Disclaimer I own very little, especially not CSI NY.

Notes Chapter 29: THANK YOU for all reviews! Hope you enjoy this chapter. Please continue reviewing - I love to know what you think - welcome at any time, for any chapter, always replied to if logged. Thanks to everyone who's alerted and favourited. Thanks to autumn gold, Juliette, shadowfox, Irishgirl9 and fatkat for your reviews; to Shining Zephyr and chrysalis escapist for both giving me a character suggestion :D and to Blue Shadowdancer and iluvCSI4ever for help and conversation. Slight spoilers for 'Admissions'.

Lost Letters: Chapter 29

26th July

I've been doing a bit of thinking recently about what happened back home. I guess, if I'm very honest, that's part of the reason I'm writing to you. It's tough only having one connection to my home, my friends and my family, and I want you to know how grateful I am you stuck by me through it all, and believed me when no one else did. And that you want to keep this connection alive for me. You're a true friend, no one could ask for better, and I just wanted you to know that. Maybe someday I'll be able to do something in return for you…

………………………………...

Dawn rising with the glow of garnet and heliotrope burned through the windows and across his eyelids. Warmth crept over and suffused him and the scents of sun-heated air brought him gradually to consciousness. Each passing moment returned awareness of himself, his surroundings and his memory. Darkness and dreams diffused.

Mac, alone, his office. A thin table leg against his back, rough carpet underneath him. Another night passed; the first night he had not spent in a hospital room since the crime scene that marked the transition point between before and after. Now nine days after.

He sat on the floor with his eyes closed, letting the sun soak into cold skin, and muscles that gradually unfroze until he was able to lift his arms from where they had sunk to the floor and clasp them round his knees. He breathed in. Breathed out.

He remembered.

The suspect; the words that had pulled out the last staves of support he had been holding himself upright with; the absolute loss of self and the tumbling memory of hands gripping the flesh of another and the anger; the need to hurt, to cause the same kind of pain to the man who had caused so much pain to his team. To Danny. To Stella.

And then he had done what he should not have done; he had lost control and allowed himself to be subsumed by the violence that he fought to exclude from the lives of others. That he had fought and failed to do. It was a searing realisation. Hopelessness threatened to settle on his heart and crush to flinders the last few pieces of strength, and his head crumpled onto his chest as he pressed his palms into his eyes. For a moment he stayed there, feeling that only ashes remained of himself and his life.

But there was still life.

And amongst the cinders was a living ember, still there, surviving the devastation. Behind his eyes he saw it, let the morning's hope caress and kindle it, and he knew as he opened his eyes that somehow, life would resume and continue.

There was still hope.

And it was up to him to allow it to heal and restore him. Whoever he was, whatever he had done, he could not sit on the floor of his office and let the morning gather dust around him. He never had, and never would, hide from the repercussions of his actions.

Feeling every muscle protest, Mac lurched to his feet and gripped the desk as he stood up, turning impulsively to look out of the window and the urban expanse below.

A different view from the one he had looked down to in despair a few hours of darkness before; now he saw the streetlights winking out one by one as the fire-opal sun rose above the buildings, shimmering the sky; burning away the last grey shreds; the artificial neons and electrics fading to the inconsequential. The city waking to a new day. He stood and watched its arrival; watched the last heavy folds of night's mantle pale away to chiffon skies.

Sun glorying through the city, streaking golden trails across the sky, lighting leams in his heart.

There was still hope.

The first murmurs of early arrivals into the lab intruded into the silence, not unwelcome though. Life went on; the life of the lab; the life of the city. His life. Whatever he faced ahead. Whoever he faced it with.

On the desk, the two cups still sat where two people had left them. Himself, his partner. Stella. In the light of the morning, Mac saw the truth. Just two paper cups, already beginning to stain and disintegrate; ephemeral things. Last night's hollow realisation suddenly filled up with the knowledge that they were not all that had been left. The people were left. There was still all of Stella left. The spark leaped to a flame.

