So rough week aside, I'm posting from Cambridge tonight and although I've got an early morning and a 6 hour journey home tomorrow; I really wanted to keep up the schedule. I am going to work on Chapter 8 tomorrow, so as always, I'd love it if you'd leave a review and of course, if you'd like to follow it... that'd be pretty cool too. Remember you don't have to be a member to leave a review - thanks, and I hope you enjoy.

Also - the action starts properly next chapter, so I mean, I'd stay tuned if I were you.

Chapter Seven

"Bonasera? Taylor?"

Looking to the source of the voice, Stella and Mac separately immediately avoiding one another's embarrassed expressions. The pair temporarily forgot their own anger as they found themselves at the receiving end of Sinclair's. Stepping into the break room from the hall way, she noticed darkness encircling tired eyes, almost as tired as her own – but not quite, and was she not keen for her telling off to be brought to a stand-still – she might have felt sorry for the Chief of Detectives. Instead, she and Mac waited for the catharsis of Sinclair's anger to begin.

"Surely you two know what's at stake here?" he snapped, looking over the pair in disapproval. "I really don't need one of your fights right now."

Stella didn't want to fight with him. More than ever, she needed the support that she knew he could give – but didn't give often, which made it all the more special when he did let his heart out of his chest a little. Sometimes she had to ask for it, other times it came out of the blue. Sometimes it was more appreciated than others; but it was always appreciated. This meant that the rough patch they were going through right now was all the more difficult to digest, because if there was one time she could use his support it would be now. Through the difficulties of the past year, she hadn't relied too heavily on his support; what with the Clay Dobson case and his new relationship weighing on his mind. But right now, she didn't need another one of their infamous fights; she needed a friend.

"Right," she managed, observing Mac's silence as an attempt to supress his growing frustration. "Sorry, Chief Sinclair."

Nodding, he turned his attention to Sheldon and Danny, whom Stella had forgotten about in the heat of their fight, "Hawkes, you're with Mac – I need you two back on the evidence-"

And as far away from Stella as possible, he didn't dare add – although, she knew that they were all thinking the same thing, that their emotions were too raw to work together right now.

With one last sharp glare at his partner, she watched as he stormed out of the room. She shook her head at him; what the hell had prompted this? This wasn't Mac; it wasn't her Mac. Feeling a sense of sadness overwhelm her, she focused on nothing in particular. She couldn't help but let the feeling that her friendship with Mac was no longer what it used to be consume her mind. She could handle what had happened with Frankie, the HIV scare, losing the closest thing she had to a sister; because she had him by her side. Without him; she didn't know. She didn't know how much longer she could carry on, pretending to be strong.

Hawkes hot on Mac's heels, she heard the occasional "Hey, Mac. Wait up!" before Sinclair's voice broke her out of her reverie once more.

"Bonasera, you with us?"

"Yeah," she replied, somewhat disorientated. "Okay. Danny, would you mind bringing the Chief and I up to speed with the investigation, please? We've got an hour before we meet with James and Veronica."

-/-

Arriving at the meeting room, James and Veronica had brought with them the typical air of confidence they exuded, but not without a sense of uncertainty and unease. Little more than 2 hours ago, he had given a press conference which had put her career on the line, and under more stress than she knew how to cope with. Worse yet, he had put Mac's career on the line yet again, and put more strain on the relationship that meant most to her than she thought was healthy.

And yet, she felt more sympathy for him than she had wanted to. How could she criticise him? He had lost the most important thing in his entire life, and standing beside his wife now, the comfort she had expected the pair to be providing one another with was missing, replaced with a thick air of tension.

His wife, her friend, had her hair pulled into a tight updo, and where she usually wore tailored pant suits, she had replaced them with a pair of light jeans and a dark sweater. Like the comfort she had expected James to be providing her with, she saw no sadness on Veronica's face. Instead, she seen determination, and something else she couldn't yet place. It was dark, and foreign to her usually bright features.

She indicated for the pair to sit down, and closing the door she joined them at the table.

"Stella, one of your detectives asked for Jennifer's laptop," Veronica said, breaking the silence. Handing her the laptop, she settled back into the chair.

"And you have no objection to one of my techs looking around?"

Seeing her hesitation, Stella raised an eyebrow, "They're highly skilled, they won't compromise any of her files, I'll make sure they're very careful."

Now it was James' turn to speak, and when he did, he spoke quietly, almost pleadingly, "Can you do it? I'd rather you looked around her files than some lab tech."

She ignored his dismissal of many colleagues she held in high esteem as "some lab tech" and looked to Sinclair, "File Recovery and technology… it really isn't my area of expertise-"

"But you can do it?" Sinclair said, less of a question and more of an order. Releasing a sigh, she shrugged.

"It won't be as thorough as Adam or even Danny might do it, but yes. I know how to do it."

