A/N: Apologies for the terribly long wait! I meant to update monday, but school and life got in the way... but I have good news! Remember how I said the updates were going to be taking some time because I needed to connect some things? well NO MORE! I have finished connecting them :D :D :D after a considerable amount of hard (If spaced-out) work, I have connected everything together! Now, all I need to do is re-edit and check facts before I post each chapter, and I should be good for another two or three chapters or so :D after that, though, there might be another message about having to wait, depending on how soon I can start transcribing written to typed material. But we'll see. Anyway, I thought I'd throw this up here today and another one in a few days. I was originally gonna put up two, because I felt bad for the hiatus, but I want you guys (my readers) to be able to appreciate this chapter especially in it's entirety. It's so SMacked, and I have been waiting forever to post this chapter for you guys! I hope you're prepared. Hint: probably not. well, maybe. ah, forget it, just read.

Brii.

P.S. For those of you reading "Am I Too Old For This?" I had some help from the lovely Ballettmaus, and I will be posting it sometime this week. I hope. If I can write it in less than a week. Wish me luck! happy reading! Review please!

Stella looked at Jones in a new light. She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. She could feel Danny and Flack looking at her, but stared straight ahead, ignoring them.

"Why did you have to kill this Patrick Andries?" Mac asked.

Jones hesitated. "I'm not sure I can explain it right," he said slowly.

"Try."

"Well, what he told me was that I was replacing him. He said Andries had proved himself… unreliable."

"How? Did he tell you how?"

"Yes. He said that Andries had failed to bring him—to complete one of his tasks."

"Which was… what? Come on, Dawson, work with me here. You're wasting my time."

"He was supposed to bring him… you know…" Jones said shiftily. He toyed with one of the pictures still on the table.

"No, I don't know," Mac said testily. "Want to explain for me?"

"I'm trying as hard as I can, okay?" Jones shot back. "You don't understand, my life is at stake here…"

"I understand that, you're just not giving me enough to work with, Dawson," Mac said crossly. "I understand you can't give me a name, or a description, or anything like that, but can you at least tell me what the task was?"

Jones sighed. "I'll tell you this much: Master's tasks were all the same," he said significantly, toying once again with the pictures. Mac looked at him for a long moment. Jones didn't meet his eye, but rather stared pointedly at the pictures.

"Oh," Mac said suddenly, comprehension dawning. "So this Patrick Andries—"

"—didn't bring Master what he wanted." He looked up, finally, at Mac. "Master is like a fisherman—he'll wait in one spot forever, with his bait in the water—" he indicated himself, "—waiting for the right fish. And just like every fisherman, he has the one that got away."

"The one that…" Mac stood up, upending his chair with a screech and sending it flying back into the wall. Jones flinched, but Mac ignored it. He leaned down close, bringing his face within inches of Jones'. His eyes seemed to shoot sparks, and Jones shrank back in his chair.

"Are you saying," Mac growled, "that there was a woman who survived your master?"

Jones looked up, terror plain on his face.

"Well, not 'survived,'" he said tremblingly, "Because he never actually got to see her."

"Why not?" Mac barked. His eyes bored into Jones', and Jones answered without thinking.

"Because she broke it off with Andries before—before he could bring her to him." Immediately, he seemed to realize what he said and clapped his hands over his mouth once again, his eyes widened in fear. Mac didn't notice. He looked up into the one-way mirror, his face stony. At the same moment, Stella's eyes widened with fear. She involuntarily took a step back. Danny, who had been watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye, tapped twice on the glass. Stella didn't notice. Her mind was racing. Instincts were taking over, telling her to go—now.

"I can't do this," Stella muttered. She spun around on her heel and walked out, still feeling Flack and Danny's eyes on her, but Stella didn't care. The door of the interrogation room slammed shut behind her. Moments later, another door opened.

"Stella?" Mac called after her.

