A/N: Okay, I know some of you thought the last chapters were a bit long, and you'll see it's the same with this one. I pondered to cut this one in half and make it shorter, but after some reflection, I wasn't convinced it would end well, I usually stop where I feel it's the best for this story, so here again a long chapter, sorry!
As always, a huge thank you for everyone who put me or this story on fav or alert. I wouldn't write that much if it wasn't because of you all, who write a review or just read it. And again a big thanks to my beta, Blackdragon189. I inserted more stuff after her edit, so if you find any mistakes they're all mine, enjoy!!
Summary: A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...with the whole team.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.
The night was quiet, which was really unexpected in New York City. Most of the times, one could watch the slow passing of the cabs scouting the street in search of late customers, but not tonight. With the snow storm ensnaring the city in a freezing grip, few cars had made it on the icy, bumpy roads. Even the curbs had been invaded by white, thick walls of frozen snow where the snowplow had pushed heavy packs of fluffy, white flakes from the road these last few days; and now the whole city, frozen, seemed to move in slow motion. It's why tonight, for the first time in the last decade of New York City, there was no agitation in the streets; motion being petrified in ice. The few, brave enough to trudge through the frozen chunks were quickly hurrying inside and were not paying a lot of attention to the men in the car parked in front of Stella's apartment, despite their frenetic act every half an hour, when one of them would exit the frozen car and sweep away the fallen snow from the windshield to hurry back inside.
Martin growled as he slumped back into the driver seat. His mood hadn't improved in the last couple of hours as his windshield wipers had frozen on the window and obliged him to get out to wipe away the fresh, falling snow. His brother glared at him when he closed the door; a mass of frozen air mixed with heavy, white flakes sneaking into the car at the same time. Although this time, Tommy was satisfied that Martin had let the engine run, providing some well needed heat inside the frozen car, the regular in and out movement was taking the warmth out of it in no time, making him grumpier.
Martin checked his watch once again and read 12:26 AM. The light from Stella's apartment had vanished three hours ago, and now was the right time to check if the detectives were really sleeping.
"Let's go," he ordered Tommy. "Let's see if we can end this job once and for all."
As his gloved hand touched the bump in his coat pocket, checking he still had the deadly syringe with him, the other hand pressed on his gun nestled under his left arm. He opened the door and jumped into the crunchy snow. Glancing from side to side to the deserted street, he smirked and slammed the door, bringing up his collar. He nodded to his brother who was puffing big clouds while mumbling angry curses about the damned, cold weather. As Martin was about to stride across the frozen street, his phone went off. Checking the caller ID, he narrowed his eyes when he recognized it. Doesn't sound good.
"Get in the car," he said to his brother, who shot him a look of confusion and remained frozen. "Get in, damn it!" he growled once more as he got in himself, shooting quick glances around him to see if someone had noticed them. He snorted, no, with this cold, everyone had quickly shelled back into their warm cocoon. Good!
"Wh..." started Tommy, but he stopped quickly when his brother shot him a furious look and pressed to answer his phone.
"Are you done yet?" asked the calm voice of the boss.
Martin swallowed to wet his dry mouth. "We're 'bout to do it, boss," he replied, closing his eyes and waiting for the angry reply.
"Why those delays?" the voice came soft and not as angry as he had thought.
Martin sighed. "He was under heavy protection in the hospital but now he's out and..."
"What! He's out?" asked the bewildered voice of the boss. "I thought he was wounded?"
"Yes, but apparently his doc let him out to help him recover his memory better."
"You kiddin'?" almost laughed the boss. "He lost his memory?"
"Yeah, it seems," answered Martin, not sure why the boss' tone had changed to a mild laugh.
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yeah, I have his file and..."
"What else is in there?" cut the boss, a broad smile lingering in his voice.
Martin glanced at his quiet brother and frowned, not really sure if his boss's changing attitude was a good thing. "Well, he seems to suffer from what they call PTSD. From what I learned it's kinda trauma that leaves you messed up, though they don't know if it's related to his wounds." His voice became hesitant. "Huh, I know that he got pretty banged up too. Big Carl hadn't missed his head." Martin glanced nervously at Tommy, hoping the boss wasn't gonna ask about Carl. In fact, he hadn't told him yet about Carl's disappearance and he wanted to delay that news as much as possible hoping to balance it with Taylor's death. The guy was dead anyway, or he would have made a sign since then. He raked his throat, "I recalled that he got one broken rib and..."
"PTSD," cut the boss, letting a long scornechoed through the phone. "That's interesting. Where are you now?"
"In front of his friend's apartment."
"Bonasera?"
"Yah, she's stickin' to him like a freakin' leech. Why?"
"Good, good," the boss repeated and Martin waited as he knew that the boss was thinking of something. "I want you to follow them, stay with them and report to me. I wanna know what they're up to."
"You don't want him dead anymore?" asked Martin with a frown.
"Of course I want Taylor dead, you moron. But not yet. If what you said is true then it can be for my benefit, and gettin' rid of Taylor so quickly was an extreme move, one I had no choice to make, but if now I have the time," he laughed on the phone. "Then, this time, I'll have the pleasure to play with him and make him regret standing up to me. I'm sure he'll make a fine example of what happens when you piss me off!"
"Sure boss." Martin nodded, recognizing the boss' quirks, from now on, they would be in charge of the game, and Taylor would just be an amusing pawn. He shook his head. Then, this game could just help him to raise them higher in the family than what he thought. Good. He liked to play too. So, he would make sure the boss wouldn't be disappointed by the game, he already had good access planted in the Crime Lab. His lips curled up in a wicked smile.
"I want a clear account of their activities as the game will unfold. If you can do that, and I can have my fun, then, your future is well planned Marty."
Martin's eyebrows rose at the use of his first name. It was the first time the boss was using it, it had to be a good thing. It meant the boss was remembering him. So now, he just had to make a real good impression to crystallize that thought in his boss' head.
"Be right on it, Boss," smiled Martin as he hung up, his sight lost to the dark alley near Stella's apartment. Until now, he had never been one to play cat and mouse. Never got to do it anyway. But if the boss wanted to play with Taylor, making him and his brother major players and having fun with all access granted to the family, then he would go all the way for it. This was their main entrance into the family and to settle into a nice place in the business for themselves.
"What is it Marty?" asked Tommy, his worried voice breaking the silence of the car.
"It seems we're all gettin' our fun, finally." He smiled wickedly at Tommy. "Even you may fin' some fun," he stated with a smirk.
