Waiting was hell. Mac had had to do a lot of waiting in his life, but this was by far the worst. Sitting in the hard chair, he kept his eyes locked on the floor as he tried to keep his breathing under control.

"They'll be okay, Mac," Flack said quietly.

The older man nodded. "I just wish somebody would tell me something."

"We finished talking to the guy that crashed into you."

He looked up. "And?"

Don's expression softened. "Heart attack."

Mac let out a long breath. He had been expecting a drunk driver, and he had been ready to be angry. A heart attack changed everything.

"Is he alright?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Flack nodded. "Yeah, he's up in the ICU. Doc said he's gonna make it." He glanced over at his friend. "What about you? Any cuts or scrapes you refused to tell the doctor about?"

"No, I'm fine. He…he hit her side of the car."

"How early is it for the baby?"

"Only a couple weeks. If the C-section goes well, he'll most likely be alright. Bu the nurse said they only had a small window to get him out. Otherwise…there's a chance they could…we could lose them both."

Time marched on, and Mac lost track of it completely. He was vaguely aware of the different members of his team that came to sit with him – Stella rubbed his back, murmuring words of comfort in his ear, while Danny and Flack sat quietly, offering their support just by being there. Nurses moved past, but none of them stopped, none of them came with news of how his wife and son were doing. His body was exhausted, and it begged him to lie down, to close his eyes so that it could try and recuperate from the shock and the stress. But Mac refused to let that happen – as long as they were in surgery, he'd be awake.

"Mr. Taylor?"

His head snapped up at the sound of a new voice. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, and then he realized that it was the doctor standing in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet, bracing himself for the worst. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friends rise as well.

"Yes?"

The man looked tired, but he let out a small smile. "Congratulations. You have a healthy son."

Mac still held his breath. "And Michelle?"

"She's going to be just fine. There was some bleeding, but we managed to stop it. They're both resting now, and you can see them if you'd like."

The detective finally let out a long breath, and it seemed as though he'd been holding it for hours. "I'd like that."

Leaving his friends behind, he followed the doctor down the hall until they reached a room near the end. Stepping in slowly, Mac gazed at his wife, taking in the cuts and bruises on her face. But she was smiling, staring at their son as she held him in her arms.

"Hey," he said quietly, moving to her side.

Michelle turned to him, her eyes filled with tears above her smile. "Hey," she whispered.

Reaching out, he pushed the hair out of her face and kissed her forehead. "I thought I'd lost you."

She took his hand in hers. "We're okay," she assured him. "Did you see him? He's beautiful."

Mac nodded, smiling at their sleeping baby. "Yes he is." He ran his hand over his son's head. "Noah," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Slipping off his shoes, he slowly climbed up onto the bed, pulling Michelle close. He kissed her gently as they both stared at Noah, amazed and thankful at the gift they had been given. Finally, Mac's eyes started to slide shut, his body finally demanding the rest that he had denied it.

"I love you," he murmured sleepily. "Both of you."

"And we love you," she replied, entwining their fingers. "Now sleep."

And he did.