Michelle watched him at the bar, noting the slight tremor in his hand as he raised the glass to his mouth. His jaw was set, and his eyes haunted, and Michelle realized that she knew that look. She had seen it on her own face every time she looked in the mirror in the months following Tony's death.

She stood there for a long time, debating what she should do. She and Mac Taylor weren't exactly friends, and she worried that her presence would only upset him more. At the same time, though, she couldn't in good conscience walk away - not while he was staring down at the abyss with no one to pull him back.

"Hey, Mac," she said quietly, stepping up behind him.

"Dessler."

"Maybe it's time you went home."

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Obviously."

At the sarcasm in her voice, the detective looked at her sharply. "What do you want, Dessler? I'm not exactly looking for company."

Michelle sighed, regretting her tone and realizing that their usual arguing was not going to get them anywhere. Reaching out, she rested her hands on his back.

"Come on, Mac," she urged, her voice lowering. "This isn't helping."

Her hands were warm, and their heat mingled with the alcohol, spreading throughout his entire body. He tried to ignore it, but he found himself relaxing into her touch.

"Please," she whispered.

Finally, Mac nodded. Pulling out his wallet, he threw his money onto the bar and then pushed himself to his feet. As he steadied himself and turned towards the door, Michelle's hands left him, and he suddenly felt cold. But as they walked outside, her hand fell to his back again, and warmth spread out from that spot.

She hailed them a cab and they climbed in, sitting so close that their shoulders touched. When Michelle gave the driver his address, Mac frowned.

"How do you know where I live?"

She gave him a half-smile. "I used to be a fed, Mac. I know how to get information."

He tried to smile at her humor, but it came out as more of a grimace. The rest of the ride was silent, and when they got to his apartment, Michelle paid the cabbie and climbed out after him.

"Let me walk you up," she said quietly.

He didn't answer, but she followed him up anyway. Unlocking the door, he let her into his apartment before slipping off his jacket and hanging it in the closet. When he came back to the living room, the two of them just stood there, not making eye contact.

Michelle didn't know what the hell she was doing. Part of her told her to leave, to let him deal with the events of the day on his own. But she knew that he wouldn't deal, that his demons would just continue to haunt him. She couldn't let that happen. For some reason - one that she wasn't really willing to examine too closely - Michelle needed to let him know that he wasn't alone.

He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her that she didn't have to stay, but she was already moving. Without a word, she embraced him, her arms circling around him tightly. Mac froze at the contact, his mind telling him that he should pull away, put some distance between them. But once again his body betrayed him, and he hugged her back, almost clinging to her in desperation. He took in a shuddering breath and buried his face in her hair.

"He's going to be okay, Mac," she whispered. "Reed is going to be okay."

The tears started to come, and he was completely unprepared for that. But instead of trying to hide it, he just held her tighter, taking everything she was giving. Eventually, they sank to the floor, Michelle gently rocking him.

"Stay," he asked, his voice breaking.

She nodded, placing a lingering kiss on his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered.