Stalemate

Summary: Stella gets a lucrative and prestigious offer to work in the FBI Crime Lab in Virginia just as a gruesome cold case unravels before the CSIs. What will she decide? Will Mac have a say in it? Will he want to? What will the case bring them? SM/team post-s.6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

A/N: Sorry this took a while to update but RL put a damper on things as usual!

Enjoy:)

Chapter 2 – It Never Rains, It Pours

The light ding resounded through the small interior of the elevator to reach Stella's disturbed mind and reverberate through it like a sobering call to shove all the worry and heartache deep down and put her mask back on. For his sake, the sake of the whole team but above all for her own.

She knew this game of pretence was only a band aid obscuring the symptoms but doing nothing to cure the actual cause or alleviate the pain ripping through her in nauseating waves. But plastering that smile and holding on to the tough-as-nails-Stella exterior allowed her to carry on day after day after day. It was the best protection she had come up with. The only one that allowed her to keep her integrity. And sanity, for that matter.

When she had the mask on, it almost seemed like it was the real thing. Like she had no worries in her life apart from the dreadful pile of paperwork on her desk. If there was one thing her harsh childhood had taught her, it was that keeping your heart on your sleeve ended in having it torn away from that sleeve, thrown to the ground and stomped upon by booted feet. She didn't need any more of that than she had already endured. Not from him, not from anyone. So she plastered her smile on.

The doors slid open with a quiet whoosh and she took a deep breath, moving errant wet curls away from her face. First step out, then another. With each one her gait became less shaky and her breathing steadier. She lowered her head ever so slightly trying not to catch anyone's gaze before she managed to get to her office. She didn't want anyone to see her before she was back to her usual calm, collected and in-charge-of-every-situation self. Luck wasn't on her side, though.

Like he always seemed to have, Mac was standing in her path like a guardian angel, his eyes only for her as he scrutinized her features with that tender concern that always made her heart skip a beat. This time it also made her want to turn on her heel and run away. It hurt to know there was only friendship behind that concern. Deep and devoted, but still only friendship. And she was done convincing herself that it was enough for her. She went into her office without offering him a single glance. She wasn't sure she'd able to keep her composure.

Mac furrowed his eyebrows when he saw Stella walk out of the elevator. She was all wet, her hair dripping and her coat drenched. To his amazement, Mac realized she must have been outside. He watched her with growing concern as she moved forward into the harsh corridor lights, which illuminated the lines of worry and exhaustion that seemed to draw her face down. Her expression made him instantly dismiss the task he was busy with, the technician he was currently talking to and, frankly, the whole world.

Though she tried to hide it, he could spot the mist over her eyes and the determined set of her mouth as if she was doing everything in her power to stop herself from crying. He was instantly reminded that underneath that steely and tough exterior there beat a passionate, tender heart that was ever so vulnerable and susceptible to pain. He felt an instant rush of anger towards anyone who would get her into such a state. He knew there weren't many people who could.

Stella had a lot of rough edges, no doubt about that, but there was so much more to her if you only managed to get past that. People rarely saw through the mask, though. They mistook her no-nonsense attitude for coldness and her determination to solve the case for indifference. They couldn't be more wrong, he thought looking at this tough woman who wasn't steel, this rock who wasn't stone.

Suddenly he saw her body shaken by a shiver. His thoughts ran back to the FBI letter as he waved the technician that was still talking to him off and turned towards Stella. She didn't offer him a single glance and steered away from him, ducking into her office before he managed to utter a single word. He didn't take the cue and followed her, stopping in her door.

"I called you," he said softly so as not to sound accusatory in any way. He hovered on her threshold, not going in entirely.

Stella took a deep breath before turning around to face him. When she finally did, she wished she hadn't. She only stole a fleeting gaze of him in the corridor but now when he was standing but a few feet away, she already felt overpowered and weak. He had discarded his suit jacket somewhere and was wearing only a button up shirt, the light blue one that brought out the sapphire sparks in his eyes. The two top buttons were undone as always and his sleeves were rolled up indicating he was hard at work on something and giving her a glimpse of his strong forearms. Damn it, she cursed inwardly. No man should ever have such an effect on her.

"Sorry," she said uneasily still avoiding his gaze, and he immediately knew something was very much off. "Something I had to take care of."

