So this was originally going to be a oneshot, but I'm already on 11 pages in word and it's still not near being finished, so I'm changing the length to two chapters. This is basically my take on what happens after 'Pay Up', so obviously the ending will be up before September 23rd.

DISCLAIMER - CSI: NY and all related characters are the sole property of CBS, Anthony E. Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer, etc. Nothing mentioned below is mine.

.:Death Defying, Gratifying:.

He hated this feeling. He hated this feeling of helplessness, this feeling of being trapped. He tried opening his eyes and only got blackness in return. He tried speaking but found his throat close instantly. He tried to move but felt as though he was being restrained. He tried breathing but could only manage a sharp panicked breath in return.

He tried living but felt as though he fell short on that activity as well.

For how long he had been in this comatose-like state he didn't know. All he was sure of at this point was that he was damn tired of the color black.

When he had first entered his current juncture, he had been startled to see Death waiting for him; His long black cloak blowing in the absent wind behind him, His hood pulled up over His head to cover the skeletal face. The scythe He carried glinted in the non-existent light and seemed to beckon him closer into Death's waiting arms.

Though he wasn't exactly sure of the events that brought him here, he was sure that he had something to get back to- something worth staying alive for. Someone was anticipating his comeback.

There was a flash, and a woman's face appeared before his shut eyes – locked from the outside world. Her face wore a pained expression, green eyes glazed over with tears, a hand running through a mop of curls that framed her well defined face. Others stood behind her, though their complexions were blurred.

Another flash and the image dissipated. He looked to Death to see if He was just playing tricks with his mind, or if that had in fact been real; a thing happening in a different world.

All he got for an answer was a feeling of emptiness.

Time passed as he tried to re-summon the image to his mind, make it stay to possibly learn why he was here. In a matter of minutes, however, his energy was spent and he found himself struggling to breathe.

Death reached out His hand.

"Come," the hollow voice resounded throughout the empty space. "Your time is done."

He shook his head. "No. I want to know what that image was. Why was that woman crying? What have I done?"

"Fool," Death responded. "You have done nothing but simply die. I have come to take your spirit to the afterlife."

Bull, he thought.

"I don't believe you," he replied. "If I was dead, I wouldn't be able to argue with you would I? I wouldn't have the will. I'd just be an empty shell void of any characteristics human beings possess while being alive. I'd be ready to comply with any of your demands. But I'm arguing with you aren't I?" He felt himself stare Death down in this alternate universe. "I'm not going anywhere."

He had defied many things in his lifetime – his boss, the advice of his friends, perhaps even the law on several occasions – however, defying Death was something he had been sure he would never do.

Death heaved out a great sigh.

"Your ignorance amuses me," Death said with a chuckle. "Must I explain things to you like you would a child?"

He gave nothing in response.

"Very well. You aren't exactly 'dead' per say, more like in that forsaken void between the world of the living and the land of the dead. You are, however, closer to being dead then you are to being alive. Your odds against pulling through and surviving aren't very good to be honest. It will be much easier if you just come along with me now and we shall avoid any struggle."

"And what if I don't?" he snapped back. "You just said I have a chance of pulling through, and no matter how slim it may be, I'm willing to take it."

Death remained quiet.

"Someone's out there waiting for me to come back to them. An image came to me a few moments ago that showed a woman crying. I recognized her and she's my best friend! Think of all the pain I'll cause her if I don't survive! Think of all the pain I've already brought upon her just by being here!"

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have been playing so close to the edge of death," Death replied coolly.

"I don't even remember what the hell happened! You're the God of death; you tell me how I got here!"

"The God of death I may be, but that doesn't mean I know how everyone dies."

He let out a groan of frustration. He didn't want to die, especially without even knowing how he died. What caused him to get in this state? He shut his eyes and thought. He thought back to a couple days ago; replayed each of them in his mind until he came across a day that went terribly wrong.

A faint image came up in his mind. He was standing in a wrecked diner – the woman from before no where to be found – with many people who were unrecognizable for the time being. He began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. There had been a shoot out earlier that morning in that diner. A woman had died; a woman that… worked for him? They spent the entire day chasing down those bastards until it all went down in an abandoned warehouse later that evening. The sick bastards responsible for the death of the girl that morning had finally gotten what they had coming.

Then it all hit him suddenly, the memories of the past hours played over and over in his head until he couldn't take it much longer.