Tommy shot him a wide scary smile. He too wants to play the game, thought Martin, and he would have his parts. So now, Taylor will have to cope with their rules.
xxx
Startled by the aggressive sound of blaring horns down the street, Mac began to be slowly aware of his surroundings. He tiredly raised his head from the soft pillow his face had plunged into, trying to remember where he was and why. His breath slow and steady, he realized, as he opened his eyes that he wasn't in the cold, damp hole anymore, and let out a deep sigh of relief. His dreams had been full of depressing, dark places lately, where he had seen himself falling among chaotic wrecks, and he was glad for once to wake up on a soft bed. Squinting through the light obscurity, his sight wandered the large, cozy room. The place was dark although a faint smokey light was coming from the closed blinds enabling him to see. His forehead creased. No, of course he couldn't be into that hole, cops had finally shown up and rescued him, he remembered now. He sighed, but why wasn't he at the hospital? He racked his brain and felt a flaring pain soaring from his right side and exploding in his body when he moved.
Clenching his jaw, his face contorted under the burning pain flaring from his side. Something hard was pressed against his tender side. He groaned as he rolled on his side, letting a deep sigh escape his lips as he lay on his back, freeing his trapped, numb hand from his body. No wonder his side hurt like hell, he had slept on his hand pressed against his tender wound. Wound? His brows furrowed. Now he remembered as his throat emitted a small grunt. He had been at the hospital, at least, he recalled images of being there, but where was he now? This room didn't fit with hospital standard he noted, as his gaze wandered from the window on his left and to the painting on the wall in front of him. From where he was the painting looked like some kind of old farmer harbor with a blue, lazing sea crawling to the left. Then, his eyes settled on the door placed between the painting and a long closet taking almost all the wall on the right. That door was the only exit, his only exit. He frowned, listening carefully as he thought he had heard muffled steps; but then it was silent again. If there was someone, he was either gone or waiting for him to get out, and frankly he didn't like the sound of that.
Despite, his tired muscles screaming to rest a little longer, his curiosity took the best of him, and he decided to check what was behind that door. A wrenching pain tore at his body as he sat on the bed, and winced, his breath coming in short rasps. Lazily, the warm blanket covering his chest fell softly to his lap. His mind focused on dealing with the pain soaring from his side, he pushed the blanket aside and swung his legs over the bed with another wince. Carefully, he stood up, his feet deepening into the thick carpet, realizing with a frown that his shoes were missing. His sight wandered on the soft carpet, and he saw with relieve a pair of boots, neatly set under a chair next to the window. Swaying and shaking involuntarily on weak legs, he finally managed to take support as he leaned a bit on the door's closet on his right.
He blinked, trying to adjust his swaying vision to the shadowy light crawling from under the door. That's when he realized he was fully dressed and still wearing his jacket. He breathed deeply, realizing that he must have crashed on his bed fully dressed, though if his shoes were gone; it meant somebody had come after he was asleep, but who?
With this question still bouncing in his mind, he took a deep breath and began to walk clumsily to the door, his right hand lingering on the closet for support. As he got close to the door, he felt the acrid taste of bile rising to his mouth while the room started to spin dangerously around him. Twisting slowly, his back leaned against the closet, and he stopped for a moment, breathing hard to dam the heaving surge rising from his stomach. He felt hot and weary, and wondered what had happened to him. His mind was too confused to have any clear idea, so he let it go, hoping the answer would come from what was behind that door. After a minute, the nausea slowly faded and he was able to resume his limping walk to the door. His heart beating behind his temples, he opened the door in expectation. Blinded by a white, bright light, he raised his arm to protect his eyes, a gruntescaping his lips as he had pulled on his stitches.
"Mornin'," welcomed a female voice surrounded by a shining halo, as his eyes got used to the bright light.
He swallowed, blinking lightly as his sight stopped on the golden haired woman who sat on a couch, a mute TV on in front of her.
"Hi," he replied. "Where..." he began with a dry mouth, not sure what he should say or do.
"Or good afternoon, I should say," continued the woman as she closed the laptop she was working on. "You slept almost all day, Mac, and it's a first, especially for someone like you." She gave him a warm smile as she stood up and walked toward him.
Gazing at her partner standing, no, more like leaning against the doorframe of his room, Stella noted with worry that he seemed to have a hard time remaining upright. Coming close to him, she noticed with a frown the confused look he was giving her.
"You're in my apartment Mac. You remember?" She asked with the tip of her lips, almost afraid to learn that he had lost more days. Though his deep silence didn't help her to be reassured, and a silent panic suddenly nestled in the pit of her stomach when she saw his forehead creased as if he was looking for the right answer. "Mac?" A small shiver ran through her back. No he couldn't have lost more days, no way.
Whirlpools of images mixed with wrecking sounds rushed back in his mind. He swallowed slowly, raising a pair of wondering green, ocean eyes on the worried woman in front of him. And then, the name popped into his head in an instant, Stella. She was the one he had seen at the hospital, a cop too, as he was, he remembered now. Well, that's what she had told him. But they had kept him under strong surveillance and he wasn't sure he could trust her.
"Stella?" he uttered softly.
Her fear faded at the sound of her name. "Who else?" She gave him a warm smile. "Are you okay, Mac?" Her tone was soft, trying to make him comfortable as she stepped a bit closer, though she remained at a cautious distance remembering too clearly how he had acted the day before.
"Yeah, yeah." He nodded lightly, his hand shaving the air before him. "Just forgot for a second where I was."
She let out a small sigh. "Well, with your concussion it's no surprise. Dr Shen had warned you about that, but it's going to wear off with time. You wanna eat somethin'?" She glanced at her watch. "It's well past noon and since you skipped dinner last night, and breakfast too, I guess you must be starving."
"Not really hungry," he replied as a small wave of nausea rose again to his throat. His stomach churned and he felt helpless to his strength abandoning his entire body. With a wince, he leaned more heavily against the doorframe, trying to hide his discomfort. "Stella." His tone was more serious, still trying to sound fine and confident. "You said if I trust you enough, we would go to my office." He watched her as she shook her head, a small line creasing her forehead. "I trusted you, I came here, where the hell is here anyway..." His voice trailed off as he sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. "So, now I need to see where I work and live."
She watched with pain as the green of his eyes turned into a bright, gleaming blue when a bright sunray pierced through the white clouds and bathed his face. She could see the intensity of his ocean gaze, imploring her to say yes. She observed him a minute, wondering how she was going to tell him that it wasn't a good idea. She bit her lower lip as his frail shape was sinking more against the door frame in a vain attempt to keep his shaking body up and standing, faking that he was okay. Though, hiding his pain and tired attitude would have worked with anyone, she knew him too well not to see the weariness behind his cautious moves and stand. She wanted to step next to him and take his arm around her neck to steady him, but she recalled that he didn't trust her, hell, he didn't even remember their friendship, and she didn't want to trigger a bad episode of PTSD. She sighed, knowing the day was going to be long and tiring for both of them.