"You all right?" he asked stepping inside and thus venturing to take that literal and metaphorical step into her world whether she liked it or not. Privacy was one thing but concern over her well-being trampled it every time in his book.

"I'm fine," she brushed his apparent concern off and turned away from him to shake out of her wet coat, upon which she immediately frowned. Her hair was still wet and the sensation of the moist strands falling and sticking to her nape and scalp made her cringe.

"You don't seem fine," he pressed not heeding her dismissive stance and the edge her voice had taken. Usually he'd let it go at this point. Not this time, though. Maybe it was the letter and the dread of losing her that had lodged itself in his heart ever since he saw it, or maybe it was the look on her face when she had exited the elevator that made him so insistent on getting the truth from her this time. Maybe it was something different altogether.

"I see two possibilities," he said matter-of-factly pointing at her wet clothes. "you showered in the locker-room with your clothes on or you went outside into a full-blown storm without as much as an umbrella. Either way, something isn't fine, Stella."

She looked up at him, her mouth a hard line.

"Mac, I'm tired, I have paperwork from here to the moon and the Grey case is stuck. I wanted to get some fresh air," she said without inflection sitting herself down.

"Did you also want to get pneumonia?" he quirked an eyebrow knowing at that moment he wouldn't glean a thing from her. But if she wouldn't tell him what was bothering her then the least he could was try to make her smile.

She rolled her eyes though he could spot her mouth crease slightly upwards.

"No, but I wouldn't mind getting a rain check for this conversation," she said pointedly. "I've got work."

Usually she found it touching when Mac was this protective of her but this time she was irked more than anything. It seemed everything kind he did and said only made the pain worse, driving the realisation of what she would never have further in. It felt like rubbing salt into an open wound.

By the fleeting look of surprised hurt that crossed over his face like a shadow, she knew she had driven her point home and got what she wanted. Driving him away was the only way to free herself. It was the only logical step if she wanted to salvage her mind and soul. Still, logics said nothing about how much pain it would entail.

"Ok," he said in a neutral voice and made for the door. "I won't keep you from your work, then."

She looked after him and cursed herself inwardly. God, why did this have to be so hard?

"Mac, wait," she called after him and he stopped mid-step. "I'm sorry," she said remorsefully circling her desk and standing before him. He saw her lace her long fingers together in that characteristic way that told him that she was indeed nervous and frustrated. "I didn't mean to snap," she gave him a tight smile.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew that part of her behaviour must be because of the letter from the FBI but he decided that for now it was her call and he wouldn't mention it first. But he was almost sure there was something more. One particular thing above all else. There was so much going on lately that they hadn't had time to talk about it, one he knew lay heavy on them both and wouldn't just go away. Maybe now was the time.

"I know," he sighed, the corners of his lips twitching slightly upwards. "I also know you're still on edge about Danny and Lindsay, Stell," he added seriously.

She looked up at him with amazement. They had both been avoiding the subject for the last week, ever since the final showdown with Casey, though she could see it was eating away at him just as it was at her. But to see him mention it on his own was unexpected to say the least.

"I know I am," he continued with a sigh. "They're my family, too."

"It's just that..." she paused trying to find the right words. "I'm so angry because not only Danny and Lindsay were the targets but also Lucy. She's just a small innocent child, Mac! Whenever I think of the danger she was in because we failed to catch Casey on time...because I didn't do my job well enough...I could have thought of assigning them protection...or extending the search..." she stopped noticing the smile playing on Mac's lips. "What?"

"I seem to remember a similar conversation we had a year ago," he said. "I remember what you told me then and I'm going to say the same thing to you now. My, me, I, Stell."

She smiled slightly in recognition.

"Something else you told me then stands true today more than ever. You're not in this alone," he reached out and gently put his hand over her shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The touch of his fingers on the skin over her collarbone sent hopeless shivers through her body. "I beat myself up with the same questions, Stell. Why didn't I think of this or that? Why didn't I foresee that? Why weren't we more careful? If someone's guilty, it's me. I'm your boss and responsible for all of you. And I failed you."

"Mac, no one could have predicted the doings of a madman like Casey," Stella said with force to emphasize her point detecting the anguish in his voice he tried to conceal. She knew Mac well enough to know he had lost more than one night's sleep over this supposed failure of his. Just as she had. They both expected a lot from others but they expected even more from themselves.