Angell. That had been her name. Jessica Angell. She had been the newest recruit to the team. She had been the one shot down in the diner that day.

Then… later on, after the case was all wrapped up, the remaining members of the team had all gone down the street to a bar to celebrate her hard work done while she had been on the team and the influence she had had on all of them.

Then it happened. The event that had brought him to be in the comatose world…

---

She had been in the middle of her speech when the glass windows across the room exploded. He remembered so clearly the sound of bullets shattering glass before raining down on them. The sound of his co-workers terrified screams. He remembered looking out the demolished window and seeing a car stopped – a BMW, he thought it was – with some kind of gun hanging out the window, bullets spraying repeatedly from its barrel. He remembered seeing it turn toward the woman with curly hair – his best friend, he reminded himself.

Stella.

Finally he remembered. That was her name. The name that he always loved saying. The name he loved so much, just like the woman the name belonged to.

He felt his heart jump to his throat though as the gun was aimed at her. More bullets were released from the gun and he remembered from this point on, everything had slowed down to a sickening crawl.

He had screamed her name, the bullets nearing her with each second that ticked by. He had jumped from his position on the floor and collided into her, knocking her to the ground, out of range of the dangerous pieces of metal.

He remembered the splitting pain he then felt in his side. He remembered the feeling of metallic blood filling his mouth. He remembered Stella moving under him and screaming.

Then, the bullets stopped, the storm of glass ceased to exist, and the sound of tires screeching off into the distance died down.

The only sound he remembered hearing then was the sound of his name being called through a quiet voice choked with sobs.

"No… Mac…"

He remembered the feeling of her hand on his side, the sight of his blood staining her hand as well as the floor of the bar around him. He remembered looking up at her through hazy vision. Her face an exact replica to the face displayed in the image he had seen. Her hand was pressing into his side, desperately trying to get the blood leaving his system to stop. Her voice muttering his name the entire time.

"Why Mac, why?"

He tried responding to her words, but the only thing that left his mouth was blood. He remembered fading in and out of consciousness, her face being the only thing he was seeing.

"Mac hold on. Don't die on us – on me! Stay with me a bit longer!"

He remembered trying, really trying to hold on. He had known the risks of putting himself in the path way of a bullet meant for her. But, when he thought about it, he was glad it was him in this situation and not her. She had gone through so much lately. She deserved a break from this hellhole of a job.

He just didn't take into consideration then the pain he was causing her anyways by putting his life at risk.

One hand was still pressed tightly against his side, but the other one had now come to his head to cradle it lovingly in her lap. He felt a slight wetness on his face and it took him a moment to realize that it was tears he was feeling. Tears from her being produced because of him.

"Has somebody called an ambulance?!"

He heard her shout at their friends around them. He remembered hearing someone – he wasn't sure who – reply that one was on its way.

As he was lying there, on the brink of death in her arms, he tried to fathom who it had been in the car shooting at them just minutes ago. He gathered that it was probably those bastards at the Greek Embassy coming back for revenge for the loss of two of their members and the fact that the goods they had worked so hard to smuggle had been taken back by the NYPD. It was the only thing that made sense to why they had shot specifically at her. He had known from the start that getting in their business wouldn't have a good outcome. The trip to Greece had been nice, but he would've preferred going there when he wasn't chasing after his friend who had been at that time chasing after a lost cause.

He felt himself leaving fast. He continued to cough up blood, it being the only way to try and get even a bit of air to his weakening lungs. His eyes were starting to cloud over and they had long gone hazy, making everything disorientated.

Stella had looked back at him and patted his cheek.

"Don't leave us Mac. Just hang on a bit more. Please!"

That was the last coherent thing he heard before succumbing to the darkness pulling at his soul.

---

"Stella," he mumbled.

"Pardon?"

He looked to Death.

"She's the one I saw. My best friend. She's the one waiting for me. I need to get back to her. I need to let her know I'm not gone."

"Why do people always insist on living? Have you not seen the state this world is in? It's a mess, a complete mess. Why would you want to live in a world like that? It's a polluted wasteland filled with disgusting people," Death said.

"What's so great about dying? The land of death can't be much better. And besides, not all the people living are disgusting. What I don't understand is why people want to end their lives before their time is up. I can understand if you're upset with how you're living your life, or if someone you love has died, but ending your life isn't going to change what's happened. It won't fix your mistakes or bring that loved one back. And no matter what you think, chances are if you do wind up killing yourself, someone out there will be torn up over it. People don't think about that when they choose to end their lives or someone else's. I know I didn't when I tried to save my friend.