"Tell ya what," she replied, trying to lighten the lingering silence. "Since you slept in your clothes and with your jacket on, I'll bet you need a good shower to feel whole again, right?" She gave him a large smile and his face lighted slightly. "Then, I'll prepare a little somethin' for us to eat, and we can talk about where we could go, but only one place, okay?" Although what she didn't tell him was that his place and his office were out of the question, doctor's orders for now. She felt a guilty knot twitching in her stomach as she was somehow lying to him, and she hated it, though she had no choice right now. It wasn't like he was remembering everything, and she couldn't bet on his logical mind right now.
He seemed to think about it for a second before he nodded slowly. "Where's..." he began his sight wandering into the main room with a frown.
"Yes," she shook her head, as she stepped next to him. "Let me show you." Gently cupping his right elbow, she led him to a door next to his room.
As he walked with her, he noticed another room , the door was ajar, and he could see a bed inside, although this one showed no sign of being slept in lately. He glanced at Stella, her sweet perfume was sending a whirlpool of confused images into his mind as he followed her. Suddenly he felt light headed as images of Stella, her hand cupping his cheek in a corridor appeared before his eyes. His heart was beating fast as the flash vanished and he gave her another fugitive glance. He wondered if it was something that had really happened or the product of his imagination when he was so close of her. Did he like her? If they were really partners, was it normal that she caressed his cheek this way? A deep frown carved his forehead, confused about the situation. If there was more between them, why hadn't she talked about it?
But maybe, it was a side effect of having been stuck alone for some time, his mind convinced him, as he still had no real proof they were really partners. She hadn't shown him any pictures or anything as a matter of fact that could really prove she knew him, or that he was a cop. So for him, that was the proof that something weird was going on. That thing about letting him get his memory back by himself could just be a trick to keep him quiet. Hell, his memory loss could as well be induced by the drugs they filled him with. He frowned, yeah, but then he wouldn't have felt the effect when he was trapped in that damn hole. So okay, maybe no drugs, he was really having memory loss. He sighed, his eyes wandering to the door ajar she showed him, the one with the neat bed.
As his sight stopped again on it, Stella gave him a small smile. "Well, that's my room back there, in case you need anything." She started to blush, realizing what she might have implied. "I mean, you know, if you need to reach me in the night and..." Gee! Her voice rambled, not sure how she got herself into this mess, so she ignored his questioning look with a deep sigh and stepped to the second door in front of them. C'mon Stella, get a hold on yourself. It's only Mac here. So why I'm blushing like a sixteen year old?
She pushed the door to reveal a creamy bathtub in the right corner, and a shower a few feet next to the sink. The tiles on the wall were covered with the same creamy color of the bathtub, although the floor was in a darker shade of brown tiles. She pointed at a duffel bag in the back corner and Mac recognized the one she had brought at the hospital.
"I left your bag there, like that you can freshen up and get changed." She locked her emerald eyes with his turquoise, worry lingering in her sight. "Will you be okay?" Even though she knew it wasn't her place to be in the bathroom with him, well, she wasn't his girlfriend afterall, she couldn't help but think she had to ask, and make sure he would be all right.
He snorted but then gave her a light nod, not sure why he wanted to make sure she wouldn't misinterpret his childish behavior. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he mumbled between clenched teeth as the pain had fiercely settled in his right side as he entered the room.
Then, he closed the door behind him and limped to the sink, careful not to slip with his socks. He froze before the mirror as he stared at his pale, tired face for the first time since he woke up in that damp, cold hole. A pair of bluish, green eyes were staring back at him, heavy dark bags etched under his orbits. He rubbed his face with a tired hand, and his fingers grazed at the rough stubble of his cheeks. Tiredly, he brushed his brown hair back and sighed. He looked like hell. His eyes seemed to have sunk so deep inside his face that he thought it would be hard for anyone to really think that he wasn't going to die in the next hour. No wonder Stella was giving him those freakin' glances every once in a while, thinking he hadn't noticed. Hopeless, about his situation, he turned to the shower behind him with a deep sigh.
Sliding out of his leather jacket, he laid it on a chair near the sink and rummaged through the duffel bag. He pulled out a blue sweater and a pair of dark jeans that he set next to the bag. Then, he found a pair of dark navy socks in the back pocket and a choice of different underwear. For a moment he frowned, wondering if it was Stella who had really picked up his clothes. But he quickly shaved the idea, even if it was her it didn't mean anything. Then, he began to undress, which turned out to be the most difficult task he had ever done. Sweating and panting after five good minutes of struggle with his sweater, he finally managed to get it off and let it fall on the ground on top of his clothes. His wounds were burning and flaring through his body, and he felt drained and exhausted for the week.
For a minute, he watched with disgust as the mirror reflected the purple bruises turning into a yellow, brownish spot over his left ribs. He winced as his hand pressed lightly on the tender skin, and a new wave of pain hit him. He swallowed it back, trying to focus his mind on his next target as his eyes settled over the white dressing on his right side. Small, crimson dots were smearing the white fabric and before his courage faded, he rippedoff the bandage, sending jolts of pain into his gut. Breathing deeply and slowly, he noted the small row of black stitches etched in his flesh, the skin around the wound colored with dark, purple stains. This time he didn't try to touch it as it was obviously hurting him since he woke up.
Then, he turned so that he could see his back in the mirror, especially his left shoulder. Wincing as he strained on his right arm to reach the dressing, he ripped it off quickly, revealing a row of deep, raw, crimson lashes carved in his flesh. He stifled a grunt as the cold air brushed the raw skin, reminding him when the wood had grazed his flesh while he was stuck under the panel. He had thought at the time that he was done for good, but here he was, staring at a mirror in a cop's apartment, who claimed to be his friend and employee. He sneered at the image in front of him; a cop and a boss. Deep down, he hoped she wasn't lying, but a small, nagging fear had settled in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't shake the idea that something was wrong, but what?