And if they failed those expectations, they were their own harshest judge, jury and executor.

She now saw clearly they had both been putting themselves through a mental and emotional wringer for the very same reasons, neither of them really at fault. True, they were senior officers and supervisors but they were not psychic. There was no way of knowing Casey had survived that fall, let alone covered a hundred miles, got back to NY, obtained a gun, sneaked into the Messers' apartment and threatened Lucy. If it hadn't been for Lindsay's guts and her marksmanship, who would have known what would come to pass. It all seemed like a screenplay of a cheap thriller rather than something that could ever really happen. But it did. And it affected them all. Some more than others.

"Danny's still adamant about leaving the force?" Stella asked tightly.

Mac ran a tired hand over his face. "No change. He hasn't filed in an official resignation yet but he's asked for an extended unpaid leave," he sighed. "Lindsay's trying to talk some sense into him and we all know how persuasive she can be," he smiled slightly. "So I still hope he'll come around. Though honestly, I can't blame him for having second thoughts. He's been through an awful lot this year, all of it because of the job," he looked at her with worry. "Have you spoken to him yet?"

"I..." she stuttered.

She could perfectly understand Danny's reasons and frankly, if she were in his situation, she didn't know how she would behave. First the shooting that put him in a wheelchair and through very painful and slow rehabilitation and now having his family at the mercy of a madman with a fixation on him when all he did was show him kindness and understanding. All of it because he was a cop. He had just started a family and she knew how happy he was so however much she wanted him to stay, she understood why he wouldn't want to after all that had happened. Besides, she would be a complete hypocrite trying to talk Danny out of leaving the lab when she herself was seriously considering it. But she couldn't tell that to Mac. Not now. She didn't have the heart to tell him she was even taking the FBI offer seriously, let alone seriously pondering leaving.

"I don't know what to say to him," she finally said in frustration. "His little daughter, his wife and he himself were attacked and threatened and I can't imagine what he's going through, Mac. Anything that comes to my mind just sounds lame and trite."

He sighed. "I know. But the lab can't lose him." He looked at her. "I can't lose another friend."

Stella looked at him in shock. There was such resignation and finality in his voice that it took her breath away for a moment. Did he already know about the FBI offer or was he referring to someone else?

"Mac, I..."

At that moment she was interrupted by her phone. "Sorry," she frowned and answered it.

She listened to Flack with growing confusion and worry. "All right, we'll be down there in a sec." She put down the phone and looked at Mac, who had been watching the play of emotions on her face during the conversation with growing concern.

"That was Flack. Apparently I've put an innocent man behind bars and now he's dead."

Mac's eyebrows rode up almost to his hairline. "And Don knows that how?"

"He doesn't." She stood up and reached into her drawer for an elastic band. She caught her hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck in an all-business manner. "But he's got a man in interrogation that does," she looked at him, her soul and mind full of misgiving.

XxXxXxX

Nonplussed, Flack and Mac both looked back from the one-way mirror at Stella, whose brow was creased in an attempt to recognize the man sitting alone in the dim of the interrogation room.

"His name is Basil St. John. A renowned entomologist, author of several books, single, no family. Was out of the country for the last six months on a scientific expedition in the Maluku Islands in Indonesia," Don read with an air of incredulous disbelief from his notebook.

"And we have his data how?" Stella asked with furrowed eyebrows. "Don't tell me that when he's not investigating bugs in the Pacific he shop-lifts or deals drugs."

Flack smirked. "That would have been much more fun," he quipped. "But unfortunately it's not the case. The expedition was government-financed and the participants had to submit their finger-prints and DNA profiles," he explained. "Which also allows me to tell you that our guy's as clean as whistle, not even a parking ticket. Not that they would have that many cars in the Sepuku Islands."

"Maluku," Mac corrected absent-mindedly scrutinizing the man on the other side of the mirror with renewed interest. "Also known as the Spice Islands. That expedition caused quite a stir in the scientific world. An international group of biologists, ichthyologists, entomologists and mycologists has found several new species, which turned out to be a new link in the evolution of insects. Among them is a rhinoceros beetle indigenous to the archipelago named Xylotrupes basilus after the man who discovered it...that man over there."

