Title: Shattered Pictures By: ForensicsFreak1988

A/N: Okay, I'm felling really guilty right now, because I've had this TYPED since Wendsday, and I didn't add ANYTHING to it. It's SOOO short.And this after I got all those reviews last time (though I'm still waiting for some of you who alerted to review...) In my defense I have a Ghost Whisper/ CSI:NYone shot in the works, so...if you're interested itshould be up by Monday, but no guarantees.

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Mac was as good as his word, returning just two minutes later. He, of course, went straight to work. He started in the kitchen, keeping Stella company while she ate. Not surprisingly, he didn't find much. He photographed a broken champagne bottle, picking each piece up by hand, dusting the larger ones and swabbing two that had blood on them. He found a few smudges, but only one useable print that would probably come back to Frankie anyway. He moved on to the bathroom, finding most of Stella's cosmetics in the sink and on the floor, and the mirror broken. Sighing, he swabbed the blood on the broken mirror. He wanted to clean up for her, so she wouldn't have to see it, but it wasn't his job. He went into the living room to find the cushions on her couch slashed. He photographed it, taking a sample of the stuffing, just in case. Then, unable to resist, he flipped the cushions so if she came into the living room she wouldn't notice. Then, he moved on to her bedroom. That was where most of the action was. Ninety percent of her clothing lay crumpled on the floor, some of it ripped. Her pillows lay on the floor, some of those slashed, along with her mattress. There were two pieces of paper, one under a statue on her dresser, the other on her bed. The first one read simply He was too good for you. It was the other one that really got to him.

Be very glad you have the friends you do, bitch. If you had been here, you wouldn't be reading this right now. But know this: the more your friends try and protect you, the madder I get, and the madder I get, the more hell I put you through before I kill you. And I will get to you. Sooner or later, your precious friends will screw up. I'll be waiting.

Mac felt his knees go weak, collapsing onto the bed. And to think he would have let her stay here. If…if she had been here. No, he couldn't go there. His breath catching, he surveyed the sheer rage in the room. And this guy said he'd get madder? Trying to collect himself, he picked up a broken picture frame from the floor. Which didn't help at all. Seeing the picture that was in the frame he fell to his knees, trying to keep his sobs quiet so Stella wouldn't hear him. It was the picture. The one he'd burnt first after Claire died. They'd (Stella, Claire, and him) decided to go out to Central Park for a picnic on a nice summer day. Then, laughing like a bunch of tourists, they'd had another park goer take their picture. Before the picture was taken, Stella and Claire had made eye contact, winked, and both reached up to kiss his cheeks. But, they'd done it a little too soon, and the camera hadn't caught his shock, but the look of bemused contentment on his face, and the grin of conspiracy that passed between the girls. Luckily, the picture wasn't damaged. There was no way it could be replaced. Stella had the only remaining copy. He saw another picture, this one not in a frame and ripped. Glancing around, he realized that there were quite a few pictures spread around the room, all but the one framed one he held in his hand torn. He picked them up, laying the pictures out on the bed, putting them together. Tears in his eyes, he realized they were all, with a few exceptions, of him and Claire, Claire, or him. We were all she has, he realized, his heart breaking for the amazing woman in the other room. He took survey of the pictures, realizing he could replace a few (mainly the ones of his and Claire's wedding day) by calling family and friends. He heard a strangled sob behind him. Instantly he turned, pulling her into his arms, rubbing her back in an attempt to sooth her.

"I'm sorry you had to see it like this, sweetie. Come on, let's go into the living room." She nodded, pulling out of his arms. He, however wasn't about to let her. He put his arm around her shoulders as they made their way to the living room. They sat on the couch, Stella settling into Mac's arms.

"You guys…you were the only people I ever let myself trust. With Claire gone, you…you're all I have left Mac. I still miss…"

"Shh…me too Stel…but I've got you," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I…Stella…never mind," he muttered. She sat up, looking him in the eye.

"What?"

"I…I don't think I'd be here if it weren't for you Stella." She searched his eyes, looking for truth. And she found nothing but truth. Biting her lip, she reached up to kiss him.

"I know the feeling," she muttered, shocking him. "I mean it," she assured him, meeting his eyes. He pulled her into a hug.

"Then I'm not going anywhere. I promise," he whispered, kissing her curls as he smoothed them out of her face.

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