Hey. Still not very sure how far I'm gonna go with this fic. I guess we'll see..

Hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter Three

(Mac's POV)

I had been worried about the young detective for weeks now. After everything that's happened, I've been keeping a close eye on him, watching for any warning signs. I knew he was taking anti-depressants. He didn't know that I knew though. I had been looking for a file on his desk. He had left and forgotten to give it to me. I opened one of the drawers and there they were. It said Prozac in nice little, neat letters on the label. It had surprised me, to say the least. Until that moment, I had never thought of Daniel Messer as some one who would get depressed. Since then I had been extra careful. Danny was like a son to me. And lately, I hadn't seen anything that warranted any sort of intervention.

But today was different. I'd been worried about Danny all day. He had been scheduled to come in for his shift at nine am. I had never been that much of a stickler for tardiness, so I hadn't noticed his absence until well past ten. A fact I am actually quite ashamed of. Now, it's almost noon and I find myself in the elevator of Danny's apartment building, wishing for the damned contraption to move faster. I just had this feeling in my gut that something was wrong. I decided to take my lunch break to investigate. I didn't tell anyone though. There was no need to worry anyone else.

Finally, the elevator reached Danny's floor and I walked out. I had been to Danny's place enough times for several different reasons to remember which door is his. I stop in front of it and sigh. If Danny is just playing hooky, he is going to be in big trouble. I couldn't actually bring myself to believe that as a possibility though. Despite Danny's tendency to bend the rules, he was very rarely late, let alone absent for the whole day.

I let out another breath before knocking on the door, "Danny," I yell. I wait a few moments before knocking again. "Danny! Come on, open up!" I listened carefully. There was absolutely no movement coming from inside the apartment. It worries me. I had seen his motorcycle parked outside, so he is most definitely home.

Letting my instincts take over, I reached into my back pocket and pull out a key. A few years ago, Danny had given me a key to his place, 'just in case,' he had said. I was reluctant to use it. Danny was always a fairly private person. Surely, he wouldn't want me just barging into his apartment.

But my worry about Danny's well-being trumps my worries about his personal boundaries.

I shove the key into the lock, turn it, and push the door open. Slowly, I walk in, not knowing what I would find.

What I see makes me freeze. My heart leaps up into my throat and for a moment, I can't breathe.

The lights are off, but I can clearly see everything in the room. Including Danny, sitting on his worn, beat up couch... with a gun in his hand. I can plainly see how he stares at it. Although I want to deny it, I know what's going on. The stale smell of whiskey assaults my senses and I see a neatly folded piece of paper on the coffee table in front of him. I hold back a shudder as I realize what that piece of paper is; a suicide note.

Tentatively, I take a step forward. "Danny?" I say, trying to get his attention without startling him. He doesn't respond. He just keeps on staring at the weapon, as though he's asking the cold piece of metal if he should actually do it or not. "Danny, please look at me." I say. This time, I'm sure the desperation is clear in my voice. I take another step forward. He takes a deep breath, but doesn't look up. "Danny, give me the gun." He finally looks up at me. What I see in his eyes breaks my heart.

For the many years that I'd known Danny, I'd always noticed how he expressed his emotions with his eyes. On the outside, he was the tough Staten Island kid who had eventually turned into the tough New York police officer, who had turned into the tough, intelligent crime scene investigator. And that was how he was seen by the majority of his peers. But the lucky few who truly got to know Daniel Messer soon learned that he was a very emotional person. Whenever there was a case where a child was involved, I could always detect the sadness and anger that swirled around in those deep blue eyes. When a perp got away with murder, I could always see the barely controlled rage that he felt. And when a particularly sick murderer was finally caught, I could always see the unbridled glee that he felt when he was able to slap the cuffs on the bastard. I was always alright with it. I wasn't going to reprimand him for being emotional, as long as those emotions didn't cloud his judgment.

But the eyes I'm looking at now aren't the eyes of the Danny Messer I know. They are completely devoid of emotion. There is no happiness, no anger, or even sadness. He seems to have simply turned himself off. I think that scares me more than anything else.

Seeing this prompts me to take action. I take the last few steps toward the sitting detective and I gently take the gun from his hand. I step back and, with little thought, I release the clip and remove the bullet in the chamber. Having rendered the gun nearly useless, I lay is on the coffee table. Danny looks down once again.

I sit on the coffee table so that my knees are almost touching his. "Danny, what are you doing?" I ask. I know what he was doing, but I want him to explain it to me. I want to understand, so that I can help him.

I see his eyes flicker up to me and then back down to the floor. "Danny," I say, this time a little more forcefully. "I just... I need to know... Why?" My voice cracks on the last word. Tears are beginning to fall down my face.

"Why not?" He speaks for the first time since my arrival. But what kind of response is it?

I swallow, trying to keep my voice even. "Danny," I fail. "Do you honestly feel that there is no reason for you to live?"

I feel my heart crack just a little bit more when he shrugs. "Why should I stay?" he asks, "No one would care if I was gone. You'd all be better off."

Please Review! :)