Stella and Flack both stared at him in a stunned silence.

"Am I supposed to understand anything you've said just now?" Flack asked with a raised eyebrow.

Although impressed, which wasn't an easy feat, Stella couldn't help herself from teasing him, too.

"So you're a CSI by day and a vigilante entomologist by night?" She put her hands on her hips and eyed him with an expectantly raised eyebrow and a mischievous smile.

Mac shot her a half-embarrassed, half-exasperated look. Then he cracked a smile seeing her playful expression.

"I try to keep my horizons wide," he said with a modest shrug and Stella felt the urge to swat him over the head. He pretended not to notice and turned to Flack. "So, why are we here, Don?"

"The bug guy barged into the precinct an hour ago demanding to see Stella and spouting some gibberish about you putting someone innocent behind bars," he motioned at Stella. "When the officer on duty demanded an ID, he blew a fuse. Let's just say he picked the wrong place for it," he finished snidely indicating Basil's cuffed and incarcerated state. "You really have no idea what he's talking about, Stell?"

"None," she shook her head. "I'm certain I don't know him and the name doesn't ring a bell, either. Maybe I should read more entomological magazines," she added innocently.

Don managed to keep a straight face as Mac shot her a mock reproachful look. Rarely did he put himself on the line like that and she wasn't going to let him off the hook this easy. Plus, she welcomed every opportunity to take her mind off the grim thoughts that haunted her.

"Did he say anything else?" Mac queried.

"He said the investigation – he wouldn't give me any specifics – took place a year ago and he's got evidence that we convicted the wrong man."

"A year ago?" Stella furrowed her eyebrows. "If he had pertinent evidence why didn't he come forward earlier?"

"He was at a far-off archipelago on the other side of the world for the last six months," Mac said. "He was probably out of touch with civilization for the time that he was there. Especially when they were onto something ground-breaking. Scientists won't eat, sleep, let alone remember the outside world in such situations."

"Tell me something I don't know," Don said snidely looking pointedly at both him and Stella. "So sleep-depravation and eating disorder is an occupational hazard? And I thought it was just you two."

Stella rolled her eyes at him. "This still doesn't explain the six months before that," she said matter-of-factly.

"Maybe he was scared or intimidated," Don suggested.

"Or he didn't realize evidence was evidence until now," Mac added.

"There's only one way to find out," Stella looked at them both meaningfully and turned towards the door. She was about to go out when Don's voice stopped her.

"What if it's just a ruse?"

"A ruse, Don? What would be the point?" she asked incredulously. "He's an entomologist not an assassin."

"How about to shoot you because besides being an entomologist he's a violent psycho stuck on you?"

"Another one?" she asked with a hint of a mischievous smile to lighten the sombre mood but they didn't smile back.

"This is no joking matter, Stella." Don looked at her seriously. "He's perfectly capable of violence. He assaulted me in the hall."

"And you've disabled him in a matter of seconds," she enunciated putting her hands on her hips. "I'm a trained and armed officer just as you. What makes you think I couldn't tackle him just as easy?" she asked irately.

When neither of them responded, she pursed her lips in growing frustration.

"Oh, come on. He's in a closed and secure room. He's at a police precinct literally surrounded by dozens of cops. What's he going to do? Stare me to death?"

"Casey also seemed harmless," Don said quietly.

Stella sighed. This again. She had had to struggle with this new overprotectiveness from both Flack and Mac for the last couple of weeks. While she knew where it stemmed from and understood their reasons, it didn't make it any less annoying.

Their team had gone through a lot in the past year – Jess' death, the shooting, Danny in a wheelchair, Sheldon trapped in that jail and to top it all off, the Shane Casey ordeal, which hit them all hard and left them on edge. With men who cared so much and lost so much as Mac and lately Don, some things tended to grow out of proportion, like their protective instincts, when people they cared about got in harm's way. So she tried not to treat this personally and treat their behaviour with understanding. She knew they respected her as a cop and CSI and trusted her skills as much as their own. Still, she could interrogate a witness on her own, for God's sake. It wasn't like she was going to tackle a sumo wrestler bare-handed.

"Stella..."

"This discussion is over, Flack," she said definitively, just barely keeping her anger in check. Her eyes met Mac's for a flash. She wondered why he had stayed so strangely silent during the whole exchange. When she went out, it became obvious. Figuring correctly that arguing with her was futile, he would just go in with her. Without any discussion. He was wrong.

