Your Song CSINY Mac/Claire FRC

[taylorgibbs]

 Title: Your Song
Author: Bree
E-mail: TaylorGibbs@gmail.com
Rating: FRC
Pairings: Mac Taylor, Claire Taylor
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, but I sure do like to play with ‘em ;)

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.  The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise.  No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Mac tries to get close to Claire.

Type your cut contents here.

“Hi, Claire.”

 

It was near four in the morning and my voice echoed out beyond the fence, across the vastness that was the place of your murder. I come here to think but a lot of the time I come here to be close to you.

 

I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately. Since Petyon, well, dumped me. I knew the relationship could never work. Peyton suffered from one major flaw. She wasn’t you. My pride is hurt but on some level I’m relieved. I was in love with the idea of being in love again, but looking back, Peyton wasn’t the one.

 

Nobody can be you, and I know that. I think I’m making peace with it. I could be content with someone else, but I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love again. When you died, a big part of my heart did as well.

 

I think the worst of it is that we wasted so much time. Married only eight years. Remember that last night? You had something to tell me and I blew it. I was working on a hot case, asked you to keep dinner warm. You were sound asleep when I got in at eleven. I woke you up, kissed you, promised to take you out to dinner the next night.

 

That next night, you were gone and I was frantically searching for you. But I knew. We had such a bond that when you died, I knew it in my soul.

 

What I didn’t know then was that you were six weeks pregnant. Your doctor called a month later, hesitantly asking me how you were. I got the idea she’d been doing that a lot, treading carefully, finding out patients had died. When I told her you were gone, she said you were nine weeks along. Nine weeks. After six years of trying, we were finally expecting a baby. And I never got to share that with you.

 

And instead of spending your last night on Earth celebrating the miracle of life, I was at work. Stupid and selfish. If I could just apologize to you, I would. And to our unborn baby.

 

The word “widower” still sounds foreign to me. I stopped wearing my wedding ring for a while, but it is back on now. I always felt wrong with my left hand empty, as if I was betraying you.

 

I come down here to feel close to you. Your presence is still all over this place, Claire. I can almost smell that expensive perfume, the one that smelled like cocoa. I can almost hear your voice, feel your arms around me. I buried my head in your pillow every night until your scent disappeared and that damn beach ball? I emptied it into my mouth, bringing your breath into me. I want to hold on to you.

 

God, I miss you.

 

I miss your cooking, even when you’d burn soup. I miss you trying on three outfits before settling on one. I miss the way certain commercials would make you tear up. I miss the way you’d tease me about my Cubs and I’d tease you about your Yankees. I miss the giggly, tipsy woman who came home after the nights out with the girls. I miss the way you’d be so annoyed when I woke you up too early on the weekend. I miss the way you made me feel alive.

 

You were a whirlwind, coming into my life when I wasn’t expecting a relationship. You swept me away, your emotions and enthusiasm. I fell completely and totally in love with you.

 

And now I love you even more. Time is supposed to heal, but as I go through life, I miss you more and more. Our little boy or girl would be in school now. I’d like to think you would have gone to part time work. There would be a reason for me to come home every night instead of sleeping in my chair in the office.

 

Do you know what I miss the most? The feel of your arms and the sound of your voice. You always talked, about everything, a lot. One word would never do when a sentence could. One sentence would never do when a paragraph could.

 

And you used to sing all the time. Singing to the radio, singing in the shower, singing when you cooked. Your words and your laughter became your song in my life. I miss your song.

 

I closed my eyes, leaning against the fence, gripping it lightly. I was so tired. I must have fallen asleep for a couple of hours. When I woke up, the sun was streaming over me and I felt a little lighter. I’d made it through another night. Claire, why are the nights so hard?

 

A soft trill drew my eye to a tiny bird perched on my shoulder. I had no idea how long it had been there, but it seemed at home. And it had eyes just as unique as yours, aqua, sparkling. This particular bird visited me every time I was here, night or day.

 

I could swear I heard your voice as it began singing, chattering excitedly.

 

Singing your song.