Halloween fic: City of Ghosts (1/3)
Oct. 31st, 2005 05:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardTitle: City of Ghosts (1/3)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bedlamsbard
Fandom: CSI: NY
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: On All Hallows' Eve, the boundary between the worlds is thing - and the ghosts are walking.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Author's Notes: This story takes place in an AU universe that breaks off from canon after Season One. In this universe, Danny and Flack are in an established relationship, Mac and Stella were on and on-and-off relationship, and Danny is the nephew and heir to the Constantine Family, part of the Six Families of the Mafia Commission. The previous stories in this universe, Snafu, New York Minute, Black Monday, Omerta, Habeus Corpus, and Bloody Sunday, are recommended but not necessarily required for reading.
Warning: This story contains spoilers for Bloody Sunday. Do not read if you want to remain unspoiled.
It was October by the time the lab had settled back down to something like a shadow of its former self. Injuries healed, blood scrubbed away, positions retaken and reaffirmed, but the ghosts remained. Odd, empty pauses in the midst of conversation, when someone waited too long for the dead to reply. Lindsay skulked around with the wary half-defiance of someone who knew she was and wrong and refused to admit it, while Hawkes bit his lip and glared at Mac whenever he turned his back. Flack bitched and moaned about getting shot again, and yet always fell silent whenever he saw the elevator. It had been completely replaced, and yet a phantom stink of blood and terror remained, sunk into the walls and floor like wiseguys into the Hudson. I am death, it seemed to say. And I will not leave here.
Danny never took that elevator, not even if he had to wait an hour for the other elevator to come up. If it was that important, he’d take the stairs. And he never, ever got in an elevator with a suspect, alone or otherwise.
Even Mac, the unflappable, had changed. Loosened up, maybe; more forgiving, perhaps. Lindsay wasn’t fired the day she got back. Royally chewed out, yes, fired, no. And whatever it was she’d said to Mac during those thirty minutes in his office had struck him to the bone.
Danny heard the rumors. Murderer, she called him.
In the shattered wake of the storm, the lab balanced more tenuously than Danny would ever have thought possible in the days before. A shadow-stain of blood remained on the tile of the floor that no amount of scrubbing erased, just like the stain on the lab’s reputation. Traitors, the beat cops said, and murderers. Turncoats. Sold their badges for the sake of make-believe justice.
Cursed.
That stain wouldn’t go away, not for years.
*
“All Hallows’ Eve, Mac,” Stella said playfully, trailing him down the hall. “Halloween. Come on. It’d be fun.” Unspoken: we need some of that.
Too much terror, too much strain and death, so that the ghosts of it remained even months later.
“I don’t think a Halloween party is a very appropriate thing to spend department money on,” Mac said. He didn’t glanced at her, just kept walking straight down the hall like he was alone.
“With costumes,” Stella added, biting her lip and trying not to notice that Mac flinched away from her when they stepped aside for a passing lab tech. Zack had his head down and was moving fast, file folder clutched in one hand. Hawkes and Lindsay’s case, or maybe Danny and Flack’s. The lab seemed to operate autonomous of itself now, six tiny planets revolving warily around the shadowed sun of the NYPD’s shame.
“The brass aren’t exactly free with their money,” Mac said. He paused at the door to the tox lab. “They’ve refused my request to hire a new CSI twice now. They’ll laugh at me if I ask for funding to hold a Halloween party.”
Stella prudently ignored the fact that they were operating with more CSIs than they’d ever had before, and that Robbery-Homicide had managed just fine when all six crime scene detectives had been out of commission. “Call it a bonding exercise, and tell them that it’s part of that therapy they’ve been trying to get us to go to for the past six months. Come on. I’ll bring baklava.”
“Stella, I don’t think –”
A shriek tore through the lab.
Stella and Mac had their guns out and in front of them before the scream died away.
“Lindsay,” Stella said, bouncing forward on the balls of her feet.
Mac nodded shortly, moving down the hallway with his gun sweeping in front of him. “The lobby,” he added.
Ice arched through Stella’s veins, coalescing into cold resolve at the back of her spine. “You don’t think –?”
*
“The hell?” Flack demanded, throwing open the door of the office he and Danny shared. Behind him, Danny bounced up from his desk, fingers twisting nervously in air. “Some’a us are tryin’ to fuckin’ work here, Monroe! Save the screaming for when someone’s dying, arready!”
Lindsay glanced up from where she was sitting on the lobby floor. “Yeah, because I did that on purpose.” She looked shaken.
Mac, looking disgusted, holstered his gun. “I think you have work to do,” he told the wide-eyed lab techs that had gathered in the halls around the lobby.
“Well, actually –” Zack said, poking his head out from behind Flack.
Flack reached out without looking and shoved him back into the office. “You got a reason for tryin’ to bring the house down, Monroe, or you just like the attention?”
Hawkes leaned over his partner to give her a hand up. “Are you all right, Lindsay?”
Lindsay brushed off the seat of her pants and glanced up at Mac, ferocious entreaty in her eyes. “I saw her,” she said. “I did. I know I only knew her for a few days, but I remember her. Her face is on the wall.”
Flack’s eyes flickered toward the wall opposite his office. There was only one picture on the wall there – CSU had only ever lost one person in line of duty.
Danny bristled like an angry hedgehog. “Aiden’s dead,” he spat. “Keep your dumb Midwestern jokes to yourself, Monroe, they ain’t funny here in the big city. This is New York, not whatever two-person hicktown it was that kicked you out.”
“You think I think losing someone’s funny?” Lindsay demanded, looking furious. “I’m not lying. I saw her.”
Zack muttered something under his breath that was echoed by the remaining lab techs. Stella swung around at them. “What did you say?”
Jane stepped forward, twisting her fingers nervously in the fabric of her lab coat. “It’s not just Lindsay,” she said, British voice rich and mellifluous. “We’ve all seen her – Detective Burn.”
Mac’s jaw worked silently for a moment, then he turned to face the lab, one hand beating
frantically against his thigh like a trapped pigeon. “You’re people of science,” he said. “Aiden Burn is dead. Dead. She died right here, and all of you saw it.”
Danny let out a small choked noise that caught in the back of his throat.
“She’s dead, and she isn’t coming back,” Mac practically snarled. “Not dead, not alive. Have enough respect for a fallen warrior to shut your mouths on the sort of dumb gossip that’s only good for rookie baiting. The next person who claims they’ve seen Aiden is going out that door.” He pointed at the elevator. “And they’re not coming back.”
*
“Gwendolyn Erlion,” Flack said, eyes flicking nervously toward the door. He glanced hastily back at Mac and Stella; Danny was hovering just inside the crime tape behind him with his arms crossed. “Funny thing is, none’a the neighbors say she was much of a Satanist. Not much of a Christian either, but no Devil-worshipper.”
“What does her religion have to do with anything?” Mac demanded.
Danny snorted. “Man, Mac, you seen this scene? It wouldn’ leave you any doubts about what it’s gotta do with anythin’. So far we got five types of blood here an’ only one’a them’s human.” He stepped aside.
Mac and Stella peered over Flack’s shoulder. “Is that a rabbit?” Stella said. “Where the hell do you find a rabbit in New York? The snake I get, and the dog, obviously, but the rabbit? And the deer? This is New York, not Rochester.”
Mac looked like he’d seen someone butcher a baby in front of him and blessed himself so quickly he probably wasn’t aware he’d done it. “Holy God,” he murmured, Chicago twang coming out so strong Stella blinked and looked at him.
“Mac? You all right?” Her voice was worried, but her face said clearly, we’ve seen worse than this. What’s wrong with you?
Danny took perverse pleasure in the nonchalance with which he said, “We also have the murder weapon.”
“Fancy silver dagger with some big red stones in the hilt,” Flack said promptly, flat lines of his face etching a scowl. “Blood all over it. At least some’a the stuff’s human.”
Mac looked unhappy. “You’ve already processed the scene?”
Flack snorted. “We’ve been here two hours. I’d be ashamed if we hadn’t.”
“Flack, you’re not a CSI. You’re not supposed to –”
“What, was all that fancy training and Mob money for nothin’, then?”
Mac flushed an angry crimson. “It was a large monetary donation to the lab from an anonymous source following the Coppola affair. Any rumors about where it came from are simply that, rumors.”
“Oh, should I say Taylor money, then?”
The crimson blanched white. “That was thanks from Justice Hamilton Taylor of the State of Illinois for clearing his name in the Jacqueline Shaw murder. If you can link that to the Mafia, Flack, then –”
Danny arched his eyebrows. “Who’d wanna go doin’ a thing like that? Taylors wouldn’t be Commission anyway, they’d be Outfit.” Under his breath: “Crazy fuckers.”
