A/N - Only four more chapters after this one!

Israel – Chapter Seventeen

Sid made his way to the small table in the coffee shop, navigating round the tables with tray consisting of a cup of Earl Grey and a salmon and dill sandwich. He smiled at the man opposite him as he sat down and sighed.

"Gosh, what an assault course that was!"

Hawkes grinned at him. "Should have got here earlier then, there was barely anyone in here ten minutes ago."

"Ah, duty called I'm afraid, my friend. My autopsy took slightly longer than I'd imagined."

Hawkes laughed and nodded. "I remember."

"Oh, no lemon," Sid suddenly frowned as he looked down at the table. "And I did specifically say to the young lady I wanted lemon and not milk."

"So fussy," Hawkes muttered chuckling.

"Never mind, I'll just have it black," Sid grumbled. He took a sip and made a face.

"So how's it going?" Hawkes asked. "Haven't seen much of you recently."

"That's because you no longer grace me with your presence down in the morgue," Sid stated.

"Do you know how rushed off our feet we are upstairs?" Hawkes exclaimed. "What with Danny, Lindsay and Mac not being there!"

"I thought you had that lovely young lady now...Kate?" Sid frowned as he bit into his sandwich. "Mmmm."

"Well yeah, we do. But that still means we're down two CSIs," Hawkes muttered.

"I guess Danny won't be coming back now," Sid mused.

Hawkes sighed sadly. "He's not doing so good, Sid."

Sid put down his sandwich and shook his head sadly. "I heard. Adam keeps me up to date with what titbits he gets from Lindsay."

"She's coming back, you know? Jo told me. She asked if she could replace Danny's position."

"Gosh, how will she manage to work after only just having a baby?" Sid asked in astonishment. "And with Danny...won't he need her to care for him?"

"I don't know," Hawkes shrugged. "From what I've gathered she'll be glad of the break away from him."

"What do you mean?" Sid frowned.

Hawkes sat back and grimaced. "Lindsay told me Danny hasn't connected with Donny. He never interacts with him, barely even notices that he's there. And he still calls him 'it'."

"But he was so excited at having a son!" gasped Sid.

"I know," Hawkes said sadly. "It's like he's shut down from any emotional connection especially towards Donny. I think she hopes they'll bond if Danny has to take care of him."

"It's unfortunate he was born on the same day..." Sid drifted off and Hawkes nodded at what he was going to say.

"Maybe he's resentful of Donny being alive when the man he was named after isn't with us anymore," Hawkes shrugged.

"And how are you doing, Sheldon?" Sid asked in concern.

Hawkes sighed. "I'm doing okay, work is so busy it's kind of taking over everything right now. I just try to focus on that."

"It's good to keep busy," Sid nodded.

"I still expect to see him come strutting down the corridor at the lab sometimes..." Hawkes murmured.

Sid patted his hand kindly. "I know what you mean. Whenever I look up and happen to see a tall figure with dark hair I have to do a double take. I guess it'll just take time."

"I hope so," Hawkes said honestly.

"And how is young Jamie?" Sid asked politely.

"She's still in shock. She's never had a colleague die before," Hawkes replied. "She was close to Flack."

"She'll get over it eventually," Sid said reassuringly.

"I'm not sure the same can be said for Mac," Hawkes muttered.

Sid looked grim as he drank some more of his tea and Hawkes wasn't sure if it was from what he'd just said or the tea itself.

"It's been weeks now. I spoke with Jo the other day. She's been round numerous times and stayed for almost half an hour banging on his door receiving no answer," Sid muttered.

"Does he go out?" Hawkes asked.

"According to the neighbours he rarely leaves his apartment and if he does he comes back with bags clinking of bottles."

"He's drinking?" Hawkes gasped. "That's so unlike Mac."

"I don't know. I agree it doesn't sound very much like him...but what he's suffered..." Sid shook his head.

"Doesn't anyone have a key?" Hawkes asked.

"Only Stella and she didn't leave it when she went back to New Orleans."

"He needs help," Hawkes said sadly.

"If he'll even let any of us help him. It sounds to me like he's shutting himself off from everyone," Sid murmured.

