Fic: "Build That Wall" (Mac/Jack, PG)
Fandom: CSI: NY
Title: Build That Wall
Author: gin200168
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mac Taylor/Jack Abernathy
Summary: Names can be used for many things.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Property of Jerry Bruckheimer, Alliance Atlantis, CBS, etc. Jack Abernathy is the creation of stellaluna_, and first came into existence in her story "Light from a Dead Star" and decided to take up permanent residence in my head.
A/N: stellaluna_ gets assistance credit as usual.
Abernathy's breath, stinging sour with the smell of whiskey, coils into Mac's nose and burns like it does going down.
"Sure, my name ain't no more real than yours Mac. These," Abernathy says, arm resting heavily across Mac's shoulder and toying with his dogtags, making them tap slow, gentle patterns against his chest. "Sure as hell don't say Mac on them any more than mine say Jack, but I don't use it like a goddamn shield of words."
"You, you picked yours-- what you were gonna be to the rest of the world-- and I just ended up with mine. Always have been Jack since I can remember; we had enough Johns runnin' around Metarie, and I would bet that it wasn't that way with you. Another extra wall to hide behind, another reason for us all not to know who you really are back there." Abernathy taps on the side of Mac's head with his finger a bit harder than he expects. It hurts a bit, more annoying than anything else, and he resists the urge to swat it away.
"The Marines don't care about all this social bullshit," he drawls, leaning even closer, now resting against Mac's back. "The names and politeness and shit. All they stamp on that metal is what your name is to God, the one on your papers and all the proper shit. They don't give a rat's ass what it is or if you like it or even answer to it." All they care about is what they're gonna have to carve on your headstone, and even then, that's gonna be what you carry around your neck, nothin' more, nothin' less." Abernathy's fingers tangle in the chain again, and this time it digs into the side of Mac's neck, tiny metal beads pinching the skin.
Abernathy shifts forward, and Mac can see him in his peripheral vision, inching forward and looking right at him. "So how is it then, that you decide to use even that bit against the world? To hide behind words, which even you know can be just as dangerous as the bullets we're supposed to dodge?" Mac can feel Abernathy's breath tickling his ear, he's moved in so close. "You can't turn it on me," he whispers, almost too quiet for Mac to hear. "'Cause I never made that choice to make it a weapon. I never even made the choice to use it, really."
He doesn't know how to answer, afraid that between the alcohol and the argument any answer he could make would just fall flat. Behind the good ol' boy behavior, Abernathy hides a sharp mind, biting wit and seething temper that can make him particularly dangerous if provoked. Mac pauses and wonders if he's the only one who really has a clue who Jack Abernathy really is... God knows Abernathy knows more about him than the rest of them would ever know.
"Figures," Abernathy huffs, anger edging into annoyance. "Not going to answer cause you don't know how to dig yourself out of this one with those words of yours you love so much, so silence will have to do, right? The silence can build the walls, the distance for you." Abernathy's hand has moved farther down, pressing the cool metal of Mac's tags against his chest, heat from his hand a sharp contrast around the edges of the cool metal.
He feels the rush of air against his cheek as Abernathy takes a deep breath. "Look, I know what it says, Chicago. I've seen them plenty of times. I'm not gonna go telling the world... yet. Maybe if you piss me off enough one day, but not now." Abernathy slowly curls and stretches his fingers where they lay, drawing soft, small lines over the thin skin of Mac's breastbone.
He feels himself relaxing into the touch despite himself, subtly leaning toward Abernathy's caress and angling his head towards Abernathy's, although he can't bring himself to look him the eyes right now. Abernathy leans in closer, and Mac can feel the heat radiating from his body, the burning in the pit of his stomach returning but different now.
Abernathy leans in the last remaining bit and kisses him lightly on the edge of the mouth. Mac turns his head to meet him the rest of the way, and the kiss deepens. It's not conciliatory, not pillaging, not overtly aggressive. For a while, it just is, and as much as it calms it shakes him as much as if Abernathy had sat there and whispered his name over and over like a mantra in his ear.