Now, for the subject on everyone's mind; the press conference. Trying to be controlled, not irrational, she thought over how she would address the issue at hand. Would she be confrontational; did she have a right to be? He had lost a child, his only child, and she was in no position to make a judgement on how he had chosen to deal with such an unthinkable tragedy. She had never lost anyone whom she considered herself particularly close to, and thus, could never say how she might react when put in such a situation as her friend. She had no child to experience that unconditional love for, and as an orphan, she had never known unconditional love. The closest thing she had ever known to such affection was the friendship she and Mac shared – but now was not the time for that.

In the end, it was Sinclair who beat her to it.

"Senator Highsmith," his voice came uneasily. "I need to ask… the press conference."

Catching his wife's eyes in an attempt to avoid Stella's, something clicked in his mind before he answered the Chief of Detectives. At first, his voice cracked with nerves (unlike her usually confident friend) before he finally regained his strength.

"I didn't feel the investigation was moving at a very… uh, substantial pace. I also feel that Detective Taylor, your lead investigator, is… somewhat distracted – hardly in the right place to be leading a murder investigation."

"With all due respect, Senator," Sinclair replied with more strength than she knew he possessed. "I have my best detectives on the case, one of whom is your friend, who, along with Detective Taylor, have barely been home to recuperate since the murder of your daughter."

Casting a meaningful glance to Stella, she nodded at the Chief's attempt at subtle appreciation of her efforts.

"Besides, Mac isn't distracted," Stella continued defensively. "He's the most professional person that I know, and he's starting to get to a really good place now."

James nodded, "I have a lot of respect for Detective Taylor, but I would have to agree. Stella sounds like she's doing such a good job, she might as well be leading the investigation."

"So, why isn't she?" Veronica snapped, highlighting yet another failure in the NYPD's handling of his daughter's case. Stella tried to focus on the tablet in front of her. She couldn't be having this conversation right now. Not only did Mac need this case to prove his abilities as a leader to Sinclair and Gerard, but Stella really wasn't in the right place to lead an investigation with stakes so large. She lacked the focus, the energy, but mostly, the objectivity to get this case solved. She couldn't lead this case. She couldn't do it.

"Detective Taylor is doing a great job so far, and I can assure you, he won't stop until Jennifer's killer is brought to justice," Stella argued, sincerely. "And on that note, I have a few updates on the case. We've been able to eliminate Jennifer's boyfriend as a suspect. We found traces of violin rosin at the crime scene, and until speaking with Paul Moretti, we hadn't realised that he was a pianist, not a violinist."

James' shoulders slumped a little at the news that a suspect had been eliminated. Veronica, however, nodded – Jennifer had said Paul had her mother's approval. The news of Paul Moretti's innocence brought some colour back into her seemingly dull face. Explaining to the couple further eliminations and leads, she sensed Sinclair had wished to speak, and so, once she had finished; she allowed him to do so.

"I have a few questions for you about your daughter," Sinclair began, and Stella noted the formality Chief Sinclair's tone had adopted, in comparison to her kindness. What both of the Detectives' voices seemed to have in common was strain; and an abundance of it at that.

By the end of the meeting, Stella had jotted down notes and her thoughts on the case onto her memo book, and nodding her head approvingly, she felt a small feeling of accomplishment grow in her chest. She had Jennifer's laptop, her parents' perspectives, and although she had vowed to work round the clock – she had decided she would do so at home, and arrive early tomorrow morning with a fresh set of eyes. There was no denying that a sense of sadness remained within her; but the knowledge she had accumulated in the past hour had been so refreshing, she was determined to clear the air with Mac. She might even offer to buy him a drink. Besides, it was the least she could do.

Bidding James and Veronica goodbye, nothing more than a short handshake and a sad smile exchanged, she set off to do just that. A part of her knew that she wasn't being the best friend possible, and argued that she ought to have called him during the past two days. The more dominant side argued that the best thing she could do for him was solve her daughter's murder.

Arriving at his office, she sensed she had a difficult task at hand.

Sat at his desk, he ran his hands through his hair; too caught up in his own stress to notice his partner stood at the door. She bit her lip nervously. He would be in no mood to look at her, much less make up with her. Suddenly grinning, she tried the only thing she knew would work.

"Τι σε κόβει η κόλαση?" When blue eyes caught green, a wave of relief washed over her when she saw an absence of the anger they had both felt earlier. Instead, he smiled a little before releasing a small sigh.

"Do I have to remind you that my Greek language abilities are fairly limited?"

"What the hell's bugging you, Mac?"

He shook his head, barely taking a moment to consider his answer, "Nothing, nothing at all. How did the meeting go?"

Apart from James and Veronica forcing Chief Sinclair to swap the two leads? "Fine. I didn't get a chance to speak to James, though. I really hope he's doing okay."

Both of them knew that it was futile for her to hope such a thing, but the pair also knew that hope was the only thing on their side at the moment. Well, she supposed they had each other – although, after that fight earlier, she wasn't sure she would have stood in his office with such comfort after such words were exchanged. Still, he was here. Distant, not fully there as she needed him to be – but it was a start, and it was better than not being there at all.