The morning she had brought them into his office was not the last time she would do that; he was certain. There were times ahead, times to share, other simple pleasures to enjoy.

Together.

Stronger and lighter with hope flaring inside him, he picked up the cups and dropped them into the trash. They belonged to before. Life was in the now and whatever came after.

He straightened the files that bore both his and Stella's signature. Not the last there would be: for the first time, he looked forward to the thought of shared paperwork, and it created the hope of a smile on his lips.

By removing the cups, his badge - the badge both he and Stella wore - lay exposed on the desk. Where he had left it last night. When he had not been able to see himself lifting it up again.

Mac stared, until the fingers of the sun laid across it and the gold coruscated and drew his hand towards it; hesitating, uncertain, and then determined. The city was still below him, the people still there.

He did not live alone.

He grasped his badge and recalled its part in his life. To serve and protect; before, now, after.

Never alone.

It was not time to let it go. It was not time to be alone.

But it was time to leave, and take the first steps of the journey back, however long it took and whatever lay ahead, to his restoration. To picking himself up from where he had fallen; with whatever help he needed to do so; from whoever would be able to give him that help. The one who had offered before, who offered now, and who always would offer.

It's what we do.

Two people, one partnership. With the molten fire of the sun beginning to tingle along his skin, Mac closed his fingers around his badge and walked out of the door, his destination determined.

……………………………….......

At 8.30 am, the diner, tucked away down a side street that only she knew about and guarded the location of jealously, was serene and uncrowded; a haven away from the thronging streets.

Streams of sunlight wavered through the windows, making the formica table tops so blinding hot, Angell had to look away from them. The first day of September and still no release from the stranglehold of heat that August had held the city in for its duration.

She could not remember when she had last been cool, or when the last drops of rain had fallen onto the scalding hot sidewalks, or onto her skin. The sensations of heat had stuck so long to her and to everything, she had forgotten how the touch of Fall and Winter felt.

With a sigh, she blew a wisp of steam from her coffee and watched it disappear, as she looked round. The light through the plate glass bleached the colour out of everything and gave a dazzling corona to every strand of hair and every dust mote of her fellow diners, giving them a ethereal not-quite presence. They flickered and blurred as her eyes began to glaze with the fatigue that seemed to have become her permanent state since the crime scene. The crime scene; the one assigned a definite article, the one that was acid-etched into the memory of everyone involved and affected. There were too many of them, and for some the healing was still only a promise.

She wondered where Mac was now; where he had gone last night, whether Flack's prediction had been correct. From what she knew of both men, she had little doubt it was.

The interrogation reared up in her memory; was it only a few hours ago? The night seemed eternal, and had seamed into morning with no hours lost in sleep. Her mind and body were almost screaming with exhaustion, but Angell felt that she had passed beyond the point of sleep.

There would be now the investigations and interviews, unrelenting questions: Why had this happened? How had this happened? No simple answers.

Since the tragedy of Inspector Gerrard's actions, the slightest professional wobble and IAB were in turbulence, dragging everyone with them. The panicked unspoken thought behind it all:

It could not happen again.

It hadn't. This time. But how close they had been - she did not lay any singular blame - gaped wide below her; gloaming depths that would drown her if she slipped.

It had nearly happened again.

She had already been questioned: after the suspect had been secured in the early hours of the morning, a summons had reached her via a dour-faced uniform, and she had given a concise and robotic transcription of events, without any waver in her voice whatsoever. It had cost her afterwards though; when she left the room, she had to lean her back against the wall whilst her heart slowed. With no sleep to banish them, the words she wanted to shriek at the brass, who had stared blankly at her whilst she talked, still fizzed and hissed in her head.

Groaning, Angell curled her fingers round the mug in front of her and wished for a slug of scotch in it; and remembered sharing the potent taste of Irish coffee with Flack in what seemed like another lifetime. Before the crime scene.