She turned around and looked at him defiantly.

"You also think I can't handle a cuffed and defenceless witness?"

"You're not going in there alone," he said calmly not rising to the bait.

She rolled her eyes. "Mac, haven't you heard a word of what I've just told Flack? Frankly, this is starting to become annoying. And it's demeaning."

He looked at her with a frown knowing she was perfectly right to get pissed like this. Still, he preferred her to be pissed at him and safe rather than in any kind of danger. He had had enough of that lately and he simply couldn't imagine what he would do without her. I might soon find out anyway, he thought grimly.

"Fine," he spoke. "As your friend I'll respect your wish."

She nodded and was about to go in when his voice stopped her again.

"That said, I am also your boss and as such demand to know if and how the work of any of my employees is put into question," he said calmly. "So as your boss, I am going in there whether you like it or not."

They eyed each other for a while in a silent showdown, neither backing down. Then Stella conceded. She was well aware that he had only used the boss card to conceal his real reasons, but she had made her point and he had finally given her a legitimate and valid argument she could understand and accept, not some completely ungrounded and irrational fear that was demeaning to her.

She nodded her head.

XxXxXxX

Basil St. John could have stayed in Indonesia. He had come to like and respect the hospitable people, the exotic language and the fascinating culture. He felt good and safe there, something he rarely did outside of his lab. For some unfathomable reason, though, he chose to come back. Ever since he did, he had been struggling. Ever since he had learned of the conviction and death of one Jack Woodruff, a man he knew was innocent, he wasn't getting much sleep. It hit him hard because it was his fault. Now all he could do was honour him by doing the right thing. Telling what happened that night.

He could have stayed in Indonesia.

Then door opened breaking his train of thought and he knew he would soon find at least partial exoneration from the guilt weighing him down. Woodruff's death wasn't only his fault after all. It was also the detective's who failed to do her job right. The detective now standing before him and eyeing him with dismay mixed with confusion. The other person, the man standing behind her and flashing her concerned glances was probably her boss. It would stand to reason that he would want to know all about this. Detective Bonasera was facing serious consequences, both professional and personal. Still, he rarely saw supervisors looking at their subordinates like that.

"Mr. St. John," she spoke. "I'm detective Bonasera and this is detective Taylor. I hear you wanted to talk to me."

"You and you alone," he said and watched Taylor's face change. He had no time to step in, though, because Bonasera was already on him.

"You're not in a position to make any demands," she said through her teeth. "Either you tell us why you're accusing me of not doing my job properly or you'll find yourself in lock-up getting to know Big Ed in cell six better than you'd ever want to."

She was obviously the no-nonsense, tough type. Fiery even. Maybe too fiery. He could see the fleeting look of concern on Taylor's face as he looked warningly at Bonasera. She flashed him an annoyed look back and Basil could almost feel the underlying tension sparking between the two. It was clear that Taylor cared for her and she had no idea how much.

"So what's it gonna be?" she snapped, her jaw set.

Basil looked from her to Taylor and he knew that even though he wasn't happy with her conduct, he would still rather allow her to thrash him than put her in any kind of trouble. Taylor wasn't here to keep her in line, he was here to make sure she was fine.

"Fine," Basil conceded faced with the steel in Bonasera's eyes. He knew he wouldn't gain much by being defiant out of pure spite. Besides, he already felt sorry for her. After he said what he had to say, she would have lots of more serious trouble than a recalcitrant witness. "A year ago you investigated the murder of Gertrude Stokes-Woodruff. She was the heiress of Stokes Publishing, a philanthropist and a renowned member of the society."

"She was killed by her adoptive son," Stella remembered the case. It was a very loud affair, widely publicized and even the mayor himself got interested in it. There were lots of pressures to close the case fast. Stella had her own reasons to deal with it promptly as it turned out to be more personal than she would have wished.

It wasn't exactly a secret that Mrs. Stokes-Woodruff couldn't have children of her own so she had started a foundation and devoted her life to charity work for orphans. She was one of the prime donors of many orphanages in New York, St. Basil's being one of them.

"Jack Woodruff didn't kill her," Basil said calmly.

