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16 January 2009 @ 06:30 am
Theatrical Muse: Week 262: Question 262  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 858


Lines. (Lines in the sand, waiting in line, pickup lines...whatever your little heart desires.)


He saw a bit of it from where he was, perched up in a building, meeting someone, continuing with his daily life, as normal as it could get. He saw a bit of the plane flash by from a glass window, closer and lower than it ought to have been, and he recognised what it was within seconds, arching his neck to continue trying to see it. Sid couldn’t help it, but terrible memories filled his head then, painful memories of death and destruction, and he wondered who and why and how, briefly struggling with the idea that it might be happening again, and how. He wondered in that elusive frozen moment of time, whether it would turn, whether it could happen all over again.

He couldn’t get any nearer when he first tried, because people were swarming now, but he pointed someone helpful in the right direction. Someone else recognised him though, and he was pulled along, a familiar face with useful hands. He played a minor role in the scheme of things, got something from an ambulance, got a few things from somewhere else, listened to people talking, yelling, conversing, tried to help out, tried to, sort things out, do what he could. The ME looked mildly stricken, but so did everyone else who was aware of any sliver of what was happening. The man wondered how many other people had considered the possibility of the crash like he had first thought. Or was that too grim for a man who examined the dead and uncovered their secrets for a living? Would there be people in that plane who would be looked over by people like him?

An impromptu voice raised itself in his head later, as he headed towards the morgue, towards the building where he worked, hoping to find Mac. Fishing out his phone, he messaged the man and made his way to the grave of his wife, of his sons. He was slightly wet in places; he had touched one of them briefly in passing, a milling part of the helpful crowd. He smiled vaguely at the headstones, fingers tapping absently against his legs in something that was closer to unreasonable fear, than it was to making clear sense in his head. His foot scuffed the dirt underneath it as he stood, pacing slightly from grave to grave in a slow, awkward amble.

Sid looked at the line in the dirt, the marred soil, a few remnants clinging to his shoe, and he brushed it on the grass. He addressed the graves in a low voice, a solitary voice, while he stood all alone, wondering whether the visions that sometimes took to haunting his sleep would be back again that night.

“A plane crashed into the Hudson today.”

There was a pause, a stop of words and he breathed, wondering why it actually troubled him, if no one was hurt. Or did his innards turn because it reminded him of something he thought he was managing well with?

“No one was killed.”

His face crinkled fondly at this. Was this atonement in any form, for the horrific circumstances of the past? Was it even comparable? If it had happened elsewhere, if the plane had been elsewhere, been successful in landing in water, somewhere else, would the comparison even be brought up?

Sid Hammerback sighed, finally overwhelmed by the day, by the rushing, fleeting circumstances and emotions, and wondered if he could have done more, if he had been meant to do more instead of just touching the miracle at the heels. All the thoughts thudded at him, dum, dum, dum, dum, ta ra, ta ra, ta ra, not a headache, but an influx of just much. Too many memories, too many possibilities, too much pain, too much joy at it not having happened again.


At home, he sat back on the couch and phoned up Mac, smiling as they talked, exchanging information, briefly touching on the possibilities of what could have been, and how it reminded them on the past. Illuminated so briefly that day were all the lines into the past, all those things and those chances that had come true, had been taken. A plane in a river was a big thing, but he was thankful at the end of it all, immensely thankful, that it hadn’t been more, that it hadn’t been any different at all. He didn’t have anything to lose that day, and surely there hadn’t been anything lost, not in terms of life at least, but it scared him still. Just the thought and the circumstance, and the fact that it could have gone so horribly, horribly wrong.


In the line for a newspaper the next day, he smiled at the story covering the accident, smiled at the picture, finding himself grateful that the accident had been, what it had been. Even if he had not slept much that night just passed, he would continue, and everyone else tied into that event, no matter how big or small, they could continue too, making their own lines into the future, the lines of their past falling behind them.
 
 
Current Mood: gratefulgrateful
Current Music: The Time Warp - The Rocky Horror Picture Show