As she waited, staring round again, blinking memory out of her lead-weighted eyelids, Angell's gaze rested on the company in the diner; from the tiny old lady wrapping up the remains of a pastry in her napkin and tucking it into a purse that was almost bigger than she was, to the young man in the wrinkled suit and tie who gulped down a mug of coffee and dashed out of the door at a speed that made the blinds rattle.

It heralded Flack's arrival, casting a ruffled glance over his shoulder at the fleeing customer. She looked up and everyone else disappeared into the backdrop. With a smile that dispelled some of her lowering mood, he sat down opposite her, and Angell pushed over the plate of food she had ordered for him and a second mug of coffee.

A frown clouded his features for a moment, "This was going to be my treat this morning."

He pulled out his wallet and was in the act of withdrawing a couple of bills when she stopped him with a firm hand, "I've got it Don, you already bought me breakfast the last two mornings in a row, so despite what I said last night, today's on me. Girl can change her mind, right?"

"I know how much extra paperwork you took on after what happened, buying you breakfast is the least I can do. I owe you…"

"You don't owe me, really, and if you don't let me get today's then I'll be offended. I'm a modern girl and I'm all for paying my own way."

She pushed his hand and wallet back across the table with a grin, and he relented.

"I'm getting tomorrow's then." Flack picked up his cutlery, "Got to let a guy be a gentleman once in a while."

Angell raised her eyebrows and her grin became mischievous, "You're always a gentleman, far as I see it… Tomorrow, huh? I could get used to this; three breakfasts in a row. It's becoming a habit."

Between rapidly disappearing mouthfuls of bacon and eggs, Flack's grin widened, "A good one, could get used to it myself. So, we got another date for tomorrow morning, same time, same place?"

After taking a lingering sip of coffee, Angell set her mug down and wiped a finger slowly across her lips, her eyes never leaving her companion, "You got it."

He smiled to sunlit points of light in his pupils, "Good."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Angell taking surreptitious glances of amusement at Flack as he tore mouthfuls of breakfast between swigs of coffee, and deciding in a lighter moment that he must have a mouth of asbestos.

He caught her out, "What? Never seen a guy take pleasure in his breakfast? Come on Jess, I enjoy my food, what else can I say?"

"I like a man to have an appetite…" She let him read what he wanted to behind her eyelashes, and a smile that was not all innocence.

His mouth slowed. And they shared what was unspoken between them for a time-stopped moment.

Angell forgot how tired she was as she enjoyed the life in Flack's face, and enjoyed seeing his appetite returned; the last two mornings, breakfast had been a morose and perfunctory affair, with minimum conversation.

She guessed at the reason for the difference, "How's Danny?"

Another smile, and another weight off her heart.

"Doing good. Didn't say too much and I didn't stay long, but… he was Danny." His voice dropped, "We got him back, Jess. You know… you know, there were a few days there I didn't think we would. Couldn't say it then, but it hit me last night how close… Man, it takes a lot to knock Messer down, but…" He shook his head and leaned back, "It still scares me."

"He's going to be okay. Yeah, it's going to take time before he's back on his feet completely, but he'll do it, Don. You know that."

Flack nodded and swallowed, "Yeah. Yeah, I… I know, I know. But those first few days, and then after he… I thought we'd lost him. That day, I thought we'd lost both him and Stella." Fear paled his skin.

"But we haven't. We haven't lost them. They're both going to be okay. Don't live on the might-have-been, Don." She kept her voice insistent, warning him away from looking into shadowed mirrors of a future that had not happened, "Despite what happened and what's still got to happen, we'll all get through this. Trust on me that."

She clasped his hand, "Okay?"

"Okay."

She let the obscuring cloth of the present fall over the future; it was not time to scry for sorrow.

They finished eating in a soothing silence.

As they left the diner and slipped into the madding crowds, Angell found Flack's arm hovering around her waist. They dodged an old man with a shopping cart, and her hip bumped against his leg. He made the apology.

"Sorry."

She flashed a smile, "S'okay." It really was.

His arm pressed a little closer.