"Leave me alone," she mumbled under her breath, quickening her pace. She opened the doors into the madness that was the bull pen. She disappeared into the mass of police officers and criminals, for the first time in her life glad the crime rate was high. She wove around people, headed for the door. She didn't know where she was going to go, and didn't care. She kept her head down, looking up only enough to not bump into people. She didn't cry; the numbness wasn't something that could be dissolved by tears. She just walked, turning occasionally, not paying attention to where she was going but trying so hard to not think. She didn't want to think. She could feel someone following her, but didn't care enough to turn around.

Presently, Stella became aware of trees and guessed she was in Central Park. She sat down numbly on a park bench, her arms folded across her body. It wasn't long before Mac sat down beside her.

"You've been following me," she said tonelessly. Mac nodded.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. Stella nodded.

"Yeah," she said sarcastically. "Everything's fine. Just leave me alone."

Mac nodded, but he didn't leave. Stella looked over at him, annoyed. Didn't he realize that he needed to leave? She wasn't in the mood to talk to him. But he stayed anyway. Presently, Stella's anger faded, leaving everything else: the pain from Patrick's rejection, still fresh after all this time; the fear that she was going to be kidnapped and killed at any moment; the hurt that Mac had gotten involved with Jo; and, most of all, the gnawing, numbing loneliness that she couldn't seem to fight off. They colored Stella's vision, making her see Mac in a different light. What was it he had said?

It won't happen again unless you want it to.

Did she want it to happen again? Stella knew without a doubt that the answer was a resounding yes. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted him to hold her and never let her go. She also knew that he wouldn't kiss her. If Mac did anything, he kept his word.

She had said she couldn't kiss him again. She saw now that that had been a mistake.

She needed him. She needed him more than he knew. She looked up into his eyes—warm, ageless, gentle eyes filled with genuine worry—and took a deep breath. She straightened up slightly and smiled weakly, putting her hand on his cheek.

"Stel—Stella, what are you doing?" Mac asked, confused.

"Make me forget," Stella whispered desperately, closing her eyes and the distance simultaneously.

As soon as their lips touched, Mac thought he would never be able to break away. Her sweet taste settled on his lips, and he let out a soft moan, hungering for the taste of her. It took everything in his power not to deepen the kiss, to explore every crevice of her sweet mouth, but he forced himself to hold back. He knew Stella was feeling vulnerable, and the last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of her vulnerability. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He resolved to make this kiss as innocent as possible. As soon as he decided this, Stella's tongue brushed against his lips, melting that resolution away. He parted them with no hesitation. She ran her tongue over his teeth, then, almost shyly, explored his mouth. Her tongue rubbed against the roof of his mouth, tracing idle patterns. Someone moaned again –Mac couldn't tell who –and his arms tightened around her. As she withdrew her tongue, she nibbled gently on his lower lip. Mac's fingers found their way into her wonderfully soft hair. Now it was his turn. He traced her full lips with his tongue, and she moaned hungrily and parted them. Mac took his time exploring her mouth, his mouth capturing hers possessively. Their mouths moved in ways that had them both moaning, and a part of Mac was telling him that in her vulnerability, they could go as far as he wanted to. She'd said to make her forget, it reminded him maliciously. You know that you can do that. The thought was tempting, but Mac held firm. He would not take advantage of her.

The tone of this kiss was different. Stella could feel it. Their last kiss had been hesitation and fear and loneliness, uncertainty, comfort, gentleness. There had been no urgency, no desperation, no vein of defiance running through the kiss. She craved his touch, needed his lips against hers. She needed to forget.

Mac was no longer thinking linearly. Instead, his nervous system was sending him flashes. He could feel her lithe arms clasped around his neck, her fingers in his hair. He felt her warm thigh against his, smelled her sweet perfume, her lips against his, urgently seeking more, more, going deeper…

Wait a second. What am I doing? Mac thought suddenly. Why am I doing this to her, to myself, even? We can't do this. I can't do this. It's not right.

He groaned, and Stella, mistaking the groan for something else, turned her head eagerly and thrust her tongue deeper into his mouth, but Mac held firm, gently easing his mouth from hers. He moved his head, resting it on her shoulder. He couldn't refrain from pressing his lips gently to her neck a few times. Stella moaned and trailed kisses up his neck and jaw, searching for his mouth. Mac groaned again, this time willing himself not to lose control.