"We had evidence and witness reports that state otherwise," Stella shot back trying to keep her calm.

"All circumstantial from what I was able to learn," he replied . "You just needed a scape-goat to satisfy the mayor and quench the high society's bloodlust," he said in an accusatory tone. "And Jack Woodruff fit the profile. But he didn't do it."

Stella ground her teeth. That was exactly why she hated high-profile cases so much. There was always the added pressure from the chief, the press on your tail and a corrupt society waiting on your every mistake. And in the end, however hard you tried, people always accused the police of treating the wealthy better and more leniently anyway. Not in her book. Jack Woodruff was the best suspect they had and there was solid proof. She had done her job right and justice was served.

Basil St. John looked at her challengingly knowing full well he had hit a soft spot and she felt her fingers curl up against her palms.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because at the time of the murder he was in my car," he said. "I gave him a lift."

"Why didn't you come forward with this earlier?"

"The next day I got hit by a car and spent the next couple of months in a coma." He shook his head, not believing himself that such coincidences could happen. Yet they did.

"When I recuperated," he continued. "I headed straight for the Maluku Islands, which aren't the centre of the world exactly. News doesn't get there fast. All this time I had no idea that Jack Woodruff got convicted and died in jail two months ago. I returned last month. I was talking to a friend lately and the case surfaced. I put two and two together."

Stella just stared at him, the possibility that she had put an innocent man behind bars after all slowly sinking in.

"So you see, detective, I am sure," Basil enunciated. "And you would have been , too, if you had done your job and checked your facts properly. We wouldn't be having this meeting today and Jack Woodruff would be alive."

"Before you start accusing detective Bonasera of anything," Taylor, who was silent until now, suddenly stepped up. There were angry sparks flashing in his eyes. "I'd like to see some proof of what you're saying."

St. John shrugged. "I can of course provide my medical documentation as well as my expedition logs. Whatever you like."

"That still doesn't prove you aren't lying about giving John Woodruff a lift."

Though Mac was glaring at him, Basil seemed unruffled.

"I am telling the truth."

"You wouldn't object to an examination with a polygraph, then?"

"You can inject me with truth serum for all I care," he said forcefully. "You are scientists just like me, you believe in sound reasoning and logic. If what I was saying wasn't true, why would I come here? I'm an exemplary citizen, clear as crystal, and a respected scientist with a thriving career. Do you really think I'd endanger all that?"

"You wouldn't," Mac nodded. "Which begs the question what it is that you want to gain from this. Why are you really here, Mr. St. John?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," St. John lowered his head. "An innocent man was convicted and is now dead. He deserves justice."

"Forgive me," Mac snapped. "but it's kinda hard to believe that you're willing to put your whole life's work on the line just to 'do the right thing' without having some ulterior motive."

"You're a cynic, then, detective," Basil retorted. Then he sighed. "I feel partially responsible for this man's death. I've come here of my own free will and as hard to believe as it may be, I'm willing to face all the consequences. I want to make it right and the least I can do is clear his name posthumously. I owe it to him. And so do you, detective Bonasera," he said in an accusatory tone in Stella's direction.

Mac looked at Stella who had become strangely quiet listening to St. John's confession. He knew she prided herself on being the best at what she did. And she was. She didn't make mistakes. And when she did something out of the line, she was her own hardest judge and persecutor. He was afraid to even think what she would put herself through if she convinced herself she was somehow at fault here. Looking at her face, which had become a cold mask, he feared she had already begun crucifying herself.

"We'll need those files and a written statement," she spoke calmly although Mac could see the storm raging behind her eyes.

"Of course," St. John nodded.

"So start writing," she threw him a pen and a sheet of paper and stormed out of the room.

Mac nodded in the direction of the one-way mirror to let Flack know he was to step in and followed Stella. Seeing her disappear in the emergency stairwell, he quickened his pace.

"Stella!"

She stopped mid-step and whirred around to face him, her shoulders hunched and her features tense.

"Where are you going?" he asked softly.

"To get the Woodruff case files," she said curtly.

"Stell, I don't think..."

"This was my case, Mac!" she cut him off. "If I got something wrong I at least deserve a chance to make it right. And don't tell me I'm getting too emotional or that this is personal. I won't let you pull me off it."