"It'll destroy him like that," Hawkes whispered.

"I know," Sid sighed.

The two men sat in silence and stared down at their food, all of a sudden not feeling in the mood to be eating.

Danny sat in his chair and watched the TV, it had been the same shit on for the whole two weeks he'd been out of hospital now and it seemed to be all he was doing these days. Pretty much all he could do. How badly he wanted to go out and play with his little girl, take her for piggy-back rides in the park...but he couldn't...he couldn't do anything. Lucy had even asked him to take part in the sports day at her school, there was a special race for Daddies at the end of the day. It had broken his heart to have to say no, to see the hurt in her eyes and listen to her run to her Mummy crying. To Lindsay. Then of course the baby had joined in. God it wouldn't stop crying...and the sound pierced right through him. He didn't know what he'd do when Lindsay went back to work. They needed the money, he knew that they needed one of them to be working but it meant that he'd be at home alone with the baby. And how he hated that thought even more than the one telling him he'd never walk again.

"Waaaaaaa!"

Danny jumped at the noise and looked towards the kitchen where the baby monitor was.

"Babe, can you get Donny?" Lindsay shouted from that very room, she was in the middle of cooking the lunch.

"I can't, Linds. My chair is stuck..." Danny shouted back hurriedly, finding any pitiful excuse.

A moment later Lindsay ran from the kitchen towards the nursery, giving Danny the evil eye as she went. He stared after her, knowing he didn't feel one ounce of shame for so obviously lying to her. She deserved better than him anyway, she always had done and now he was just proving that. How was he supposed to look after her? How was he supposed to look after his family while he was stuck in this wretched chair? Lucy's life would never be normal, she'd get picked on at school for having a retarded father. He wouldn't be able to play sports with her, dance with her at her wedding. Danny gulped down a cry and looked down at his legs. He'd never be able to dance with Lindsay again, go out and not have people stare at them like he was abnormal. He'd never be able to make love to her again. She deserved so much better, needed so much better than he could ever be for her. He was pointless. Just a part of the furnishings now. A prisoner in his own home. Their life would be better without him. Mac should have left him to die in that basement. Don had deserved life more than he did.

Danny wheeled himself away from the TV and into the kitchen and looked around for a cup, wanting to get a drink of water to calm himself. He saw there were some drying on the draining board and stretched up to get himself one. He sighed irritated as he was unable to get hold of one properly. His fingers tumbled with it, nudging it ever closer. He growled and made a sudden grab for it, trying to get hold of it. It was too much, the cup slid off the surface and fell to the ground, smashing into smithereens. Danny grimaced in anger and rubbed his brow with his hand. He was so fucking pathetic. He was so fucking unnecessary. He couldn't even get a drink of water. He glanced up and tried to blink away his tears of frustration. Suddenly his eyes were drawn to the glint of silver on the side where Lindsay had been preparing the food. Danny rolled himself closer and reached out, hand clasping around the handle of the knife. He brought it to him. It was strangely calming. So cool against his hand...so sharp... so beautiful...so easy. Danny stared at it mesmerised. So easy.

"Danny!"

Lindsay ran to him and pulled the knife out of his hands. He stared blankly up at her, no sign of any emotion on his face.

"Danny, what the hell were you doing with this?" she yelled angrily.

He didn't reply despite the fact he could clearly see the worry etched all over her face.

"Danny, please...just please talk to me," she begged.

"I'm not hungry. I think I'll go to bed and rest," he muttered coldly and turned himself around, going out of the kitchen towards the bedroom.

"Please! Lindsay shouted after him. "You can't keep doing this to yourself!"

She received no reply and stared back down at the knife which she placed on the side. He was sinking fast and nothing she was doing seemed to be helping. Lindsay held on to the countertop as she cried, desperation consuming her. She was losing him and was powerless to stop it.