"Stel –Stella," Mac whispered, his breathing ragged. Stella responded by nibbling gently on his ear, having apparently given up her search for his mouth.

"Stella," Mac murmured again, a tiny bit louder. "No."

Stella pretended not to hear him and continued nibbling on his ear.

"Stella, please," Mac pleaded. She was wearing away the little control he had.

"Why?" Stella pouted. She, too, was breathing hard as she moved her head back to look at him, a fire in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "We both want this to happen. Why not let it?"

"Because," was all Mac could think to say. His brain wasn't working right. His breath was coming in sharp gasps, like he had just finished running a marathon.

"Not good enough," Stella said with an unfamiliarly devilish smile. She leaned forward, but Mac held a finger to her lips just in time. He shook his head.

"One minute, Stella." Stella pouted again, but stopped. She watched as Mac stared off into the distance, not really seeing anything, a peculiar look on his face. Finally, he focused on her again and smiled sadly.

"We can't do this, Stella," he began slowly, "Because I won't let it. I won't let myself take advantage of you. You're hurting, Stella. I know you say you're over Andries, but you're not. He hurt you deeply, and all you want is to make that hurt go away. I—you know how I feel about you," he said, his eyes burning with emotions Stella couldn't identify. He cleared his throat. "You know how I feel about you," he repeated, closing his eyes. "I want to do this, Stella, you have no idea, but I want to do it for the right reasons. I am not Patrick Andries, Stella, and I don't want him to be the reason we do this. When we do this, I want you to only be thinking of me, not some other guy. I don't want you making rash decisions, especially after what you just saw." He shook his head, a bitter smile on his face. "If we did this, there would be consequences I don't think either of us is ready to accept."

"Like what?" Stella asked.

"I think you know, Stella," Mac said softly. Reluctantly, he withdrew his arms from around her and scooted a few inches down the bench. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face with both hands. He didn't look her in the eye.

"It's a bad idea," he said to the ground. Stella was unsure whether he was still talking to her or not.

"What if I don't know?" Stella asked slowly after a second. Mac looked quickly at her. She was staring determinedly at the ground, her chin set resolutely.

"You don't know what the consequences are?" Mac asked disbelievingly. She shook her head.

"No, I know what the consequences are. What if I don't know what your feelings for me are?"

Mac looked at her. His face felt hot. "What?"

"I want to know what your feelings are," Stella said. "I want you to tell me how you feel about me."

Mac looked at her like he didn't know what to say. Almost cautiously, he took her hand and rubbed it between his two.

"How I feel about you," Mac repeated quietly. "Stella, we've been partners for years. You know me better than anyone, maybe even better than I know myself. You've always been there for me, no matter what happened. You helped me when I got engaged to Claire, you were at my wedding, when the terrorists hit the World Trade Center on 9/11, and I didn't know whether –whether Claire was alive or dead, you were one of the first people I called. When I got the news, that—" he swallowed, the words stuck in his throat "—that Claire was dead, you were the first person I told.

"When I got the letter from Peyton, you knew. You showed up at the bar where I play and you were there. You always know if something's bothering me, and you can read me like a book. We've been friends for –for a long time. Your time in New Orleans didn't change any of that." Mac looked up and met her eyes, his eyes blazing with determination. "Stella, I –" his eyes widened as he drew his gun. "Stella, watch out!"

Stella turned and screamed. There was a man in a ski mask two feet behind her. She ducked as he made a grab at her. She slid off the bench and stood up as the man tried again. He grabbed at her arm, but she drew a long scratch down his arm and he yelled out in pain. She drew her own gun as a shot whizzed by her ear. The man cried out, clutching his shoulder and staggering backwards as blood spurted out between his fingers. Stella kicked him, hard, in the ribs, and he fell to the ground.

"You got him?" she asked Mac. He didn't answer, but Stella heard the sound of punches landing and turned just in time to see another masked man punch Mac in the stomach. Mac responded by elbowing him in the nose. There was a sickening crack, and blood began to flow freely. That didn't stop the man from aiming a right hook at Mac's head. Mac dodged it and tackled him at the waist, grabbing his head as it slammed into the ground. The man kicked and punched, but Mac was too fast. One kick to the knee had the man groaning in pain. Stella heard movement behind her and spun around to defend herself, but instead of seeing the other man about to attack her again, he was getting to his feet.

