Routines were like habits. Once you got into them, it was very hard to get out of them.

Unfortunately, this was not just some annoying habit that could be cured by putting Tabasco sauce underneath your fingernails. And it wasn't a routine where he could just sleep until noon to get himself out of it. No, it was much harder and more complicated than that. Every night, he would still wake up, whether he'd been sound asleep or not, at 3:33 AM. The calls he had been receiving for so long had turned him into somewhat of a sleepless zombie. He had gotten so used to getting the calls and ignoring him that he almost hadn't noticed when they'd stopped. The first few nights after they had stopped, he'd been paranoid, worried that whoever it was, was just playing with his mind and would be calling at any minute. But as the days had gone on, he'd gotten more and more relaxed, letting his relief show and finally allowing himself to relax. It still wasn't enough. He still wanted answers. Who could blame him? He still hadn't gotten any names off the passenger manifest for his flight. He still had no idea where the bloody shirt had come from, or who the blood belonged to. It was a series of dead ends and people were telling him to relax, it had just been a stalker. Just a stalker? Had the world gone mad? The last time he looked, being stalked was not a good thing. It led to people getting hurt, often more than just one person and it made you paranoid, frightened and it sometimes got to the point where you wouldn't even look out your window for fear that you would come face to face with your stalker. Whatever his case may have been, Mac Taylor could not rest and he wouldn't rest until he knew who had been causing him such agony. The incident with the voodoo priestess was still fresh in his mind and every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was 333. It was killing him.

With a frustrated sigh, he craned his neck just in time to see the clock switch to 3:33 AM. His gaze immediately went to his cell phone which was on his nightstand, heart pounding as the screen lit up and the phone began to ring. So his stalker had only been luring him into a false sense of security. You should never trust someone who was stalking you, never. Out of curiosity, he leaned further over to read the screen and what he saw surprised him. Stella. He snatched the phone, hitting a random key to accept the call. "Taylor." He barked.

There was a short pause. "Mac? Is everything okay?"

He winced, realizing he sounded edgy and slightly angry. He wasn't one to lie his way out of something, but he didn't feel like talking about his 'problem' with anyone else at the moment. "Yeah, yeah, just watching this documentary on houses that are supposedly really haunted." He added a short laugh, trying to lighten his mood up.

"Uh-huh." She wasn't fooled. Stella Bonasera knew him well, and sometimes he had to wonder if it was a little too well. Thankfully, she didn't push the matter and instead cleared her throat and the sound of shuffling papers could be heard over the cell phone. "Listen, I need your help at a scene over in Central Park. Feeling up to it?"

He smiled even though she couldn't see it. "Of course. Give me twenty minutes and I'll be there." He would, of course, be there before twenty minutes was up but he liked to give himself a little extra time just in case, especially when he was as tired as he was. Maybe while he was getting dressed, he'd make a pot of coffee.. "I'll see you then, okay?"

"Yup." She sounded bright and cheerful despite the time of night, or morning depending on how you looked at it. But that was Stella for you. He hung up the phone, setting it back into his place. His room was dark except for the light from the street-lamps that shone slightly through his curtains. He sighed once again, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and getting up. It was going to be a long day.

CSI NY

".. Maybe he got stuck in traffic."

"What, the everyday 4:00 AM traffic?… Wait, never mind."

There was laughter coming from the crime scene and what little he'd heard of the conversation made him smile. The crime scene was deep into the park, the tape circling an area around a bloody park bench and a closer glance revealed a bloody body on the concrete. He grimaced slightly at it-- things like this didn't bother him anymore, but the amount of blood was somewhat sickening. Another glance at the scene revealed that only one person he knew was at the crime scene-- Don Flack. Beside the tall detective was a much shorter blonde that didn't seem familiar and the dozens of Police Officers didn't look familiar either. As he got closer to the scene, he snapped on a few layers of latex gloves and ducked under the yellow tape.

"Hey, it's my man! The one and only Mac Taylor." Flack gave him a smirk , going forward to clap Mac on the back. He looked slightly more relaxed than usual, dressed in a simple black polo and jeans, very similar to what Mac was wearing. Mac guessed that he'd decided to ditch the suit at this time in the morning, if he hadn't been out already. Mac laughed slightly, glancing at the girl before turning back to Flack.

"Where's Stella? She's the one who called me out here." Mac frowned slightly, hoping the woman didn't take offense to his words. She actually beat Flack to his words, finally speaking up with an expression that mirrored the other's perfectly.

"She had an emergency. Something about a friend breaking something at a club." Her voice was on the low side, icy and sweet at the same time. She didn't sound like she was trying to kiss ass and that pleased Mac. "I'm Detective Holmes, by the way. Julie Holmes."

"Really, I would have guessed Sherlock." Mac answered dryly, leaning over to inspect the body as Flack began laughing. Julie rolled her eyes with a sigh.

"I'll let it slide. Anyway, back to business. The Vic is twenty-seven year old Mia Harper, single, works as a receptionist for a Law Firm a few blocks away. We don't know what COD is yet, but I'm guessing it has to do with that gaping hole in her forehead." There was a slight sarcastic edge to the woman's voice as she spoke and Mac noted it as he leaned down, making a small noise. Holmes was right. There was an enormous, round hole in her forehead. More than likely from a shotgun.

By the time Mac was finished processing the scene, the sun had been up for quite some time. Flack and Holmes had drifted off to take care of other things and follow up on leads and the like, the body probably already under Sid Hammerback's hands. As he began loading his things back into the black Avalanche, he looked around, mind suddenly drifting back to Stella. She'd called him to the scene, and then when he'd gotten there she'd been gone. He wondered if there really had been an accident with a friend. Had she been acting funny on the phone? He was too tired to remember, or even tell. He made a mental note to ask her about her friend the next time he saw her and climbed into his truck, leaving the park and the crime scene behind.

Author's Note: First off, a HUUUUUUUGE thanks to Dawni for not only giving me the idea for this story, but the title. I owe her big time! This story is for her.