A/N: Decided to put these at the top of the page instead from now on. I think, bar any unexpected circumstances, I can guarantee updates every two days again until the end of the story from now on. Of course, continued thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! Kate x
"Go and talk to Stella," a voice said sharply, to the accompaniment of the door banging open. Mac jumped, looking up from the printout he'd been studying intently, as Flack barged into his office.
Stella was usually the only one who would just walk in without knocking. He took a breath, and a second to collect himself. "I will. But first, I've got to – "
"No you don't. You've been saying that all night," Flack replied, clear frustration running beneath his forced conversational tone. "Right now you've run out of things to do. Go and talk to Stella."
"She won't want to see me." He wished Flack would understand. He had failed her. Betrayed her, even. It was better for both of them if he stayed out of the way right now.
Flack's tone was exasperated. "Of course she wants to see you! As I've been trying to say since midnight, and you've interrupted every time, she sent me to tell you."
Mac forgot whatever it was he'd intended to say. "…Oh."
- - - - -
She was asleep, and he sat for a while just watching her, and the way her brown curls were spread across the pillow. Her pale, quiet face looked unbearably fragile. He didn't wake her, telling himself that it was because she needed the sleep, and that waking her would therefore be unfair. Never mind that it also had the fortunate side-effect of delaying the conversation he was dreading.
At last, he got up to leave, but he paused in the act of creaking open the door to look back at her, and found that she was watching him through half-open eyelids. "Don't go," she whispered sleepily.
He returned to his chair as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. "Are you doing ok?" he asked her.
"Yeah. Flack said last night you found another body."
"On the Brooklyn Bridge. Her name was Lucy Clarke."
"What were you doing on the bridge in the middle of the night?" she asked.
"I went for a run, to clear my head. I just ended up there."
A silence fell. Mac thought he was probably the one who should break it, but he struggled to find the words. In the end, all he could find to say was, "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" she asked. He couldn't meet her eyes, knowing very well how inadequate those words were.
"Stell," he began, wretchedly, but she cut him off. She'd had plenty of time to think about what she wanted to say.
"Mac, I know you're sorry! But you didn't know something was wrong. You might've guessed, but you didn't know for sure. Look, the battery in my cell died, or you might've called me back to work before I got home, or something. That was my fault."
"But – "
"Just shut up a minute, will you?"
He complied, and waited while she searched for the words she wanted.
"Yeah, I was furious at you. I mean, when I could hear you shouting through the door, and then your footsteps going away down the hall…" She stopped, and swallowed, and fiercely brushed the tears from her eyes. He hung his head.
"No, look at me." She waited until he did. "Are you going to stop blaming yourself for this?"
"No.
"Well then, I think we're probably even."
"But – "
"You wouldn't fight a woman in the hospital?"
He smiled despite himself, and shook his head slightly.
"Ok, how about this. I reserve the right to bring this up as a valid point in each and every argument we ever have."
She wasn't going to give up. "Deal," he said, knowing she would never, never use this in an argument. And she knew he wasn't going to forget this, knew that he would file it away on his list of perceived personal failures, which also included Drew's brother Will, and Aiden, and Frankie, and Claire. But neither of them would ever admit these things out loud.
Mac looked at his watch. "I've got to go, Stell," he said. "My shift starts at eight."
"What time did you leave the lab? Seven? You haven't slept."
"I'll be fine. I'll see you later."
"I'm getting out of here later, in a couple of hours, so I'll be at my place, I guess."
"No. Go to my place, not yours. Stay for a couple of days."
"I'll be fine at home."
"I don't care what you think about this. Or what you want me to think that you think. I want you to stay at mine until we catch whoever did this to you. Stell, please, I just want you to be safe."
He was leaning towards her, his face pleading. And, truth to tell, she hadn't been happy at the thought of walking back into her apartment, walking through the empty rooms which would now hold an echo of – someone else – in their shadows. The motes of dust would hold the shape of him in the air. Every little noise would make her jump, heart hammering wildly out of control. She had been there before. She knew what it would be like.
So instead of protesting any more, she smiled gratefully. "Thanks."
He was trying to hide his relief. "No problem. I'll be home as early as I can."
- - - - -
Lindsay laid her head down on top of her arms which were folded on her desk. As soon as she and Danny had finally finished processing Stella's apartment, they had been put onto the serial case, so she'd ended up getting no sleep last night, and very little the preceding one. Now she was counting down until the end of her shift, knowing very well that she'd probably have to stay on even longer. After all, no one else had got any sleep either.
Footsteps entered the office, but she didn't look up, recognising them immediately as Danny's. He always walked as if he was expecting to have to start running any minute. A result of years of playing baseball, he'd told her. And growing up in his neighbourhood.
"You asleep on the job, Montana?" he asked her.
"Yes. Go away," she said, her voice coming out muffled through her sleeves.
He walked over to her and ruffled her hair. She tried to slap him away, but he'd jumped out of range. "Easy there," he joked.
She looked up. "Have you been crying?" he asked her.
"No," she said. He put out a hand and gently ran his fingertips along her cheek, just under one of her reddish eyes.
"I don't believe you." He sat down opposite her. "Bad memories?"
"Uh-huh. And Stella."
"Yeah. I know. Look, I'll go grab you a coffee, ok?"
"Thanks."
When he'd gone, she yawned and rubbed her eyes with her hands balled into fists, trying to wake herself up before Mac got back into the lab. She pulled the photos of the scene at the bridge back towards her from where she'd pushed them out of the way, and tried once again to see something she might have missed before.
She'd always hated crime scenes in public places, and this one was no exception. Some of her photos had captured parts of the crowd of voyeurs who'd been drawn to the edges of the tape to stare, and shout out comments, some pertaining to the dead girl, and some to her. It brought to mind when, in her rookie days, she'd attended negotiations with men and women who were determined to commit suicide from bridges, and people would drive past in their cars and shout for them to jump. The mixed up memories brought a hot, sick feeling of shame on behalf of those who didn't respect the dead or the about-to-die.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Danny, who returned carrying two mugs of coffee in one hand by their handles. However, what caught her attention was the bunch of wrapped red and yellow tulips he had in the other hand. She stared, mouth open in surprise.
"You got an admirer I don't know about, Montana?" he asked, an impish grin on his face.
"What?"
"Guy from a flower delivery company just comes in and asks me where I can find a Lindsay Monroe, said that someone ordered these to be sent to her anonymously."
Her face coloured. "Danny, I don't know anything about this! Are you joking?"
"Nope, dead serious."
"Umm, well, just put them down somewhere, ok? Before anyone else sees you waving them about."
"Embarrassed at all?" he teased her. Holding them in front of him like a weapon, he advanced, waving them at her face as she battered them away.
"You're going to get bits of plant all over my photos!"
He put down his hand to sweep them away, and stopped. "What the hell?"
"What?" she asked.
He pointed to one of her photos capturing the curious crowd. "Him, right there. That's the flower delivery man. He's the one who brought you these."