"And as for the world being a polluted wasteland; it may be, but I know I'd rather go on living with my friends in a messed up world rather than giving up on it ever changing by dying."

And as he awaited a response from Death, he let his words sink in. He really hadn't been thinking when he had pushed Stella out of the way; he just wanted to make sure she didn't get hurt.

"I think the next couple of days will be the hardest."

That was what she had said to him when they had left the lab that day to head over to the bar.

God, what had he done? She was already upset about Angell's death and now here he had gone and started dancing on the edge of death. He couldn't even imagine the pain she was going through right now. He didn't want to honestly.

Finally, Death let out another sigh and he found himself being pulled from his reverie.

"You humans are all the same," He mumbled. "I never have understood what's so great about living and I guess I never will. What I do know, is that if you feel so strongly about living and not leaving this woman of yours, I will let you live. However, keep this in mind Mac Taylor, the next time you come this close to death, I will not hesitate to take you back to the land of the dead with me. Know that."

With that said, Death gave a small nod in his direction before fading into the blackness of his conscience.

A couple minutes later, he felt as though he was floating on clouds. The restraints on his chest from earlier had lifted and he found he could breathe easier. The blackness around him faded into white and for the first time he could remember, he was aware of what was going on around him.

He could hear the sound of the AC filling the room. He felt it blowing on his face. He heard a constant steady beep – a heart monitor, he presumed – and it was then he felt the mask covering his nose and mouth. He could still feel a steady pain in his side, and it still felt as though something was pressed up against it. Stella couldn't still be pressing her hand against him, it must be something else.

The next thing he heard was a door open and a voice speak. Although it was pretty muffled, he was still able to pick up on what was being said.

"Hey, Stella. Any change?" The first voice belonged to a female.

There was a sigh which was much louder than the first voice and he assumed whoever it belonged to must be close by.

"No. Still the same," the second voice responded, also a female.

He immediately recognized the voice as Stella's. She was with him? He wanted to communicate back, but found his throat was still constricted.

"You know he'll pull through Stell," a third voice added, this time male. "He's Mac. He can't be taken down that easily."

"Then why has his condition not improved at all over the course of this week? Shouldn't he be getting better by now?"

He had been in this state for a week? That long?

"Stella you have to remember he was shot in the liver. That's a vital organ," a fourth voice responded. Another male, and from the way he had phrased his sentence, Mac assumed the man had once been a doctor.

Well that explains the pain, he thought. So he had been shot in the liver. He figured he must be in a coma if he hadn't died.

"Have the nurses said anything about when he's expected to wake up?" He could tell Stella was trying her hardest to hold back tears. He could hear it in her voice. And that, nearly broke his heart.

"Flack went to ask," a fifth voice replied. Yet another male, this time with a much younger sounding voice.

Gosh, how many people were around him?

"Yeah and Sid went down to the café to get us some dinner," the first male voice said.

"I'm not hungry," he heard Stella mumble back.

There was a shuffle of feet and then they stopped.

"Stell you really need to eat. When was your last meal?" the ex-doctor asked her.

"That's none of your business."

He heard the door open and another voice filled the room, this one thick with a Brooklyn accent.

"What did the nurses say, Flack?" the female's voice asked.

"They said he should come to any time now. He's not in critical condition anymore," the man – Flack apparently – explained to everyone.

"That's good," the female's voice let out with a sigh.

"Sid come with the food yet?" Flack asked.

"Not yet," the youngest male voice answered. "I'll go down and see if he needs any help."

The door opened and shut again. The room fell silent, its inhabitants at a loss of what to say.

"You doing okay Stell?" he heard Flack ask.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine," Stella mumbled back.

Liar, Mac thought. He could hear it in her voice. He was trying his hardest to wake up for her. He really was.

He felt something slide into his hand and give it a tight squeeze. Just by that slight touch, he knew the hand belonged to Stella. No one else held his hand. Well, besides Claire, but that was a different story.

He felt a single tear fall onto his hand and that was all the encouragement he needed to pull himself out of this. He couldn't stand to feel or hear Stella be so upset anymore. He wanted – no, needed – to relieve her of her misery.

Gathering all the strength he could muster, he inhaled deeply, heard the heart monitor beside him change in pitch along with him, and opened his eyes…

Please review. I can't better my writing unless you let me know what you think of it now.