Throwing both dressings into the bin near the sink, he headed for the shower. Slowly, the warm liquid began to slide along his weary shape, awaking at first the raw wound of his shoulder. Tiredly, his hands lay on the wall in front of him, as his head sagged and he let the warm dripping liquid ran through his hair, slid to his bruised face and dripped to his battered body. At last, it felt good to feel the hot water warming his aching body. He let out a deep contented sigh as his eyes closed, and he lingered into the soft and warm, pouring water.
xxx
Her yellow beam lighted her way through the wreck surrounding her, everywhere her eyes lay upon was covered by a thick layer of brown, frozen sludge, mixed with some kind of white powder. Probably plaster. Lindsay let out a small sigh as she discovered the rumble where Stella and Flack had pulled out an unconscious Mac, almost three days ago. Careful not to stumble on the broken, charred panels mixed with pieces of red bricks and scattered on the frozen ground, Lindsay shaved her light through the wreck hoping to find the beginning of an answer as to why Mac had been here in the first place, or who had trapped him. Seeing the damage of this building, these guys had probably used some kind of explosives, but now it was up to them, She and Hawkes, to find traces and get a real lead. She sighed, so far, they hadn't found a lot in Mac's car, besides a hair and some dry mud that could have come either from his boots as well as from the bastard that had trapped him. However, now that the NYFD had secured the crumbling ruins, they could finally begin to process the crime scene, and everyone at the Crime Lab was really expecting a lot from it, after all, Mac was their boss, and a lot of people had expressly joined that Lab because of him and his methods. So, crossing her fingers, she had kissed Danny at the news and grabbed her kit to arrive ASAP here with Hawkes and a couple of lab tech.
As expected, the remaining side of the building was still up and the firefighters had installed a metallic ladder to help them climb down to the basement, also called the hole by Flack. A shiver ran down her spine at the mention of the Hole. It sounded so much like a bad horror movie, where your nerves would tickle every minute making you turn back to check over your shoulder than no monster had appeared in the dark. She sighed, but the monsters in this case had been more than real, almost succeeding if Stella and Flack hadn't found Mac with his cell phone. Thank God, he never left his office without it.
"This way," Hawkes' voice echoed through the small darkness as his beam lighted a pile of frozen chunks in the middle of the room.
Watching closer, Lindsay noticed it was a white bathtub turned upside down. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she saw the traces of frozen blood left on it. Could be Mac's, her mind shouted with pain. Stay focus, Linds, he's okay, he's with Stella right now. Setting her kit beside her, she crouched and used a pad to scrap the dry, crimson surface. Sprinkling a clear liquid on it, the pad glowed purple. Blood. The color confirmed her. So, she was at the right place. She looked back at the men following her.
"You can install the first set here," she asked them as she pointed at the lighting fixture they had brought with them.
Twenty minutes later, the dark, gloomy place was bathed by four giant lighting fixtures. The hot light glistened over the frozen, charred panels and red bricks lay messily on the ground. As Lindsay and Hawkes finally discovered the place, their hearts skipped a bit in their chest at the vision of war before them. Half of the floors had collapsed on themselves, crushing everything in their way down, and if it hadn't been for a giant column in the middle of the room, the entire place would have been buried under that falling wreck of bricks and wood. They looked at each other, exchanging the same understanding. What had been the odds that the building didn't collapse entirely and that Mac found himself in the only spot where the roof had held on? Too small. They took a deep breath. Yeah, once again, it had been a close call for their boss and friend, really too close.
xxx
She bit her lower lip as he closed the bathroom door. For a while, she stayed there, her back against the wall, unable to move or make a sound. She was waiting to be sure that he had made it into the shower. It felt so unreal to be standing there in front of this door after all that happened to him. She sighed, glad he was back but conscious that they were on the threshold of a long, tiring road, but as long as he was alive and that she could remain with him, she really didn't mind. Then, she finally heard the water dripping, and she began to relax. Things would be alright now. Seeing his state, she couldn't have walked away without being sure that he hadn't crumbled to the floor, drained from his energy. As Dr Shen had told her, he was in no shape to be released, but considering his memory loss and the fact he was suffering from PTSD, the best option was to let him be alone to set his mind at peace as quickly as possible, which, she hoped, would increase his chances of a full recovery. Keeping him in a hospital room would have only increased his stress. Mac had never been a man to stay in one place anyway, even though he was hurt. However, his weak shape didn't allow him to walk or move that much, and Shen had warned her about looking for signs of weariness from him. And right now, although he had just woken up, he was showing all the signs of someone too tired to do anything else but rest today.
Yep, today wasn't a good day to move around. She sighed, he had barely made it to the bathroom without groaning, and the few winces she had caught on his pale face had achieved to convince her. She bit her bottom lip, she hadn't lost hope to make him reconsider his choice of going outside. After a hot shower and a warm meal, he would probably be too tired to go anywhere, so why was she so worried anyway, she wondered, her sight still stuck on the door. Nodding slightly, she turned and headed to the kitchen. She sighed, the water was running, and Mac was a big boy, she could stop worrying now. And he certainly wouldn't appreciate having her looking over his shoulder or knowing that she had kept a close eye on him from the minute he had set foot in her apartment; though she couldn't stop it. He was her friend and he needed her right now, and this time she intended to be there if things turned out wrong. Her sight wandered to the fridge, and she shook her head remembering his weary frame when he had disappeared in the bathroom. He looked so lost and vulnerable, the opposite of the vibrant, cunningimage he used to shine every day. She swallowed the lump in her throat, but now things were going to be okay, she convinced herself. It had to be.
Glancing at her watch, she decided to call Danny and check with the team. She headed quietly into the main room and dialed the young detective.
"Danny?"
"Yeah, Stell, how's goin'?" he asked, his voice accompanied by a familiar rumbling behind him.
She frowned, surely Danny hadn't disobeyed her once again, he wasn't outside processing a case while She and Mac had clearly expressed that he should stay put in the Lab. "Where are you Danny?"
"Huh," she heard him hesitated. "In my car actually. Linds and Sheldon are where you found Mac. The NYFD has finally secured the place and granted us to process the scene."
Although it was good news, and meant that they were going forward with Mac's case, she sighed, he had smartly ducked her question. "I mean outside the Lab, Danny?"
"Ah, that. Huh, kinda wanted to see the place by day with real light there, ya know."
"Yeah, I know. But remember that we told you to stay, in, the Lab. Not outside, venturing." She sighed, she knew how Danny could feel, hell, she was just feeling the same way, well, maybe hundred times more because Mac was her partner, but the young detective had to understand that he couldn't play with his life like that, especially when neither Mac nor her were there to get him covered. "Danny, this is your last trip before a long time, you understand me?"
"Yeah, I hear you loud and clear Stell," came Danny's remorseful voice.
"Good. Now you can say to the team that Mac and I, we're fine. So, you take care, alright?"
He smirked. "We'll do, Stell. Keep an eye on the Boss, talk to you later."