"Forget it," he yelled at Mac's attacker. "Get the hell out of here."

The other didn't need to be told twice. He got up and ran away with his partner. They disappeared as quickly as they'd come. Stella looked at Mac. Both were breathing hard again.

"What," Stella gasped, "the hell was that?"

Mac shook his head, looking furious. He strode over to her and grabbed her wrist, taking his phone out of his pocket as he did so.

"Hey," he said into it. "I need a—What? No, I got her, she's fine, but I need a patrol car to our location now. Someone just attacked us, and there's no way in hell we're walking back. It's not safe. What? No, I'm fine, she's fine, but we need an escort back to the precinct." he listened intently for a second. "Okay. Thanks." He hung up.

"Squad car's about a minute out," he reported to Stella. He shook his head angrily. "Dammit, Stella, this is why I didn't want you going out anywhere until we got this guy. See what happens?" he said, gesturing to the two of them.

"Oh, well, then, I'm sorry I lost control when I heard that my ex-boyfriend was a serial killer's apprentice, and that given a chance, he would have taken me to my certain death," Stella returned. "It won't happen again, I promise." She jerked her wrist out of his hand and began to walk away.

"Stella, wait," Mac said. He sighed as she turned around.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just, I almost lost you. I… I don't want that to happen. So, please, just please, let's keep you safe, okay?" he put a protective arm around her shoulder. Stella nodded.

"Okay," she said. She looked up at him and winced. "Oh, Mac, look at you!"

"What?" Mac asked.

Stella bit her lip. "Its—it's your face," she said reluctantly. Mac looked at her disdainfully, but not unkindly.

"What about it?" he asked defensively. Stella laughed gently.

"The other guy got a few shots in," she said kindly. That was an understatement. In addition to the cut and bruise from earlier, Mac was now sporting an ugly-looking black eye, and a shadow was forming under his chin. His lip had split, and blood now trickled down his chin.

"Oh, yeah?" he returned with a smile. "Well, you're not looking too good, yourself."

"You're probably right," Stella agreed. "I'm definitely gonna feel this one tomorrow."

Mac chuckled. An approaching siren made him look around.

"I think that's us. Come on," he said. His hand slipped down her back to rest protectively at her waist. He escorted her to the sidewalk just as a black-and-white pulled up, siren screaming. Mac held the door of the cruiser open for her, scanning the park critically for any signs of their attackers. Stella ducked in and scooted over to make room for Mac. He slid in casually, shutting the door securely behind him.

"Take us to the precinct," Mac instructed the uniformed officer. He nodded, and the car pulled away from the curb.

"You do know that this means you won't be going anywhere without a protective detail, right?" Mac said casually. Stella nodded, grimacing.

"Oh, come on, it won't be that bad," Mac said teasingly.

"Yeah, I love having a babysitter," Stella said sarcastically. Mac smiled.

"It's for your own good," he said gently. Stella pursed her lips, but she said nothing.

"I guess," she finally relented. Mac nodded, a grim sort of smile on his face. Their eyes met, and Stella saw the fear and worry she felt reflected back in his eyes. He took hold of her hand, as if without thinking, and she looked down, breaking eye contact. He looked down as well, then held up their hands.

"Hey, did you scratch one of the guys who attacked us?" he asked. Stella shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. Mac held up her hand closer to the light from the window.

"I think you did," he said.

"Excellent," Stella said. "DNA."

"Yup," Mac said, a trace of a smile on his face. "Good job, Stel." He surprised her by gently kissing her cheek. She smiled.

"Don't," she said with a hint of a giggle. "When they process us, they'll find that."

"What makes you think we're getting processed?"

"We're evidence," Stella said. "We got attacked by two men that are almost certainly connected to a serial killer."

Mac smiled a small smile. "Well, in that case, we're screwed anyway," he said.

Stella considered this, then laughed.

"I guess you're right," she said finally.