Inside the precinct however, a place that had taken too much of her time and pleasure recently, Flack's arm returned to his side. Angell held the door for him, and they made their way over to his desk, professional personas instantly in place. He dropped into his chair and she perched on the edge of the desk; the pall of the room creeping back into her head made her realise how tired she was.

Tiredness would have to wait.

"You calling Mac?" They had both avoided his name over breakfast.

Flack's expression hid behind the mask he had lost earlier. He took out his cell with a curt nod, "No time like the present."

……………………………….....

The hours of the day moved on and the hours of those that lived moved forwards; as after became now and became past.

Danny lay in his bed and let his body rest and heal; impatiently. He was everything he hated; helpless, trapped in a hospital bed, missing out on the life that he knew was going on around him, without him.

Looking up at the ceiling, he groaned and tested the raising of his undamaged hand, wiggling his fingers, tracing patterns he imagined in the air above him. Empty air. Everything he could feel hurt. Hurt like hell.

And he was alone. His parents had gone to snatch breakfast from the hospital canteen; Lindsay and Flack had returned to work, both with promises to return later, Lindsay's accompanied by a kiss that was sweeter than any he remembered before and gave the promise of many more after…

His hand drifted back to lie across his chest and a smile appeared on his lips.

He wasn't so alone after all.

………………………………..............

Mac had taken, finally, Flack's advice and gone back to his apartment for the first time in nine days. The door opened on cold air and dust swirls; nothing edible in the cupboards; one putrefying carton of milk in the fridge. But domestic details could wait.

The first proper shower he had taken in all that time, other than hurried washes in the hospital, was a blissful sensation and he savoured every drop of water on his skin.

Flack's call, brusque but underlaid with concern, came as he was dressing: a meeting with IAB in two hours to discuss the events of the interrogation.

He was ready to face the consequences.

There was one thing he needed, and wanted, to do first though.

Half an hour later, as he entered the hospital, Mac thought of how differently he did so this time; nine days ago, when he had first passed through the doors, the lives of Danny and Stella had been almost beyond hope. Now they had everything to hope for.

He still had hope.

Mac paused outside the door to Stella's room, afraid suddenly, knowing that her eyes would burn right through any defence or pretence he put up, and see everything there was to see. There was nowhere to hide, but he knew he did not want to hide anymore.

Another difference was apparent immediately as he walked in: Stella was sitting in the chair at the side of the bed, a robe wrapped round her, and a smile he had missed shining on her face as she looked up at his entry, and greeted him joyfully.

"Hey, Mac. Progress; I finally got out of the damn bed. Not far, but something… and the next step is me getting myself along to make sure of Danny, and then walking out of here."

Mac enjoyed seeing life sparkling around her, "I've no doubt of that."

She patted the bed in question, "Sit down, we'll trade places. You take the bed this time."

Her smile softened as she studied his face, "Where'd you go last night? I hope you made it to your apartment, if you still remember where you live that is."

She quirked an eyebrow and Mac gave her a quick smile as he sat where she had indicated. One leg rested gently against hers.

"I made it to my apartment."

Stella shook her head and her smile faded, "Not for long enough. And not to sleep, right? Seriously, Mac, please, you have to start looking after yourself; I know how much you've put aside whilst you've been here with me, and I know what it's taken out of you."

There was no chance for him to say anything before her next words, a softer note in her voice, "Talk to me, Mac. You're carrying the cares of the world on your shoulders… and you're going to talk to me about it. Whatever it is, you don't have to carry it alone."

She ran her hand down his forearm, and kept it over his wrist; her fingertips a butterfly touch, overlaying the steel inside her, "Share some of it with me."

When he didn't answer straight away, gathering the swarms of what to say, Stella tilted her head and looked into and through him, "Tell me what happened in the interrogation. Whatever happened, tell me about it."

At that moment, Mac could hide nothing from her eyes that he saw, with a sudden tremor of certainty, could see his past, present and future; in all its hope and despair.

He told her everything.

Sorry this has taken a while to update; I found this chapter very hard to write, so I'd really appreciate thoughts on it - good or bad? Please review and let me know what you think. Thanks, Lily x