Stella smiled, her gaze wandering beyond the window and to the silver towers. Oh yes, she was keeping a close eye on Mac. In fact, she intended to never leave him anytime soon.
xxx
Half an hour later and still worrying sick about Mac, she finally heard him open the door. Heavy footsteps grazed at the smooth carpet as he limped to the kitchen, obviously still too weary. She muffled a sigh, letting go the breath she had been holding. It surprised her to be so worried about him, although he was just in the other room. She hadn't felt that way for him in a long time, since... well, she bit her lower lip, not since that fateful day in September that had taken away a part of his soul. She winced at the painful memory, remembering the awful days and months that had followed as he had come to work only to lose himself in more cases; days after days becoming a shadow of the man he was. She swallowed, shaving the terribles images that had burned her mind and turned to find him observing her. His weary body still leaning against the doorframe, she noted that now he had showered and shaved. His hair was messy as if he had brushed them back with one hand, and the dark heavy bags under his eyes were still contrasting dreadfully with the pale color of his skin, though, his white skin was turning into dark, purple spots here and there, where his head had dangerously collided with whatever they had used to take him away from her; his left temple being the biggest sad attraction of his tired features. She suppressed a wince. He looked awful, and yet, she preferred to see him like that than when she had found him; still and so cold.
Wearing the blue sweater she had stuffed for him in his bag, he seemed to be floating inside as if it was too big for him. She frowned, wondering if he had lost pounds before this whole event, or if it was the stress, and at least three days without properly eating that had done that to him, though knowing her partner, he had probably managed to skip some meal before this whole thing. Finally, she decided that it was due to his way to stand. In fact, she had never seen him that drained. Every wrinkle of his forehead or tugging at the corner of his mouth indicated he shouldn't be up and walking, he should be resting in a bed. Even his way to lean wearily against the doorframe, his hands stuffedloosely into his pockets as to be sure it would support his shoulders, were more evidences that her friend was in the worst state she had seen him in years; even his legs seemed to be on the verge to succumb to his weight. She bit her bottom lip, hiding a wince. In ten years she had known him, only once she had seen him in this kind of shape, and at the time his mind and heart were a wreck too. Oh god, Mac. Realizing which road they were engaged in. She gave him a small smile, trying to hide her own discomfort before turning to her cooking and letting a heavy sigh escape her lips, but far from his sight. This was going to be hard on both of them.
"Can I help with something?" his hoarse voice croaked through chapped lips, although it sounded less rough than the day before.
He tried to pull a smile on his face, but only succeeded with a small tug at his lips, visibly too weary for that too, she noted with sorrow. Glancing at him, she smiled back, shaking her head. "Ah, it's okay, Mac, I'm all done."
He watched tiredly as she pointed to a table already dressed.
"Why don't you take a seat, I'll bring our food then."
He nodded slowly and limped wearily to the table, his right arm carefully nestled over his side. His jaw clenched in an attempt to muffle any groan that could escape his throat. Stella watched painfully as he tried to hide a wince when he sat, his body obviously in pain. Setting a tray of pancakes on the table, she quickly brought back a pan with scrambled eggs. Without asking him, she filled a large spoon with it and began to stuff his plate, laying slices of fried bacon and another big spoon of mashed potatoes.
Frowning, he looked up to see her grab two more pancakes to add to his plate. "I think I'm good with that," he said, raising a hand before his plate, but Stella didn't listen and dropped the pancakes near the eggs.
"You need to eat, Mac, trust me?" she dropped, ignoring the sternlook he was giving her.
He deeply sighed, his heart beating a bit faster. C'mon, don't get stressed up for two pancakes, he scolded himself as he felt a smoldering anger taking place in his stomach. Without looking at Stella, he mumbled a small thank you as his fork deepened into the mashed potatoes. Although he wasn't hungry, he took a bit of it and chewed it slowly. The food was good after a few bites, but soon, the taste reawakened a wave of nausea and he had to put his fork down. Maybe a drink of water would help.
Stella watched him closely from her side of the table as he set aside his fork after having only touched a part of his plate and quickly gulpeddown a glass of water. She frowned as his face turned whiter than the table set, and closed his eyes in a small attempt of shutting himself from the outside world. No, today isn't a good day to go outside, definitely, she decided, no matter what he wanted.
"You don't want to eat?" she asked softly, not wanting him to think she was scolding him like a child; one fight had been enough yesterday, she remembered painfully.
"Not hungry, remember," he replied dryly, pushing his plate aside. "It was good though." He added. He didn't want her to think he was mad at her, even though, he didn't feel too comfortable; he couldn't blame her for that. He sighed, but now it was time to talk about important matters, as going outside for example. But to his surprise, she turned to her side and grabbed a small paper bag. She drew two small boxes from it and set them before his plate.
He watched frowning as each contained a bunch of pills. He hated those that kept his mind in a fog, and he couldn't remember anything afterward, so how was he going to find his memory back with that stuff. He sighed mentally, heaving at the idea of swallowing them. More than anything, he wanted to remember, even if it meant being in pain and feeling like a wreck, he wasn't going to let a bunch of pills rule his days, no way.
"These are painkillers," Stella explained as she pointed at a big round one. "And these," as she showed the other box, "are for your overall conditions, memory and antibiotics to avoid trouble with your gunshot wound. You have to take two of each, twice a day," she concluded. Although, what she hadn't said was that the painkillers contained a tranquilizing effect to help him control his PTSD. She bit her lower lip, hating herself for not telling him the complete truth, but Dr Shen had clearly told her not to talk about his PTSD or anything related to it, which in Mac's case meant a lot of things.
Mac stared at the two boxes near his plate. If he wanted to get out and escape his golden prison, it wasn't going to work if he was stuffed again with the same sleeping pills, but Stella wasn't going to drop the subject. So he had to find something if he wanted to avoid taking them.
To her surprise, he nodded without any protest, and opened the boxes, taking two pills of each and set them near his plate.
With some luck, she would trust him enough to take them on his own, and she wouldn't ask him to swallow them before her. He smiled as he saw her getting up and taking away some of the dishes. Quickly, he grabbed the pills and stuffed them in his jeans' pocket before he gulped avidly down his water.
When she turned back, she smiled as he had swallowed the pills. Things are going to be okay.
"So, where are we going now?" he asked with a broad smile, trying to change the subject of his pills. She had promised him they would go out and help him to recover his memory, so now was the time to see if she was true to her words, and maybe he would reconsider to really trust her.
Stella cringed at Mac's demand, her back to him as she was setting the dishes into the sink. She turned a sad face toward him. "Well, it's late, Mac," she began checking her watch; it was past three now. She glanced at the window and noticed the swaying fall of the snow again. It would be dark in a few hours. "And..."