Doggedly, Mac said, “Flack, you’re not qualified to process a scene. You’re not CSU – you’re Homicide. I hope you at least got witness interviews done –”
Flack leaned forward. “You tellin’ me these aren’t my people, Taylor? You tellin’ me that I don’t deserve to be here, that I haven’t put in my time same as you, huh? Because if you are, I’ll take you up on that right here and now.”
“You are not qualified,” Mac scowled. “If the defense were to learn that an unqualified Homicide detective had processed the scene, that could call our entire testimony into question. It would significantly influence the decision of a jury, should Gwendolyn Erlion’s murder come to trial.” He paused. “It is a murder?”
Flack shrugged. “Could be a suicide, I guess, but the knife wasn’t in her hand. Was across the room, actually. Unless she cut her own throat and threw the knife across the room – and since I’m not an expert, I won’t rule that out – we’re lookin’ at it as a homicide.”
“Plus there’s multiple prints on it,” Danny said. “Haven’t ran ‘em yet – we ain’t Vegas, we don’t got a traveling lab – but from an eyeball look, they ain’t from the same person. And I’d look at Gwendolyn Erlion’s hands, only they got blood all over them, and that makes it kinda hard to see the prints.” He shrugged. “’sides, I’ve never been all that great with on the spot ID. That was always –” he paused. “Never mind. You takin’ over this scene or not? Flack and I are gettin’ reassigned, huh, what with you and Stel showing up?”
Stella stirred briefly, half-hearted disdain burgeoning in her eyes. “We were in the neighborhood, thought we’d drop by,” she said dryly. “You have a problem with it, Danny?”
“Nothin’. Just that it’s our case, ya know? Don’t like the big boys – sorry, Stel – budging in, actin’ like it’s theirs to poke around in.”
“I am your boss,” Mac said pointedly.
Danny acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “Yeah, but you’re a detective just like the rest of us. Only a little higher ranking now, what with the promotions. Case ya don’t remember, IAB took your shiny lieutenant’s badge away. Or so says rumor; all I remember’s you tryin’ to pretend like you never had one in the first place.”
Mac blanched white. “Danny, that’s inappropriate –” he started to say and then stopped, staring over Danny’s shoulder.
Danny twisted around. “What? I got something on my face?” He heard the quick beat of footsteps on carpet.
When he turned back, Mac was gone, and he caught the tail end of Stella’s curls as she followed him.
*
“Mac!” Stella caught up with him outside Gwendolyn Erlion’s Village apartment. “Mac, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He turned away from her, head resting against the old brick wall. “I saw her,” he mumbled. “I saw –”
“Saw who, Mac?” Stella demanded, catching him by the shoulders. “There was no one in that crime scene besides you, me, Danny, and Flack.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “Did you see – Aiden?”
Mac jerked beneath her hands, but didn't turn toward her. “No,” he said in a low voice. Almost inaudibly: “I saw Claire.”
Stella flinched as if he’d shot her. “Claire’s dead,” she said, more harshly than she meant. Softer, belatedly, she added, “That’s impossible, Mac. Claire’s – you know she’s dead. You know.”
“I know,” he repeated. “Damn it, Stella, I know. But – I saw her.”
“Mac, Danny and Flack had that scene for two hours before we got there. No one was there besides us. There can’t have been anyone there.”
“I know that,” he said. He turned back towards her, looking young and lost. Startlingly so; for a terrifying moment, Stella caught sight of the eighteen-year-old Marine recruit he must have been years ago. “Stella –”
“Stella?”
She knew that voice. Stella flung herself around, hand scrabbling for the gun at her waist. “Jesus!”
Aiden stepped back with her hands up. “Christ, Stella, it’s me. Put that thing away, already!”
“You’re dead,” Stella said shakily. She didn’t put her gun away, just kept it pointed at the center of Aiden’s face. Not that it could be Aiden; Aiden was dead. Stella didn’t believe in ghosts, never had. Sister Carolina at St. Basil’s had, though, and she’d sworn she’d seen them.
“Stella?” Mac asked. “Are you seeing what –”
“You’re not Aiden,” Stella said coldly. “Aiden Burn is dead.”
“I am Aiden Burn,” the not-Aiden said. “And I’m dead.”
