Summary: Based on the song "Tonight I Wanna Cry" by Keith Urban.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: NY character. Or the song the story is based on.

"I've never been the kind to ever let my feelings show
And I thought that bein' strong meant never losin' your self-control
But I'm just drunk enough to let go of my pain
To hell with my pride, let it fall like rain
From my eyes
Tonight I wanna cry"

Mac was sitting on the edge of his bed. He hadn't slept in so long he couldn't even remember the last time. He glanced at the clock. It was close to two in the morning. He started to stare down at the floor. His mind started to wander.

Claire was the first to pop into his head. He missed Claire more than anything. She had been his whole world until that fateful day when all of New York fell with the towers. Pieces of Mac's heart were broken off that day. Pieces he could never get back. Claire had been his whole world. Tears had started now to sting at his eyes following the lump that had formed in his throat. He had erased every trace of Claire from the apartment they shared. He had found a blown-up beach ball a couple weeks after 9/11, and had saved it. He had convinced himself that it contained part of her because her breath was inside.

He had let himself fall for Peyton. It was years after Claire had died, and he decided he could move on. It had taken much effort on Peyton's behalf to get Mac to fall for her. He knew she had loved him from the beginning. He loved her too. Their time in London had been ideal. He had met her family, who had accepted him like he was one of their own. He hadn't had a vacation in so long and it was just what he had needed. When Peyton had told him she would stay for a while after he left, Mac hadn't worried; he thought she would return. But then she had abandoned him too. A letter; she sent a letter. He thought he deserved more than that, but he understood that talking to him would've made it harder.

Now he was alone. Alone for so long in this apartment. His loneliness, and hurt had deprived him of sleep for so long. He took the glass from the nightstand and took a sip of wine. His tears threatened to fall, but he resisted. He looked up at the ceiling then back down at his hands. He wasn't the kind of guy to cry, especially not in front of anyone. He had cried for a whole day when he lost Claire, and it seemed that his tear ducks had dried up. But now, however, with Peyton gone the tears started to resurface.

It had to get better. It had after Claire had died, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would be ok without Peyton. It may take time, but it would happen.

He fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He started to shift his thoughts to what he knew was inevitable that evening. He knew the call would come soon. The call that had began in London and followed him across an ocean. He wanted an explanation more than anything ever. It had past annoying, went to weird, then turned into stalking.

He wanted to cry but didn't at the same time. He had the urge to let the tears fall, but his strength prevented it from happening. He had to keep that strength; it was all he had to keep him going.