"Anyway, it's nearly 6.30," he informed her. "Your shift is over, so go home and freshen up. I'll need you on the night shift – but I'll be helping you, so you won't be alone."

No, she just wished she didn't feel that way.

"Sure. Hey, Mac? You don't fancy going for a drink later, do you?"

Looking down at his desk, she felt tension diffuse so thick in the air, she thought she might choke. She had managed to ruin what little sense of normality she had managed to resume in the past few minutes, and had never felt so stupid.

"Stella… I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he spoke quietly, but she knew he meant every word he said.

"Mac, I'm trying to put this right!" she exclaimed, before trying to compose herself. "Tell me how I can do that, and I will. Anything."

"We're supposed to be working round the clock, and I intend to do just that," he replied calmly. "I don't exactly have the luxury of job security right now. We aren't all lucky enough to be up for a promotion."

She paused. He couldn't know about the conversation she and Sinclair had had with James and Veronica earlier, could he? "What? I'm quite content where I am."

He scoffed, before returning his eyes to his page, "Either go home or get back to work. I'm not talking about this now."

Realising she hadn't closed the door, a small group of lab techs standing in a huddle at the elevator caught her eye.

With less than a glance back at Mac, she stormed from the office, and directly at the scientists, who seemed more interested than she and Mac's latest fight than the cases they had to solve. Anger rolling over her in waves, she let her frustration flow freely at her colleagues, "You have a murder case to be working on, Thompson! Banks, aren't you working DNA on that rape case in Central Park? You, go help him!"

And had she not been sure that Mac was still watching her, she might have been tempted to fall apart right there and then. But she let her legs carry her towards the locker room, where a hard shove of the door gave her entry into a room where she was finally alone.

She had to sit down – she was exhausted. She was pleased to say that she had never had two fights with Mac in one day, but as with all other experiences, there is always a first. Eyes set on the bench, she finally reached it and rested her head in her hands; attempting desperately to forget the events of the day. Fighting against the anger that had built inside of her, she felt tears roll down her cheeks in bitter streams, leaving marks of the despair that had grown, too long, internalised. She had sworn to herself she wouldn't, couldn't, cry. Once this case was over, she needed a break from work. She needed to stay at home for a few days, reconnect with hobbies and passions she had once loved, but had left to the side as a result of work commitments or general disinterest. Cooking, once an art form, now became a chore and was often forgotten. Reading the odd book when time allowed, had also been cast aside, despite a generous collection in her sitting room. What the hell was happening to her?

"Stella?" Her head raised sharply, and met bright blue eyes, looking over her in scrutiny. Sid Hammerback stood, concern written in his usually cheerful expression. And it wasn't that she didn't appreciate Sid's efforts, more that she wasn't able to accept the help he wanted to offer. She simply didn't deserve it. Sitting beside her on the bench, she looked straight into green eyes, somewhat darker than they usually were, and certainly without their sparkle. Wiping her eyes, she smiled at Sid. "What can I do for you, Sid?" she asked, silently pleading for her friend to drop the subject. However, if Sid caught the hint, he didn't comply. "I was going to see Mac, but with you two going at it again; I felt safer in the hall," he answered with a smile, before his tone became sober. "It's not like you to pick two fights in one day." She sighed, "I know, and usually I have the strength to hold my tongue, but… how did you know about the fight earlier?" Sending her a small grin, he replied, "Stella, MEs gossip too." Temporarily forgetting the presence of the older man, she too wondered how she managed to get wrapped up in so many arguments with her best friend, the only man she trusted and… loved? Shaking that thought off, she knew it had been her fault. She hadn't realised it in the heat of the argument, but upon reflection she knew that she was the only one to blame. "What's going on with you? " he finally asked, his hand resting on her shoulder. Bringing her gently out of her thoughts, her eyes met his once more." "I just lost someone I care about, Sid. Isn't this just grief?" "Why don't you head home? Get some rest. I work with the dead, Stella, and so, I know when my colleagues aren't really living." With the offer of a shoulder to lean on, he left with the intention of speaking to Mac before heading home – which he insisted she ought to do herself. After promising she would, she took a few moments to appreciate the emptiness of the locker room. When she went back through that door, she would be bombarded by the shrill cry of cell phones and elevators opening, machines taking effect on samples and lab techs moving in shoals, listening intently to one another's results. And in this moment, she would choose the quiet recluse of the locker room every time. But until this murder was solved, she would have to face the noise head on. Even if she felt like it was suffocating her, practically killing her. The vibration of her phone in her pocket got her onto her feet, through fear that Mac was calling her to see if she had gone home, or Sinclair to arrange a meeting. Pulling it from her pocket, confused eyes met, instead, a text message – similar to those she used to send only a year ago. Are you free tonight?