“I don’t know what kind of dumb prank this is,” Mac said, drawing back what remnants of his dignity he had left and letting his fingers brush meaningfully against the gun in his holster, “but it’s a bad one. You’re impersonating a police officer – that’s a crime. I advise you get out of here before you’re arrested.”
“There’s no friggin’ impersonation going on here,” she snapped. “I’m Aiden Burn. And I’m dead. I died in your arms, Mac.”
Stella twisted around to see Mac jerk back like he’d been slapped. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” he said, lips drawing together.
Aiden reached out toward them. “Oh, yeah? Maybe this will make you believe.”
Stella jumped back into Mac as Aiden’s hand passed right through her face, with nothing but a faint misty coolness lingering behind. No solid feel of flesh and bone, or warmth of moving blood, just the cool touch of the dead.
“Claire,” Mac said faintly.
Aiden blinked and stepped back. “Listen,” she said, “something’s wrong here. All the ghosts in New York are walking, and most of them shouldn’t be.”
“Ghosts,” Mac repeated.
“‘Most of them?’” Stella said.
Aiden ran a hand through her black hair. “There are ghosts,” she said flatly. “Okay? Ghosts. There are the sleeping ghosts and the walking ghosts. The sleeping ghosts are the ones that shouldn’t be walking. They shouldn’t be ghosts, they should be in Heaven or Hell or wherever. The walking ghosts are the ones that haunt places or people. Your vic in there, Gwendolyn Erlion? She screwed that up.” She pointed over her shoulder. “See?”
Stella blinked and followed Aiden’s finger. There was an old woman walking down the street, her face and clothes riddled with blood, the edges of her body shimmering faintly in the fading October sunlight. Going the other way on the opposite side of the street was a dapper Mafioso, black hair sleek and combed back, head tucked calmly under his arm as he strolled away.
“Neil?” Danny gasped, and Mac and Stella flung themselves around.
Danny and Flack were standing just outside the police tape, gaping.
Happy Halloween!
Author:
bedlamsbardFandom: CSI: NY
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: On All Hallows' Eve, the boundary between the worlds is thing - and the ghosts are walking.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Author's Notes: This story takes place in an AU universe that breaks off from canon after Season One. In this universe, Danny and Flack are in an established relationship, Mac and Stella were on and on-and-off relationship, and Danny is the nephew and heir to the Constantine Family, part of the Six Families of the Mafia Commission. The previous stories in this universe, Snafu, New York Minute, Black Monday, Omerta, Habeus Corpus, and Bloody Sunday, are recommended but not necessarily required for reading.
Warning: This story contains spoilers for Bloody Sunday. Do not read if you want to remain unspoiled.
It was October by the time the lab had settled back down to something like a shadow of its former self. Injuries healed, blood scrubbed away, positions retaken and reaffirmed, but the ghosts remained. Odd, empty pauses in the midst of conversation, when someone waited too long for the dead to reply. Lindsay skulked around with the wary half-defiance of someone who knew she was and wrong and refused to admit it, while Hawkes bit his lip and glared at Mac whenever he turned his back. Flack bitched and moaned about getting shot again, and yet always fell silent whenever he saw the elevator. It had been completely replaced, and yet a phantom stink of blood and terror remained, sunk into the walls and floor like wiseguys into the Hudson. I am death, it seemed to say. And I will not leave here.
Danny never took that elevator, not even if he had to wait an hour for the other elevator to come up. If it was that important, he’d take the stairs. And he never, ever got in an elevator with a suspect, alone or otherwise.
Even Mac, the unflappable, had changed. Loosened up, maybe; more forgiving, perhaps. Lindsay wasn’t fired the day she got back. Royally chewed out, yes, fired, no. And whatever it was she’d said to Mac during those thirty minutes in his office had struck him to the bone.
Danny heard the rumors. Murderer, she called him.
In the shattered wake of the storm, the lab balanced more tenuously than Danny would ever have thought possible in the days before. A shadow-stain of blood remained on the tile of the floor that no amount of scrubbing erased, just like the stain on the lab’s reputation. Traitors, the beat cops said, and murderers. Turncoats. Sold their badges for the sake of make-believe justice.
Cursed.
That stain wouldn’t go away, not for years.
*
“All Hallows’ Eve, Mac,” Stella said playfully, trailing him down the hall. “Halloween. Come on. It’d be fun.” Unspoken: we need some of that.