"You lied to me." He cut her off, realizing with anger she was trying to make some damn excuse to keep him inside. "You had no intention of helping me, right?" He growled, anger rising in his voice and heart at the same speed. "You're not my friend. You're just doing your damn job. You don't care about what I feel." He snapped as he stood up in a rush, and his chair fell on the floor with a chink. His jaw tightened, he limped out of the kitchen, angry, his right arm snuggling over his wound. His heart was beating fast behind his temples, and his headache came back with full force, giving him a hard time to keep his mind focus. All that he could think of was that she'd lied to him, and more than anything he had faced since he had woken up, that awful realization was piercing his heart like a cold blade. He shouldn't have trusted her. He shouldn't have let her drive him here.
"That's not true, Mac," she called after him as he was leaving. Not this time, she thought, I'm not letting you go.
Striding out of the kitchen, she was beside him in a matter of seconds. No, this time she wasn't going to let him go and get hurt as she saw him grabbing his jacket and heading to the door. Grabbing his left arm she stopped him by pulling on his arm, which made him wince as he turned to her, darting an angry stare.
"What the..." He cursed, his shoulder now throbbing in pain where the pulled sweater had grazed the wound.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to..." she apologized.
"No, that's sure, you don't mean anything, but you still do it," he shouted, with an accusing tone, his right eye half closed under the wrenching pain soaring from his shoulder and the coming headache.
"You're right," she shouted back. If we have to yell at each other to settle the problem, then be it.
Her words stopped him right away. The blue-green ocean of his eyes pierced through her shell, as he waited for her explanation.
Seeing the opportunity he was offering her to push her pawn, she took a lower tone. "I...I thought you would be too tired after your shower, and..." she sighed, gathering her strength and locking her emerald eyes with his, her hand going through her curly, golden hair and neck. "I don't think you're in good shape to go out today." She stated finally. "The doctor said not to strain yourself and..."
"The hell with Shen!" he yelled back, exasperated with his doctor's advice for almost everything. Why can't he just be normal? "I'm not a kid, Stella. I can take care of myself. I don't need supervision or you to tell me what I should do or not." He shouted between gritted teeth. He could feel the burning anger from the other day soaring through his chest and waiting to explode. "Unless I'm still your prisoner," he dropped finally between clenched teeth.
"What? No." Her eyes widened in shock. How could he still think that?
She could tell he was angry; the bluish green of his eyes turning into a deep shade of dark blue as if a storm was forming inside his eyes.
"I'm not saying that you can't decide for yourself, Mac, I'll never think that way. But you're not yourself. You're wounded, exhausted and you can barely stand."
He shot her a surprise look. "C'mon Mac, I've known you for years. Don't you think I can't see the signs when you're too drained to do anything else but rest."
"I can..." he began.
"To add to that," she continued ignoring his protest and venting emotions she had kept buried. "Someone tried to kill you, and I'm worried. So I'm not leaving you to hurt yourself or to be alone again, even if you get mad at me. Once was enough," she dropped turning her back to him and looking at the window. Her eyes stared at the grey towers of the city clouded by the falling snow. No way she was going to let him get hurt again.
Once was enough. He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She swallowed, having spoken too much. "Huh? Nothing, forget it." Her hand shaved the subject. "You want to go out? Fine, let's go." She grabbed her keys and got her coat. "You'd better get dressed," she added, her chin pointing at his clothes. "It's cold outside, but you already knew that, right?" opening the door she turned back. "I'll be at the elevator, so you don't feel I'm treating you like a child. Lock the door when you leave."
She closed the door in a whoosh. He swallowed, biting his lips in anger. He was the one angry, why was she suddenly behaving like if it was her? He muffled a curse. His anger slowly subsided as he was now alone to cool down. If she was playing him, then she was good at it, he had to give her that; otherwise, it meant she was really hurt, but he couldn't care, not now. She had lied to him, though she had clearly admitted it, but it didn't change the fact that she had hidden things from him. He couldn't trust her. If she had hidden that, what else was she hiding from him? He turned to his room heading for a thicker sweater, and to get his boots. He pouted; she had been right about the cold though. Somehow in heated anger he had just forgotten about those. A small smile grazed his lips, at least he was getting out, that was all that mattered anyway.
After several minutes of strained efforts bent to get his shoes on without tearing too much on his stitches on his side and shoulder, he left the apartment. He locked the door as she had asked and hobbled to the elevator, his headache throbbing mildly in rhythm of his steps.
As expected she was waiting in front of the elevator, her sight stuck at the signal. As the doors opened, both stepped inside without a word. It was a tormenting ride down as silence remained between them and they headed to her car. Fine, if she wanted to be mad at him, then he would show how stubborn he could be too. Without a word he climbed into the passenger seat, buckled his seatbelt with a small grimace and waited for her to start the engine.
Stella glanced quickly at Mac as he grimaced in his seat and bit her bottom lip. Maybe she was going too hard on him. At the end of their argument she had finally opted for taking him for a ride. She preferred going with him than letting him wander alone and wounded with a target painted on his back. At least, this way, she was sure to be there to help him in case anything happened. She stared at the road in front of her, after all, she had no idea how she would feel if she had lost everything she knew. Maybe she would act just like him. No, she shook her head, she would be worse knowing her temper, she would be a wreck, and Mac would have to restrain her to stay in place. She sighed, deciding that as long as he didn't remember exactly who he was she would try to make things easier for him, even if it meant she had to swallow his blows without a word. She couldn't tell him about his past, doctors' orders, okay, but at least she could make him understand her, but that would mean telling him what she felt inside. Could she do it? Would he still be her friend after he'd recover if she had revealed too much of her feelings for him?
Starting the engine, she glanced at his tired features. What would he decide when he would learn that she loved him?
Feeling Stella's eyes on him, his sight left the street passing his window to watch her driving. She quickly looked back at the road as if she didn't want him to notice her stolen glances. Her attitude was stiff and nervous, and he wondered if it was normal for friends to feel so tensed around each other, or if it was just them, or because of his current state. He chose not to ask her anything, even if he didn't care about what she thought right now, he was too pissed off for it, though he had to admit he preferred to have her like this than yelling at him. He watched outside as the snow was falling in heavy bundles, and even though she had put the heater on, he quivered remembering the cold sneaking under his skin.
"We're almost there," she finally spoke after fifteen minutes of driving in silent torment. She pulled over at the entrance of a small park.
"Where are we?" he asked, frowning. Why were they outside? He wanted to see his place or his office but this? He clenched his jaw: another trick?
She jumped out of the car and walked to the entrance of the park not looking back. He sighed heavily, alone in the car. She could have answered. Tensing a bit, he climbed out; his boots squashing the frosted snow as he followed her into the park. Too drained to keep her pace, he puffed heavily, slowly trudging through the icy, white snow to reach her. "Stella?" He called out, but it seemed she had decided to ignore him. Damn, that woman. He realized quickly that she had been right on another thing; he was exhausted. Sure his body hurt like hell, but he had to muffle the constant pain tearing his side to be able to walk without screaming at each step, and his breath was so short, that his lungs were drained after a minute of trudging through the heavy snow sticking at his boots. He cursed, angry and drained, he hoped she would have a damn fine excuse for taking him into this, otherwise he wasn't going to come back with her, hell no. He'd find a way, but he would get to the bottom of this.
