Black Monday
Aug. 2nd, 2005 05:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbard*pokes story* This isn't going to be cohesive at all, since I seem to be writing it by scene by scene, not necessarily in chronological order, not chapter by chapter like I do with Omerta. I think it's because it's not a mystery, and it's...I don't know, I've already written the middle. So it's sort of expanding out. Once I have everything in the story written, I'll tidy it up into some kind of order.
Anyway, this takes place before the Mac/Stella and after they've been in Chicago for a couple days.
"Hey, Mac, you made the paper," Stella said, carrying a copy of the Chicago Tribune into the room along with a pot of coffee and a plate of donuts.
"Hmmm?" He raised his head from the book he'd bought yesterday.
She brandished the paper at him. "'Son of superior court justice comes home for criminalist convention.' I didn't know your father was -"
Mac snatched the paper from her, face blanching white. "Oh, no," he said, scanning the article. He glanced up at her with wide eyes, something not quite terror catching in them, and Stella felt her fists clench and cold fury color her thoughts. Who hurt my partner?
"Mac?"
He was shaking beneath her hands as she pushed him down onto the bed. "My - my father," he said with difficulty, not looking at her. "He's -"
"Superior Court Justice for the state of Illinois?"
Mac swallowed. "Yes," he said thickly. "Stella, I - I didn't -"
She sat down beside him and caught at his hand, running her thumb over the scarred knuckles. "It's all right, Mac. You don't have to tell me." Although please do, so I can kick whoever's ass it was that hurt you.
He shook his head fiercely. "You know Maclarin Industries?" he asked in a lost little boy's voice.
"Yeah. They produce something like half America's cotton -"
"That's my mother's family," Mac said quickly, and looked away. "My father's -" He swallowed again. "You know Taylor Steel?" he said very quietly. "My uncle - Everett Taylor - he's CEO."
Stella was speechless. Fortune 500 and old Southern money all bound up together, and Mac really hadn't been joking when he said he'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Taylor was a common name, so she hadn't even considered he might be related to the Taylors of Taylor Steel, which was only a little less well known than Boeing and Bill Gates. "Mac -"
"They're not my family," Mac said quickly. "I mean, they are, but they're not - I haven't -" He shook his head furiously. "I left. After I graduated high school."
"For the Marines."
"Yes. They didn't want me to. Taylors and Maclarins don't - they don't -" He let out a burst of bitter laughter. "I was supposed to be a lawyer, like my father, or go into the family business. Either of them. Not be - what I am."
"Mac, I'm sorry," Stella said, turning his face toward her. He looked lost and confused, not the confident Mac Taylor she knew. "I didn't know."
"I never told you," he said softly. "I never told anyone." He dropped his head into his hands and added, voice muffled, "Mother must be having conniptions."
Anyway, this takes place before the Mac/Stella and after they've been in Chicago for a couple days.
"Hey, Mac, you made the paper," Stella said, carrying a copy of the Chicago Tribune into the room along with a pot of coffee and a plate of donuts.
"Hmmm?" He raised his head from the book he'd bought yesterday.
She brandished the paper at him. "'Son of superior court justice comes home for criminalist convention.' I didn't know your father was -"
Mac snatched the paper from her, face blanching white. "Oh, no," he said, scanning the article. He glanced up at her with wide eyes, something not quite terror catching in them, and Stella felt her fists clench and cold fury color her thoughts. Who hurt my partner?
"Mac?"
He was shaking beneath her hands as she pushed him down onto the bed. "My - my father," he said with difficulty, not looking at her. "He's -"
"Superior Court Justice for the state of Illinois?"
Mac swallowed. "Yes," he said thickly. "Stella, I - I didn't -"
She sat down beside him and caught at his hand, running her thumb over the scarred knuckles. "It's all right, Mac. You don't have to tell me." Although please do, so I can kick whoever's ass it was that hurt you.
He shook his head fiercely. "You know Maclarin Industries?" he asked in a lost little boy's voice.
"Yeah. They produce something like half America's cotton -"
"That's my mother's family," Mac said quickly, and looked away. "My father's -" He swallowed again. "You know Taylor Steel?" he said very quietly. "My uncle - Everett Taylor - he's CEO."
Stella was speechless. Fortune 500 and old Southern money all bound up together, and Mac really hadn't been joking when he said he'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Taylor was a common name, so she hadn't even considered he might be related to the Taylors of Taylor Steel, which was only a little less well known than Boeing and Bill Gates. "Mac -"
"They're not my family," Mac said quickly. "I mean, they are, but they're not - I haven't -" He shook his head furiously. "I left. After I graduated high school."
"For the Marines."
"Yes. They didn't want me to. Taylors and Maclarins don't - they don't -" He let out a burst of bitter laughter. "I was supposed to be a lawyer, like my father, or go into the family business. Either of them. Not be - what I am."
"Mac, I'm sorry," Stella said, turning his face toward her. He looked lost and confused, not the confident Mac Taylor she knew. "I didn't know."
"I never told you," he said softly. "I never told anyone." He dropped his head into his hands and added, voice muffled, "Mother must be having conniptions."