Too much terror, too much strain and death, so that the ghosts of it remained even months later.
“I don’t think a Halloween party is a very appropriate thing to spend department money on,” Mac said. He didn’t glanced at her, just kept walking straight down the hall like he was alone.
“With costumes,” Stella added, biting her lip and trying not to notice that Mac flinched away from her when they stepped aside for a passing lab tech. Zack had his head down and was moving fast, file folder clutched in one hand. Hawkes and Lindsay’s case, or maybe Danny and Flack’s. The lab seemed to operate autonomous of itself now, six tiny planets revolving warily around the shadowed sun of the NYPD’s shame.
“The brass aren’t exactly free with their money,” Mac said. He paused at the door to the tox lab. “They’ve refused my request to hire a new CSI twice now. They’ll laugh at me if I ask for funding to hold a Halloween party.”
Stella prudently ignored the fact that they were operating with more CSIs than they’d ever had before, and that Robbery-Homicide had managed just fine when all six crime scene detectives had been out of commission. “Call it a bonding exercise, and tell them that it’s part of that therapy they’ve been trying to get us to go to for the past six months. Come on. I’ll bring baklava.”
“Stella, I don’t think –”
A shriek tore through the lab.
Stella and Mac had their guns out and in front of them before the scream died away.
“Lindsay,” Stella said, bouncing forward on the balls of her feet.
Mac nodded shortly, moving down the hallway with his gun sweeping in front of him. “The lobby,” he added.
Ice arched through Stella’s veins, coalescing into cold resolve at the back of her spine. “You don’t think –?”
*
“The hell?” Flack demanded, throwing open the door of the office he and Danny shared. Behind him, Danny bounced up from his desk, fingers twisting nervously in air. “Some’a us are tryin’ to fuckin’ work here, Monroe! Save the screaming for when someone’s dying, arready!”
Lindsay glanced up from where she was sitting on the lobby floor. “Yeah, because I did that on purpose.” She looked shaken.
Mac, looking disgusted, holstered his gun. “I think you have work to do,” he told the wide-eyed lab techs that had gathered in the halls around the lobby.
“Well, actually –” Zack said, poking his head out from behind Flack.
Flack reached out without looking and shoved him back into the office. “You got a reason for tryin’ to bring the house down, Monroe, or you just like the attention?”
Hawkes leaned over his partner to give her a hand up. “Are you all right, Lindsay?”
Lindsay brushed off the seat of her pants and glanced up at Mac, ferocious entreaty in her eyes. “I saw her,” she said. “I did. I know I only knew her for a few days, but I remember her. Her face is on the wall.”
Flack’s eyes flickered toward the wall opposite his office. There was only one picture on the wall there – CSU had only ever lost one person in line of duty.
Danny bristled like an angry hedgehog. “Aiden’s dead,” he spat. “Keep your dumb Midwestern jokes to yourself, Monroe, they ain’t funny here in the big city. This is New York, not whatever two-person hicktown it was that kicked you out.”
“You think I think losing someone’s funny?” Lindsay demanded, looking furious. “I’m not lying. I saw her.”
Zack muttered something under his breath that was echoed by the remaining lab techs. Stella swung around at them. “What did you say?”
Jane stepped forward, twisting her fingers nervously in the fabric of her lab coat. “It’s not just Lindsay,” she said, British voice rich and mellifluous. “We’ve all seen her – Detective Burn.”
Mac’s jaw worked silently for a moment, then he turned to face the lab, one hand beating
frantically against his thigh like a trapped pigeon. “You’re people of science,” he said. “Aiden Burn is dead. Dead. She died right here, and all of you saw it.”
Danny let out a small choked noise that caught in the back of his throat.
“She’s dead, and she isn’t coming back,” Mac practically snarled. “Not dead, not alive. Have enough respect for a fallen warrior to shut your mouths on the sort of dumb gossip that’s only good for rookie baiting. The next person who claims they’ve seen Aiden is going out that door.” He pointed at the elevator. “And they’re not coming back.”
*
“Gwendolyn Erlion,” Flack said, eyes flicking nervously toward the door. He glanced hastily back at Mac and Stella; Danny was hovering just inside the crime tape behind him with his arms crossed. “Funny thing is, none’a the neighbors say she was much of a Satanist. Not much of a Christian either, but no Devil-worshipper.”
“What does her religion have to do with anything?” Mac demanded.