After five minutes of straining efforts, he finally arrived next to her, too exhausted to be able to think straight, his anger now lulled by the tiredness and pain draining his body. As he looked up, he saw her as she had stopped at the end of a small pier and was gazing at the dark, furious waters, crashing on the stoned shore below her. Her golden, curly hairs were gently lifted by the cold blowing wind. For a second, he gazed at the peaceful image of her, standing and facing the ocean while waiting for him. Without even thinking, his mind lingered into the quiet fantasy of her as she had waited for him for years. He swallowed sadly the shreds of a dream he would never live, and stepped closer. With their regular, heated arguments, there was no chance of her looking at him more than a friend. He sighed with remorse, even that he wasn't sure would happen one day.
"Where are we?" he asked between tired rasps, his hands on his knees as he had stopped behind her. If she had seen him, he knew she would have scolded him, again, to prove her point that he was getting tired too quickly to stand a small walk. So he preferred to stay one step behind till he really knew what it was all about.
She closed her eyes, listening to his ragged breath. He was obviously exhausted from this small walk, and it hurt her to hear him this weak. She turned toward him a worried glance and caught the sight of his flushed face with a pinch at her heart. He looked so vulnerable and tired that it was hard to remain unmoved before him. But now, she knew he wouldn't let her in, not after their last fight, so she resigned herself to lean on the railing behind her and act as if he was okay, well almost. She bit her lower lip, yeah almost.
"I thought this would be the best place to start if you wanted to remember," she said, trying to sound as if she hadn't noticed his weary state.
There were two places where she always went to look for him in time when he was in great pain. One was where he had lost Claire; Ground Zero; and the second was this one, though she couldn't tell him why, he had to find it by himself. Even her, had wondered sometimes why he was coming here, at the end of this pier. Of course, she had her theories about it, but she had never asked him. Then, maybe today she would learn his true reason too. That is, if he happened to remember. She sighed deeply, hoping he would.
Without speaking, she turned her back to him and stared at the dark ocean, leaning on the cold railing. The freezing wind lifted her golden curls and a sprinkle of salty waters brushed her lips. Her eyes wandered down among the dark, tumbling waters crashing on the sharp rocks. The shuffling of his boots against the chunks of ice covering the pier told her he had finally decided to join her at the railing. Without a glance, she knew he was at her side. It had always been that way. When he was close to her, she had always known when it was him without even looking. That was their thing, the extending of their bond, they knew each other more than themselves. A small smile curved her lips, as she longed to find her friend back.
"So, what is this place?" he whispered with a small breath, his mind suddenly becoming at peace as he watched the slow, rocking movement of the dark, foamywaves under him.
As the wind blew stronger he raised his collar, a small, puffy cloud escaping his mouth. He hid a small wince as his undershirt grazed at his wounds, unprotected. He cursed mentally at his helplessness as he had left the bathroom without setting new dressings over the stitches of his side; the same for his scorched shoulder which started now to burn like hell as the shirt was rubbing it with each move.
She pursed her lips as she glanced with the same dumfounded look that he was giving her.
"I don't know Mac. You're not a very, expressive man, you know." She sighed, regretting she had never asked him about this place. Her sight wandered down, searching for an answer among the white snow covering her boots. "I guess, I always assumed this place was important for you, but never asked you why, never wanted to bother you with this if you weren't ready to speak."
Mac frowned as he listened to her. The more he was with her and the more he was beginning to think that their relationship was really strange. The fact she had never asked him about this place was weird, any caring friend would, so why not her? Was she afraid of something else? Were they really that close? As the time passed, he wondered if she knew him at all, which reinforced his gut feeling about a trap, his memory being the bait. He bit his bottom lip, his gaze trying to find the truth through her stance and emerald eyes, but she seemed tensed as if the subject was really important to her. Maybe she was telling the truth, but why all this mystery about his past and all these holes in his life that she couldn't explain, like this place? No, really, there was something wrong with all of this, he could bet on it. And even if she wasn't setting him up, there was something she wasn't telling him. Her soft voice brought him back to reality.
"As long as I was able to find you, it was okay for me." She sighed almost resigned, as she glanced at him. "I'm sorry, Mac, but you're the only one to have the key for this place."
A deep line creased his forehead as his blue, turquoise eyes pierced through the emerald mirrors of her soul. There, in front of these dark, tumbling waters, her gleaming green fields were locked with his and suddenly he knew she was telling the truth about this place. Though he was still not sure about the other things, but this, he was sure she wasn't lying about.
A small, tired smile softly grazed his lips, his eyes now focused on the tumbling waters below him. If it was a special place for him, then he should find out really soon.
His gaze lost in the dark waters, Stella felt suddenly some uncertainty as his face tensed, maybe he was remembering something. Silently, she prayed he was. C'mon Mac, I know you can remember.
"Remembering something?" she couldn't help but ask softly.
He breathed out loudly, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Not really... but I like this place, thanks..." his voice trailed off as if he wanted to speak more, but instead his throat let escape a small grunt as his shirt had painfully rubbed over his raw wounds. Hiding a wince, he pushed the pain aside as his sight was drown by the furious waters. "It's really peaceful and quiet, here, I mean even with this weather." He paused, trying to sound comforting. He didn't know a lot about her, hell, neither about him, but this place was bringing him a sense of tranquility, of peace, he would have never hoped for. For the first time since he had woken up in the darkness of his trap hole, he realized that his mind was finally able to look at something without being pressed by a surge of overwhelming, angry questions.
She was right, here he felt at peace with himself. He smiled, but it failed quickly as he looked up at her with concern. "You know, I...well I don't want you to think that I'm not tryin', or that I'm ungrateful for what you're doin', but I might never..." his voice trailed off, his gaze shaded with sadness. He exhaled deeply. "...and if I..." his voice remained stuck in his throat unable to put in words his troubling feelings. What if he could never remember? What if his mind remained stuck in another dark, cold hole, forever. His gaze wandered among the dark waves crashing below him, fear nestled in the pit of his stomach as he was not sure of his future.
Her soft, warm hand covered his, breaking the cold feeling of the freezing wind still lingering in his limbs, and encouraging him to continue.
He turned to her a tormented expression, and for the first time since he had been missing three days ago, she recognized the same, lost expression he had given her when he had left after their dramatic argument.