Fin
9/07
Feedback always welcome.
Link to all of my stories
Title: Build That Wall
Author: gin200168
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mac Taylor/Jack Abernathy
Summary: Names can be used for many things.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Property of Jerry Bruckheimer, Alliance Atlantis, CBS, etc. Jack Abernathy is the creation of stellaluna_, and first came into existence in her story "Light from a Dead Star" and decided to take up permanent residence in my head.
A/N: stellaluna_ gets assistance credit as usual.
Abernathy's breath, stinging sour with the smell of whiskey, coils into Mac's nose and burns like it does going down.
"Sure, my name ain't no more real than yours Mac. These," Abernathy says, arm resting heavily across Mac's shoulder and toying with his dogtags, making them tap slow, gentle patterns against his chest. "Sure as hell don't say Mac on them any more than mine say Jack, but I don't use it like a goddamn shield of words."
"You, you picked yours-- what you were gonna be to the rest of the world-- and I just ended up with mine. Always have been Jack since I can remember; we had enough Johns runnin' around Metarie, and I would bet that it wasn't that way with you. Another extra wall to hide behind, another reason for us all not to know who you really are back there." Abernathy taps on the side of Mac's head with his finger a bit harder than he expects. It hurts a bit, more annoying than anything else, and he resists the urge to swat it away.
"The Marines don't care about all this social bullshit," he drawls, leaning even closer, now resting against Mac's back. "The names and politeness and shit. All they stamp on that metal is what your name is to God, the one on your papers and all the proper shit. They don't give a rat's ass what it is or if you like it or even answer to it." All they care about is what they're gonna have to carve on your headstone, and even then, that's gonna be what you carry around your neck, nothin' more, nothin' less." Abernathy's fingers tangle in the chain again, and this time it digs into the side of Mac's neck, tiny metal beads pinching the skin.
Abernathy shifts forward, and Mac can see him in his peripheral vision, inching forward and looking right at him. "So how is it then, that you decide to use even that bit against the world? To hide behind words, which even you know can be just as dangerous as the bullets we're supposed to dodge?" Mac can feel Abernathy's breath tickling his ear, he's moved in so close. "You can't turn it on me," he whispers, almost too quiet for Mac to hear. "'Cause I never made that choice to make it a weapon. I never even made the choice to use it, really."
He doesn't know how to answer, afraid that between the alcohol and the argument any answer he could make would just fall flat. Behind the good ol' boy behavior, Abernathy hides a sharp mind, biting wit and seething temper that can make him particularly dangerous if provoked. Mac pauses and wonders if he's the only one who really has a clue who Jack Abernathy really is... God knows Abernathy knows more about him than the rest of them would ever know.
"Figures," Abernathy huffs, anger edging into annoyance. "Not going to answer cause you don't know how to dig yourself out of this one with those words of yours you love so much, so silence will have to do, right? The silence can build the walls, the distance for you." Abernathy's hand has moved farther down, pressing the cool metal of Mac's tags against his chest, heat from his hand a sharp contrast around the edges of the cool metal.
He feels the rush of air against his cheek as Abernathy takes a deep breath. "Look, I know what it says, Chicago. I've seen them plenty of times. I'm not gonna go telling the world... yet. Maybe if you piss me off enough one day, but not now." Abernathy slowly curls and stretches his fingers where they lay, drawing soft, small lines over the thin skin of Mac's breastbone.
He feels himself relaxing into the touch despite himself, subtly leaning toward Abernathy's caress and angling his head towards Abernathy's, although he can't bring himself to look him the eyes right now. Abernathy leans in closer, and Mac can feel the heat radiating from his body, the burning in the pit of his stomach returning but different now.
Abernathy leans in the last remaining bit and kisses him lightly on the edge of the mouth. Mac turns his head to meet him the rest of the way, and the kiss deepens. It's not conciliatory, not pillaging, not overtly aggressive. For a while, it just is, and as much as it calms it shakes him as much as if Abernathy had sat there and whispered his name over and over like a mantra in his ear.
Fin
9/07
Feedback always welcome.
Link to all of my stories