Danny snorted. “Man, Mac, you seen this scene? It wouldn’ leave you any doubts about what it’s gotta do with anythin’. So far we got five types of blood here an’ only one’a them’s human.” He stepped aside.
Mac and Stella peered over Flack’s shoulder. “Is that a rabbit?” Stella said. “Where the hell do you find a rabbit in New York? The snake I get, and the dog, obviously, but the rabbit? And the deer? This is New York, not Rochester.”
Mac looked like he’d seen someone butcher a baby in front of him and blessed himself so quickly he probably wasn’t aware he’d done it. “Holy God,” he murmured, Chicago twang coming out so strong Stella blinked and looked at him.
“Mac? You all right?” Her voice was worried, but her face said clearly, we’ve seen worse than this. What’s wrong with you?
Danny took perverse pleasure in the nonchalance with which he said, “We also have the murder weapon.”
“Fancy silver dagger with some big red stones in the hilt,” Flack said promptly, flat lines of his face etching a scowl. “Blood all over it. At least some’a the stuff’s human.”
Mac looked unhappy. “You’ve already processed the scene?”
Flack snorted. “We’ve been here two hours. I’d be ashamed if we hadn’t.”
“Flack, you’re not a CSI. You’re not supposed to –”
“What, was all that fancy training and Mob money for nothin’, then?”
Mac flushed an angry crimson. “It was a large monetary donation to the lab from an anonymous source following the Coppola affair. Any rumors about where it came from are simply that, rumors.”
“Oh, should I say Taylor money, then?”
The crimson blanched white. “That was thanks from Justice Hamilton Taylor of the State of Illinois for clearing his name in the Jacqueline Shaw murder. If you can link that to the Mafia, Flack, then –”
Danny arched his eyebrows. “Who’d wanna go doin’ a thing like that? Taylors wouldn’t be Commission anyway, they’d be Outfit.” Under his breath: “Crazy fuckers.”
Doggedly, Mac said, “Flack, you’re not qualified to process a scene. You’re not CSU – you’re Homicide. I hope you at least got witness interviews done –”
Flack leaned forward. “You tellin’ me these aren’t my people, Taylor? You tellin’ me that I don’t deserve to be here, that I haven’t put in my time same as you, huh? Because if you are, I’ll take you up on that right here and now.”
“You are not qualified,” Mac scowled. “If the defense were to learn that an unqualified Homicide detective had processed the scene, that could call our entire testimony into question. It would significantly influence the decision of a jury, should Gwendolyn Erlion’s murder come to trial.” He paused. “It is a murder?”
Flack shrugged. “Could be a suicide, I guess, but the knife wasn’t in her hand. Was across the room, actually. Unless she cut her own throat and threw the knife across the room – and since I’m not an expert, I won’t rule that out – we’re lookin’ at it as a homicide.”
“Plus there’s multiple prints on it,” Danny said. “Haven’t ran ‘em yet – we ain’t Vegas, we don’t got a traveling lab – but from an eyeball look, they ain’t from the same person. And I’d look at Gwendolyn Erlion’s hands, only they got blood all over them, and that makes it kinda hard to see the prints.” He shrugged. “’sides, I’ve never been all that great with on the spot ID. That was always –” he paused. “Never mind. You takin’ over this scene or not? Flack and I are gettin’ reassigned, huh, what with you and Stel showing up?”
Stella stirred briefly, half-hearted disdain burgeoning in her eyes. “We were in the neighborhood, thought we’d drop by,” she said dryly. “You have a problem with it, Danny?”
“Nothin’. Just that it’s our case, ya know? Don’t like the big boys – sorry, Stel – budging in, actin’ like it’s theirs to poke around in.”
“I am your boss,” Mac said pointedly.
Danny acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “Yeah, but you’re a detective just like the rest of us. Only a little higher ranking now, what with the promotions. Case ya don’t remember, IAB took your shiny lieutenant’s badge away. Or so says rumor; all I remember’s you tryin’ to pretend like you never had one in the first place.”
Mac blanched white. “Danny, that’s inappropriate –” he started to say and then stopped, staring over Danny’s shoulder.
Danny twisted around. “What? I got something on my face?” He heard the quick beat of footsteps on carpet.
When he turned back, Mac was gone, and he caught the tail end of Stella’s curls as she followed him.
