Title: Last Words

Word count: 503

Written: 16/3/08

Genre: General

Summery: Just a quick one; what Mac's last thoughts might be.

A/N: Started watching CSI:NY a few weeks ago and fell completely in love with it. So naturally, the first thing I think of is how Mac should go in the end (not to come across as morbid or anything). Enjoy.

'Officer down! I repeat, Taylor is down and the gunner is loose!'

Ah crap, I'm Taylor, aren't I?

I felt blood flow�freely from my chest through Stella's fingers, felt the bullet in my chest -�I astonished myself�by my lack of care. Sure, I was pissed that the sonuvabitch got away, but that he shot me? Nah – rather me than anyone else, if I'm quite frank.

'Mac, can you hear me? Jesus Mac, gimme a sign!'

I opened my eyes, but quickly shut them again. Any contact with the wider world brought a wave of pain crashing through my senses, pain I really couldn't be bothered with. I think it was at this point, I knew; I was dying.

'Mac, the medics are here. I'll stay with you, Mac, I'll be here!'

She grabbed hold of my hand. It was so cold, I could barely feel her touch, but it was a reassurance nonetheless. I felt myself being bustled in the back of an ambulance, and wondered why the hell my vest hadn't stopped the bullet. Must be a new gun… I must have been the dummy – Holy shit, does he have to press so hard?

'He's going into cardiac arrest!'

'Because you're hurting him, dumbass!'

Ah, better. Thanks Stella, she could always read me like a book, even when that book was in a coma. There was no more pain, but precious little feeling either…

'He's slipping! Give me 100 joules, stat!'

Why 'stat? Why not, 'now'?

'Mac, don't do this to me, please, not now…'

It might have beenher voice that brought me back, but it was most likely the enormous power jolting my heart into action.

'He's lost too much blood!'

'Hook him up then!'

'We don't have his type in the ambulance, it's too rare – Alex, step on it!'

Great, death by slow driver.

I suppose then should have been the time to think of some last words, or fitting last thoughts. I know I should have been regretting lost chances and rueing wrong decisions, but I'd spent my life doing that. I'd said to someone long ago, 'no regrets'. In dying I meant it. I thought of the team, of Stella... Stella, who never let me down, who was always there, whose touch I could still feel lingering, even though all other sensations had left me.

'We're loosing him! 150, now!'

'Jesus Mac, no!'

Bye Stell, I hope you… ah screw it, you now it anyway.

'Shit! 200, stat!'

'Mac… Mac, no…'

'Clear!'

'Oh God, no, not him, not him…'

'Clear!'

'No... Mac, Mac, no…'

'Clear!'

'Clear!'

'Clear!'

'I'm, I'm sorry… He's gone. Truly, I'm sorry.'

'She's fainted.'

'Ah, jeeze… make her comfortable, the hospital'll see her right'.

A/N: Thanks for reading – if you have any comments, please feel obliged to write them down. )