Chapter 1.

Mac rested his head in his hands. It was 9pm. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. While part of him had been glad to finally return to full duties after he was shot, part of him was reeling at just how wearying that return had been. The mounds of paperwork. The endless interviews with devastated friends and family of victims, and interrogations with suspects who ran the gamut from mind-numbingly stupid, through greedy and selfish, through devastated by what they'd done, all the way to the exact opposite - the ones who enjoyed their crimes, or saw it as some kind of rightful and justified vengeance upon those who had 'wronged' them. Then there had been Curtis' sudden, brutal, unexpected death. As he'd stood at the graveside of yet another friend, Mac wondered how many more people he cared about he'd have to bury. Hadn't there been enough already? He'd also been unable to get away from the thought of how just eight months ago, it could have been *him* in Curtis's place. The thought sent a cold thrill of fear down his spine even now.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door.

He looked up and gestured Jo in.

'Mac, I know you were just about to head home, but we just got a call out. Head on collision at a junction. Both drivers dead at the scene.'

Mac sighed. His head throbbed and his entire torso seemed to ache. He winced as he rose from his chair, clipped his holster on to his belt, and slipped on his jacket.

'Pain meds, Mac.' Jo said.

'I took some already,'

'Yeah, when?'

He sighed.

'I dunno...lunch time?'

'Take some now. I know you hate them, but the doctors gave you them for a reason, Mac.'

Mac sighed and rolled his eyes, but obediently took the pill bottle from his jacket pocket and took two pills with a gulp of lukewarm water from the bottle on his desk.

'Happy, now? How your kids get away with *anything* under that eagle eye of yours I don't know.'

Jo smiled.

'They don't, Mac. That's the point.'

Mac chuckled, and followed Jo out of the office.

'Don's already at the scene,' Jo said.

Mac nodded.

They stepped into the elevator and Jo hit the button for the parking lot.

'Mac, how are you doing, really?' she asked.

He shrugged.

'Better some days than others. The pain is bad, but not as bad as it was.'

'It's just that Adam mentioned to me that you were in the lab with him yesterday, and that you...seemed to have some...difficulty remembering the word 'GCMS'.'

'It's a long word, Jo,' Mac attempted to joke, feeling fear engulf him. Adam had noticed that? Adam himself might not make much of it, but Jo?

'You know what is though, Mac. Adam said you basically described what it does perfectly, using all the right words, but you couldn't put a name to the machine itself. Are you...are you having some kind of memory issue, Mac?'

Jo's eyes met his, and she studied him closely, with evident concern.

The elevator doors dinged.

'Jo, look, we have a crime scene to go to. I can't talk about this now. I'm fine, okay, my memory's fine.'

Jo looked at him, her concern deepening.

'Okay, Mac,' she said gently, but with steel in her voice, 'We'll talk about this later.'

'Sure,' he said.

Mac stepped out of the car. He felt the cold wind bite at his neck, and shivered slightly.

He walked with Jo to the scene of the accident. A decrepit looking blue Ford van was smashed into the driver's side of a black pick-up truck. Don met them at the perimeter of the the scene, and lifted the crime-scene tape for them to step underneath.

Whatever emergency vehicles had responded to the accident had left, leaving only a couple of cop cars and Don's own vehicle, and along with a few uniforms, they were the only people on the scene, except for gawking passers-by. It was Friday night, but this was a quiet area of Brooklyn, largely residential with a few areas of small businesses like this one, usually pretty quiet. Quiet, and supposedly relatively safe, by New York standards.

'What have we got?' Mac asked.

'Collision of two vehicles. Witness over there,' Don pointed to a man talking to a uniform cop, 'Owns the store on the corner. He came outside for a smoke, and said he saw the van came tearing down the street and run the red light, and smash right into the guy in the pick up truck. Responding paramedics said both drivers suffered massive head and upper body trauma and died practically instantly.'

'Do we have IDs on them?' Mac asked.

'Yep. Guy in the blue van is Wesley Roberts, aged 32. The guy in the pick up is...'

Don turned to the next page in his notebook. 'Ah, here we go. Brody. Sam Brody, of Brooklyn. DOB 20/11/1960.'

Mac's heart froze in his chest. It had to be another Sam Brody. Yeah, right. Another Sam Brody who lived in Brooklyn, was born on the 20th November.

Mac walked to the cars, every step seeming to take forever. He was oblivious to Jo and Don right behind him, his mind kept repeating the same desperate, pleading, mantra -

No, no, no, please no. Not again.