*
“Mac!” Stella caught up with him outside Gwendolyn Erlion’s Village apartment. “Mac, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He turned away from her, head resting against the old brick wall. “I saw her,” he mumbled. “I saw –”
“Saw who, Mac?” Stella demanded, catching him by the shoulders. “There was no one in that crime scene besides you, me, Danny, and Flack.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “Did you see – Aiden?”
Mac jerked beneath her hands, but didn't turn toward her. “No,” he said in a low voice. Almost inaudibly: “I saw Claire.”
Stella flinched as if he’d shot her. “Claire’s dead,” she said, more harshly than she meant. Softer, belatedly, she added, “That’s impossible, Mac. Claire’s – you know she’s dead. You know.”
“I know,” he repeated. “Damn it, Stella, I know. But – I saw her.”
“Mac, Danny and Flack had that scene for two hours before we got there. No one was there besides us. There can’t have been anyone there.”
“I know that,” he said. He turned back towards her, looking young and lost. Startlingly so; for a terrifying moment, Stella caught sight of the eighteen-year-old Marine recruit he must have been years ago. “Stella –”
“Stella?”
She knew that voice. Stella flung herself around, hand scrabbling for the gun at her waist. “Jesus!”
Aiden stepped back with her hands up. “Christ, Stella, it’s me. Put that thing away, already!”
“You’re dead,” Stella said shakily. She didn’t put her gun away, just kept it pointed at the center of Aiden’s face. Not that it could be Aiden; Aiden was dead. Stella didn’t believe in ghosts, never had. Sister Carolina at St. Basil’s had, though, and she’d sworn she’d seen them.
“Stella?” Mac asked. “Are you seeing what –”
“You’re not Aiden,” Stella said coldly. “Aiden Burn is dead.”
“I am Aiden Burn,” the not-Aiden said. “And I’m dead.”
“I don’t know what kind of dumb prank this is,” Mac said, drawing back what remnants of his dignity he had left and letting his fingers brush meaningfully against the gun in his holster, “but it’s a bad one. You’re impersonating a police officer – that’s a crime. I advise you get out of here before you’re arrested.”
“There’s no friggin’ impersonation going on here,” she snapped. “I’m Aiden Burn. And I’m dead. I died in your arms, Mac.”
Stella twisted around to see Mac jerk back like he’d been slapped. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” he said, lips drawing together.
Aiden reached out toward them. “Oh, yeah? Maybe this will make you believe.”
Stella jumped back into Mac as Aiden’s hand passed right through her face, with nothing but a faint misty coolness lingering behind. No solid feel of flesh and bone, or warmth of moving blood, just the cool touch of the dead.
“Claire,” Mac said faintly.
Aiden blinked and stepped back. “Listen,” she said, “something’s wrong here. All the ghosts in New York are walking, and most of them shouldn’t be.”
“Ghosts,” Mac repeated.
“‘Most of them?’” Stella said.
Aiden ran a hand through her black hair. “There are ghosts,” she said flatly. “Okay? Ghosts. There are the sleeping ghosts and the walking ghosts. The sleeping ghosts are the ones that shouldn’t be walking. They shouldn’t be ghosts, they should be in Heaven or Hell or wherever. The walking ghosts are the ones that haunt places or people. Your vic in there, Gwendolyn Erlion? She screwed that up.” She pointed over her shoulder. “See?”
Stella blinked and followed Aiden’s finger. There was an old woman walking down the street, her face and clothes riddled with blood, the edges of her body shimmering faintly in the fading October sunlight. Going the other way on the opposite side of the street was a dapper Mafioso, black hair sleek and combed back, head tucked calmly under his arm as he strolled away.
“Neil?” Danny gasped, and Mac and Stella flung themselves around.
Danny and Flack were standing just outside the police tape, gaping.
Happy Halloween!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-01 05:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-02 01:59 am (UTC)Anything in specific you liked? *fishes for feedback*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-02 02:07 am (UTC)It's very very good.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-02 03:24 am (UTC)Aiden? Rocks. Even though she's dead. Actually, more so now that she's dead, because people can't write weird dead!Aiden/Danny porn. Even though she's not dead in canon.
How the whole thing is funny and hurting, that kind of morbid, slightly tilted madness kinda... thing.