"It's just," he swallowed the deep knot in his throat and took a deep breath, his chest rising slowly under his jacket. "I have no idea who I am, Stella," his broken voice echoed through the hissingwind. "Sometimes, things gets so confused in my mind." He sighed. "I'm sorry."
His small confession broke her heart as she had no idea how to heal him. "Mac, don't be, it's okay," she replied softly. "What really matters is you. We will manage the rest as it comes." She paused looking at him with concern. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he paused. "It's just... well, I don't really know what you're expecting from me. I mean, you show me this, and it's good, really, but..." His gaze was stuck on the moving waters as they went up and down. "I guess you may expect me to react one way, like him." He said referring to his old self, his hand dropped helplessly against his side, breaking their contact. "But I don't know that way anymore." He sighed.
She gave him a reassuring smile as she patted his arm warmly. Her eyes wandered to the frozen waters as a feeling of guilt surged inside her stomach, and she wondered if she would be able to hold on without telling him the whole truth about his situation, and how it was even worse than what the doctor had told him. He hadn't just lost his memory, he had lost his way to be him too and think like he used to do with PTSD. Even her, knowing his situation had troubled to cope with this new Mac, so to imagine what he was just experiencing was beyond her.
"It's okay, Mac. Things are going to be okay." She closed her eyes for a second, praying to be right, the odds were small, but it was him, Mac, and she had never seen him back down from a fight. "You don't need to rush. Dr Shen said it would come back in time." And knowing Mac she was pretty sure he would be okay really soon. No, the real problem was his PTSD, and that, could jeopardize everything he was, but she would not allow it. Her right hand squeezed the frozen railing. She wouldn't let him sink alone. "You know, once, I had a very, bad problem and..." She sighed, remembering their talks few years back about the possibility she become HIV. "You told me then, that all we had to do is to take things one step at the time. And you were right. I'm sure everything will be okay, Mac. Well as long as you're not going AWOL," she finished, teasing him. "Though it would put Sinclair in a terrible wrath. And I'd love to see that, but it wouldn't be good for your career." She smiled at the thought of the Chief of the Detectives, grumbling and yelling in Mac's office but then her gaze became serious when she caught the sight of Mac shivering lightly and hiding winces.
"You okay?" she asked, sounding worried as a crease formed on her forehead.
He exhaled deeply, trying to stop the uncontrolled quivering running through his body. The cold was everywhere. His hands gripped at the railing as he felt his heart pounding loudly beneath his temples. He couldn't stop shivering, it was like someone was digging a burning blade through his wounds.
"Mac?" asked Stella, her voice louder to overcome the new blowing wind. He turned toward her an exhausted sight, and she couldn't suppress a wince of her own as she saw his jaw tightening under the pain. Without thinking twice she cupped his right cheek and as his weary gaze met hers, she softly spoke. "Let's go home."
He nodded slightly, swallowing the hot pain and exhaustion wrenching his body. He was too tired to speak anyway, though the warmth from her soft hand against his cheek had helped him to shavethe dull sleep threatening him. He let her arm gently snake around his waist as she led him back to the car while his arm took support on her shoulders. It seemed odd at first to be so close of her, but then, his tired brain let her sweet, floralperfume invade his senses and as they trudged slowly through the flaky snow. Leaving deep, messy tracks behind them, he slowly felt his strength coming back, as if her close proximity was awaking his inner forces.
Weird.
With each step they were taking through the thick snow, she heard his loud rasp coming out, his warm breath tickling her neck every time he glanced at her. She smiled shyly, feeling suddenly more nervous than when she was sixteen, and she wondered why. Mac wasn't a stranger to her, and she had been the one to initiate their awkward embrace to walk back to the car. She shouldn't feel that nervous. She let out a deep breath as his weight pressed more on her shoulders before it curiously decreased, as if his strength was back. Glancing from the corner of her eyes, she discovered that he was looking at her with a curious look, his brows furrowed.
"Are you okay?"
He seemed to think a moment. "Yeah, I'm okay, thanks." He watched as her face beamed, and he realized it was the first true thanks he was giving her, her eyes beaming with relief. Maybe they were really friends after all, his tired brain whispered quietly. Yeah, maybe we are. As he opened the car's door, he slumped in the passenger seat with a wince, and was glad when she pulled off without teasing him for asking to walk a bit, although he was obviously too tired for it. He let his eyes close as she drove them back to her place.
Though his memory was still a wreck, he was beginning to feel more compelled to believe her. Even if she was hiding something from him, her actions were true and dedicated to help him, he was sure of it now. Though he was still troubled by the effects the short contact of her body against his had triggered. He didn't feel ready to deal with this kind of feeling right now, and her being so close to him was really disturbing. As his head sagged slowly to his side, he hoped tomorrow would finally bring him some real answers, though now he was ready to trust her a little more.
xxx
They had followed them all the afternoon, and so far, nothing new had appeared, though at the last moment of the day, the chick had almost carried him back to the car. Martin let a smile play over his lips. It seemed the both of them were really close; Closer than he had thought at first. His sight wandered among the cars parked along of the white, snowy sidewalk as Bonasera pulled over to her private parking lot. Maybe he should keep that in mind for later. Although the boss had canceled Taylor's death, he was sure it was just a small delay and that at one point when the news would be back, he'd have to finish what he had started. So, this kind of friendship could really become handy. He glanced at his bemused brother. Yeah, soon. But right now, he had to collect data for the boss, so he had to stay focus, and kept his thoughts on the both of them as they exited the parking lot, still holding each other.
xxx
His action more than his words had gotten her giddy, she realized. What had started the hard way this morning, had finally ended up with Mac letting her get close to him. She smiled shyly, this time he had let her help him. He hadn't refused her help or even quivered under her touch, though he was already quivering so it might have meant nothing, but she hoped dearly that it was a sign that they were making progress. Tomorrow they would go to the office, avoiding his apartment. She had realized since the beginning that the latter could be the worst place for his PTSD. Almost every bad memory he could have could be linked to his place one way or another; Claire, his military background, which she knew nothing about, his 333 stalker... She tensed a bit as she lay under the his office was't a better place, but at least, she hoped he had made some good memories there to balance with the bad ones. She frowned, sitting suddenly in her bed and turning on the light. She thought she had heard something. Listening carefully, she heard mumbling, no, more like moans. Mac. Quickly, she got up, sliding into pair of NYPD sweat pants and a long tee. Something was wrong with Mac, she could bet on it.
TBC...
A/N: Sorry to finish on this cliffie, but it's an angsty story, right? Lol. As always, don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter, your point of view matters...
Well, without forgetting this story I'm in a process of a new short, angsty Smacked, so if you don't wanna miss it, remember to put me on your author's alert list. So stay tuned for Remember An Najaf