let him pin her down and cry into the thick mess of her hair if that was what he wanted. Needed.

Once, months ago, she’d managed to coax him out for a drink with the team. Flack and Aiden tossed back shots like they were competing for something, and then Danny helped Flack out the back while Aiden laughed, then put her head down on the dirty table and fell asleep. Stella was drunk, and horny, and somehow Mac had had two drinks, not one, so she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. She remembered the moment of brief shock before he kissed her back, dug his palms into her hips and his teeth into her lip. She remembered the look on his face when he’d pulled away with sudden retching speed, white, still, terrified, and he’d excused himself abruptly and walked out of the bar. Danny and Flack hadn’t come back, and Stella let herself get roaring drunk and take Aiden home when the other woman finally woke up. Because Mac wasn’t just some random detective, or even a casual acquaintance, he was her partner. How could you do that to your partner?

Stella knew the answer now. Because he needs it. More than Mac had ever needed anything before, and it wasn’t like Mac to need things. There were times when she’d been tempted, but the urge had always kicked itself down, because this was Mac. Her partner. Except that partner meant more than just coworker. Partner meant I’ll help you and trust me and partnership was this, standing in their hotel room with her hand to Mac’s face, letting Mac kiss her neck until she couldn’t conceal the fact her breath was starting to come in short pants.



Okay, off to do Mafia research. And I have an Aiden plot-bunny, which I may work into Omerta, if it wasn't for the little fact that the plot is close to one of the main plotlines. I mean, honestly, the NYPD can't arrest the wrong people that often.

Comments

[mentalhygiene.livejournal.com]

This is starting to get really-- *hot*. *blink*.

"sudden retching speed". I love that line. In fact, that whole scene, but that line especially. The scene is hard and fittingly -- *waves hand* -- it seems random but it *fits*, of what seemed strange but when it's needed it's not. How the things you need might be something you maybe thought was wrong.

Hot. ! Hot.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

This is starting to get really-- *hot*. *blink*.

*rubs hands together maliciously* Excellent. And nobody even has their clothes off yet. (although Stella would kill to get out of her shoes. Stiletto heels? Suck.)

"sudden retching speed". I love that line. In fact, that whole scene, but that line especially. The scene is hard and fittingly -- *waves hand* -- it seems random but it *fits*, of what seemed strange but when it's needed it's not. How the things you need might be something you maybe thought was wrong.

That line was actually a line I wrote while doing (ladies and gentlemen, now is the time to *gasp*) some actual editing, because I realized I'd used "abruptly" twice in the same setence. It's an interesting line.

Exactly. Like as Stella says earlier, if this was New York, they wouldn't be doing this. But it's not New York, and Mac needs it, so therefore it's okay.

[mentalhygiene.livejournal.com]

And nobody even has their clothes off yet. (although Stella would kill to get out of her shoes. Stiletto heels? Suck.)
Boobies! /adolescent boy.

*ahem* Yeah, I've heard women's shoes suck. I mean, sure, men's dress shoes are uncomfortable and all, but... They're flat. Stiff, and annoying, but tolerable. And really, if it's not *that* formal, you could probably get away with a reasonably shiny pair of duty oxfords.

It's an interesting line.
It's a great descriptor, and certainly brings to mind the dichotomy of necessary vs. right vs. wrong vs. drunk. Quadrichotomy?

But it's not New York, and Mac needs it, so therefore it's okay.
Right. It's all situational. If she's got to grab hold of him to save him, then that's what she does, because she's his partner and he's not going to get himself hurt/fuckedup/killed on her watch, no sir.

[http://users.livejournal.com/stellaluna_/]

I think the first bit pinpoints something that's very true: most of the lab workers are, at least on some level, aware of Mac's bad moods, but Stella's a bit more sensitive to them, and aware of what they mean, than most of the others. It's also a nice moment when Mac finally takes the initiative -- sexy, and sweet, and still with that underlying tinge of sadness. As I've mentioned before, I'm also big on the whole partnership thing, so the way that it pervades all of this -- the present and Stella's memory of the bar, and what they're doing now and *why* -- is handled really nicely.

And I can't walk in wear stilettos at all, but I do wear heels, so I'm very much in sympathy with Stella on just wanting to take off the shoes already.