Exactly! That was exactly what I was trying to get at. Everything's - about to break, like walking on thin ice. There's just so much freaking tension after the events of Bloody Sunday that everything's threatening to fall apart. Like - Mac is very much not going to touch Stella if he can avoid it. It's been about three-fourths of year since everything went to hell and the echoes, the ghosts, are still there. Everyone's about to break.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-02 03:34 am (UTC)*checks his comment* Right. *Neil*. Because I swear I can spell. *facepalm*. Sorry. I love that he's just chillin' with his head under his arm. Guy's got a set of balls, however ephemeral.
Actually, more so now that she's dead, because people can't write weird dead!Aiden/Danny porn. Even though she's not dead in canon.
Dear CBS: when are you going to show a necrophilia episode? That's a felony, too!Like - Mac is very much not going to touch Stella if he can avoid it. It's been about three-fourths of year since everything went to hell and the echoes, the ghosts, are still there. Everyone's about to break.
Right, and there's something of that mad laughter in it. Something's funny but you *know* you're fucked, or you're laughing because you *are* and the only part of you that knows is your heart and. Or something. It's good, as I said.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-02 03:40 am (UTC)*snort* And then he sees Danny and he's all, "Oh, hey, Val, how've you been?" with his head still under his arm. "Wait, you're not Val," and he tucks his head back on.
These Mob types, ya know.
Dear CBS: when are you going to show a necrophilia episode? That's a felony, too!DO IT, CBS! We'll support you! Besides, we just want to see Danny and Mac deal with something like that.Right, and there's something of that mad laughter in it. Something's funny but you *know* you're fucked, or you're laughing because you *are* and the only part of you that knows is your heart and. Or something. It's good, as I said.
Right. It's a mad world. There's nothing sane anymore - everything's about to get crazier and to hell with it, you've got nothing left to lose anyway. What are they going to do? Fire you? That's nothing, compared to what our boys and girls have been through. There's nothing you can do but laugh.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-02 03:53 am (UTC)You have to admit, he's got his head screwed on straight.
Besides, we just want to see Danny and Mac deal with something like that.
Mac would probably fucking *wet* himself. Danny... would have the decency to go vomit in a dumpster and then rant to Stella.
Hell *yes* I petition for a necrophilia ep!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-03 03:44 am (UTC)*snortcacklescandalizedlaughter*
Mac would probably fucking *wet* himself. Danny... would have the decency to go vomit in a dumpster and then rant to Stella.
Hell *yes* I petition for a necrophilia ep!
Unfortunately, CBS probably doesn't have the balls to do that. Maybe on Vegas -- but not on New York. What, they're trying for "family friendly" or something lately?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-03 04:39 am (UTC)I plead the *halo*.
Unfortunately, CBS probably doesn't have the balls to do that. Maybe on Vegas -- but not on New York. What, they're trying for "family friendly" or something lately?
If they want "family friendly", they can have a child murder in "Build a Bear". *scowls at TV*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 12:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 01:10 am (UTC)... well, maybe not *ever*.
But I'd still watch it. Totally.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 02:14 am (UTC)Dude, that'd be hilarious.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 02:40 am (UTC)Death by stuffing. Or put one of those little hearts into the kid's throat. It'd be cute. Dead in the pile of stuffing! All the shrieking. And Danny would like, implode. And Mac would be all studious and why-am-I-here.
And Stella would kill someone.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 03:51 am (UTC)Death by stuffing. Or put one of those little hearts into the kid's throat. It'd be cute. Dead in the pile of stuffing! All the shrieking.
You do realize it's the 'cute' part that's disturbing me here?
(My friend Kelli went to Build-A-Bear in Disney Town and got a bear in a spiderman suit and white underwear. It was pretty awesome.)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 05:10 am (UTC)Come on, it's ... they could make it SOOOOO much better than that Miami ep with the molested kid at the indoor park. Really. Especially because oh-my-fuck the family issues on this show.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-02 06:23 am (UTC)And the ghostly elements are really well-done, too.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-03 04:08 am (UTC)Yes! That's exactly what I was trying to get across. They're so frickin' screwed it's not even funny. Mac is getting blamed for a lot of stuff - it may not be his fault, but he definitely went overboard. I'm not sure if it works without knowing what happened in Bloody Sunday, since that's where most of the tension comes from, but... And yes, he is pushing away Stella, and it's pissing her off. And scaring her, because as far as they got - she's lost him now. Completely.
Yay ghosts!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 04:06 am (UTC)Still, I'll second the Yay ghosts! sentiment.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 02:11 am (UTC)