"Stella...Stella!" he had to raise his voice to make her pause. He knew that when she got on a roll, there was no way of stopping her.

"What!"

"This is your case and I trust you with it," he said calmly and saw she was surprised.

"You...you do?"

"I'm not going to ram protocol down your throat or preach you about getting emotional because this is not that kind of a case," he continued watching the amazement on her face grow further. "I know you did everything right with what you had and I know you'll do it again with the new evidence that you had no means of knowing about a year ago,"he enunciated. "This is a difficult and delicate case and I need my best CSI on it. You." And I know how much it means to you to make this right.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked shakily.

He smiled at her. "Because I know you," he said touching the side of her face in a quick, undisguisedly affectionate gesture. His touch was tentative and the feel of his skin against hers was as light as a feather but it still sent electric sparks through her whole body.

She mustered a small, grateful smile. They stood like that for a while, Mac revelling in her closeness and Stella taking in the certainty and trust for her he held in his eyes and trying to convince herself that he was right about her. It felt so good and right having someone like Mac believe in her so much. It almost felt like they were in... Then reality caught up with her and she stepped away.

"Still, I got an innocent man convicted," she said bitterly.

"You don't know that."

"St. John's telling the truth, Mac," she said with finality. "He's right by saying that doesn't have any reason to lie. To the contrary, he's risking a lot. He's just a good man trying to make things right. And I can try to do the same thing. Repair the mistake I made," she added in a self-admonishing tone.

"Stell, I'm sure there was no mistake."

"You can't be sure and neither can I. That's why I'm going to get those files."

"I know how important this is to you, Stella, but those files can wait till tomorrow. It's almost nine and you've been here for forty eight hours straight. You didn't get any sleep and I can see you're running on fumes." Seeing her open her mouth to protest, he raised his hand. "Sleeping on the couch in your office doesn't count."

Although she wasn't in the mood, she had to crack a small smile.

"Look who's talking," she said under her breath.

"I'm serious, Stella. Go home and get some rest," he said decidedly. "Don will keep St. John in lock-up for you and I'll relegate the Grey case to Sheldon and Lindsay so you can take care of this one without any distractions. In return, promise me you'll go home now and at least try to get some rest."

Stella sighed. She knew he was right. She had long ago ran out of steam and all that was keeping her still upright was pure adrenaline. And she was already feeling it starting to wear off and the weariness stepping in. At times like these, it was comforting to know Mac had her back.

"Deal," she conceded grudgingly and turned to go up.

"And Stell...if you need anything, let me know, ok?"

She gave him a nod and continued her ascent.

XxXxXxX

Mac sat heavily down in his chair and ran tired hands over his face. Stella was hopefully already on her way home but he knew he would spend a sleepless night here, familiarizing himself with the Woodruff files. He had tons of paperwork to do and his own case to work on but he wanted to have Stella's back in this. When it came to Stella, everything else had to take the back seat.

Suddenly there was a knock on his glass doors. Mac looked up and furrowed his eyebrows recognizing his visitor.

"Hey, Mac," Aubrey said entering his office.

"Hey," he said surprised and made to stand up. "What are you...?"

"I was in the neighbourhood and thought you'd still be working," she smiled at him. "So I decided to pop in."

"I don't think..."

"I come with gifts," she cut him off waving a cardboard box she was holding and sitting herself in the seat opposite him. "I was passing this new pizza place on the way back from the ER and I thought I'd bring you a slice."

"Aubrey, I..." he didn't finish as Stella suddenly appeared in the entrance. He saw the surprise in her face.

"Oh, sorry, didn't know you had company," she mumbled. "Hi, Aubrey," she nodded in the other woman's direction. "I forgot my coat," she motioned at the garment she was holding in her hand. "And thought I'd say good night properly," she nodded stiffly in Mac's direction. "I won't interrupt you." She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs.

"Night," Aubrey said cheerfully and turned back to Mac. "So, Mac..."

Mac had eyes for Stella only, though. He circled his desk and followed her into the corridor. He looked as her silhouette disappeared on the stairs wondering, feeling, knowing he should go after her.

tbc.

A/N: So, how was this? Do let me know in a review:) You think Mac will go after Stella? Is Basil telling the truth? How will Stella deal with it? This and lots more in the next chapter:)

A/N2: 'Step By Step' will update next:)