He leaned into the passenger side window of the pick up truck. He felt nausea rise in him at the sight of the body of the driver. He had suffered such severe trauma that without the driver's license, the man would have been impossible to identify, and they'd have to run fingerprint and possible DNA checks to be absolutely sure. But Mac didn't need tests. He pulled his head out of the window and turned to Don who, along with Jo, was watching him with a concerned expression.

'Do you have his wallet?'

'Sure,' Don said, and handed Mac an evidence bag containing a battered old leather wallet. Mac carefully removed it, and opened it. Inside, along with various cards and Brody's license was cash and, in a clear plastic wallet, a photograph. Mac glanced at the license, which, although it confirmed his fears pretty much finally, was not what he was looking for. Instead he looked at the family snapshot in the clear plastic sleeve. It showed the driver of the car, smiling, one arm around a pretty redheaded woman, and the other around a girl who looked to be around six years old, with black hair, huge green eyes, and a cheeky grin. The girl was clutching a packet of Reese's Peanut Butter cups in one hand, her other arm hidden behind her dad's waist.

'Ella,' Mac said, his voice coming out low and strangled with despair.

He closed his eyes as the world seemed to lurch. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to hit something. He wanted this all to be some kind of horrible mistake. But as if the driver's license wasn't confirmation enough, the photograph certainly was.

'Goddammit,' he hissed through clenched teeth.

'Mac?' Jo asked, 'Mac, what is it?'

'I know him,' Mac grated out, 'His name is Sam Brody, and he's a professor in American History at Chelsea University. He was a Marine before that. He and I served together, we were both made Lieutenant at about the same time, although he came up from the enlisted ranks. He stayed after I left, and made Lt. Colonel. Then five years ago, his wife, Diane, died. He left the Marines and moved here, to Brooklyn, with their adopted daughter, Ella. He took the job teaching at Chelsea. Ella's only 10 years old, Jo, nearly 11 now. I...I just saw them a few months ago...they came to visit me in the hospital. Sam...Sam teased me about Christine, and Ella ...she gave me this huge get well soon card. He can't be...I can't believe he's dead.'

'Oh, Mac, I'm so sorry,' Jo said.

Mac nodded, numbly. Emotions roared in him - anger, grief, and concern for Ella. How was he supposed to tell a ten-year-old kid that once again the only family she'd ever known had been ripped apart?

'Mac, Don and I can handle this if you want,' Jo said. 'I'll do the inform for the daughter, you don't have to...'

'No,' Mac grated out, trying to force down his roiling emotions, get a grip on himself. 'No. I'm her godfather. I know her. I care about her, and I need to be the one who tells her.I owe it to Sam. They only live a few blocks from here.'

Jo met his eyes, and nodded in understanding.

'Okay, Mac. You go with Don and do that. I'll get Adam and Danny out here to help process the scene. Sad as it is, I think this is pretty much an open-and-shut case.'

Mac nodded. It was. But not for him. Not for Ella, either.

'You ready?' Don said, his voice quiet and sad. 'Let's get this over with.'

Mac nodded. As they walked towards Don's car, Mac said,

'You don't have to...'

'I'm not letting you do this alone.' Don said, simply.

'Thanks, Don.' Mac said as they got into the car.

Don nodded. As they drove, Don said,

'So, you're close to the Brodys?'

'Yeah. Brody was home on leave when 9/11 happened, and before he and his unit were deployed, he came here and spent a lot of time with me. Helped me get through the worst time in my life. When they adopted Ella in 2002, they made me her godfather. They always invited me for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I even went a few times. I went to some of Ella's birthday parties too, and if I couldn't make it, I'd send gifts. I went to Diane's funeral five years ago. Sam and Ella moved to the city after that. They came to the opening of the first responders' memorial I helped with. The last time I saw them was when they visited me in hospital after...you know. We'd planned to meet up for dinner at Christine's restaurant when I got back on my feet and Sam and I were both free.'

'I'm sorry, Mac.' Don said, his voice quiet and full of genuine sympathy.

Mac just nodded.

'How the hell am I going to tell Ella that her father is dead, Don?' he asked, an angry hopelessness washing over him.

Don shook his head, wordlessly.

Mac leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes against the pain and anger and utter exhaustion that suddenly overwhelmed him, even worse than earlier that evening. He was dreading what he was about to do.