It was afternoon by the time Mac dragged himself out of his apartment and down to the store round the corner to buy perhaps a loaf of bread and a six-pack. He knew he shouldn't be doing this; he should be getting back on his feet, getting back to work, moving on from Don but he couldn't. They said time healed all wounds but in his case it certainly didn't. He felt Don ever with him, just past his shoulder where he couldn't see him, but knew he was there. He heard him in their home, occasionally saw a glimmer of him in one of the rooms but it always turned out to be a lie. He knew Don was dead and he hated what he was now doing to himself. He hated being constantly reminded of the man he'd lost, of the man he'd killed...but at the same time he was becoming increasingly hopeful of those glimmers. He craved hearing Don's voice, seeing his shadow in one of the rooms even if he knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He'd started going out less and less in the hope he might see Don more. In the hope maybe he was really there. He so desperately needed Don back.

Mac paused and snatched a hand out, steadying himself on a streetlamp. He suddenly realised how sick and faint he felt. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten anything. He was hungry. He sniffed and looked up. It was cold today, people were wearing their coats but he'd forgotten his and now he felt the spit of rain on his face. He'd go to Sal's. Sal could always cheer him up and he did make the best sandwiches in the whole of the city. Mac trod on towards the area of the city where Sal's small cafe was situated. It wasn't a long walk and even though it started to pour just as he got into the same street, Mac didn't mind. He liked the numb feeling the icy rain brought with it. It felt the same as the alcohol.

Mac pushed open the door and walked in. Then he frowned. There'd been no bell. His eyes became more focused and he looked round himself. The place was a mess, wallpaper gone from one wall, half the tables piled up against a different wall, the glass had gone from the counter where the ingredients had been kept and a few small round holes were situated in two of the walls. Mac knew exactly what they were. Bullet holes. Four customers were still sat on the few remaining tables. The man with the newspaper was at his usual table but there was no newspaper in front of him. Instead, he stared blankly out of the window watching the rain patter down onto the glass. One of the gaping ladies sat alone on a particularly large table, she looked small, frail and withdrawn. The lady with the hamster sat on another table staring at the large piece of cake in front of her. There was no sign of her hamster and Mac wondered where it had gone. A man Mac barely recognised was the final customer in there. Mac narrowed his eyes and stared and only then did it come to him that this was moustache man without his moustache. He looked completely different.

"Mac Taylor!" a loud voice said from behind him and Mac turned to see Sal standing there. He looked thinner than normal, and unhappy despite his smile.

"Sal?" Mac croaked. "What happened here?"

Something that Mac thought he recognised flashed across Sal's face and then he gestured to the last remaining free table.

"Why don't you join me for a coffee here, Mac?"

Mac nodded and then sat down at the table, glad to take the weight off.

"Mariella, two Americano," Sal shouted over his shoulder before he came round and joined Mac at the table. "I've not seen you for a while, Mac."

Mac nodded but didn't say anything. He didn't want to see that familiar pity from Sal's face.

"Work," Sal interpreted incorrectly and Mac nodded again.

"What happened to this place, Sal?" Mac asked looking round.

"Two weeks ago, a hold up. Three guys came in and robbed us. Two had guns," Sal said in a surprisingly quiet tone for him.

"My God," Mac whispered in disgust.

"They shot the place up pretty bad...I'm not even open for business really but these good folks had nowhere else to go," Sal said sadly.

"Where are the others?" Mac asked, intrigued by the appearance of only some of his regulars.

Sal sighed and once again Mac thought he recognised whatever emotion it was that flashed across his face.

"Margot, the lady who normally would sit with Roberta over there gossiping... she was shot. Died in the hospital."

Mac grimaced and felt a familiar anger at what kind of people were allowed to roam the world when good people like Margot...and like Don were taken.

"And Harry, the guy who used to buy crusts off me, he was shot too but I hear he's recovering in hospital. His family are putting him into a home when he's better."

"Does he want to go into one?" Mac asked.

"I doubt it. He was happy with how things were. But so is life," Sal sighed.

Just then a pretty girl of about sixteen appeared with the two coffees and made her way to the table, placing them down before hurrying away. One of Sal's kids. Mac couldn't help but notice she'd been crying. He glanced up at Sal and then decided not to say anything.

"Maude's hamster disappeared during the fray and Mungo's paper was destroyed. He had that paper since the day he got married. His wife gave it to him as a gift for them to remember the date. They were in an accident fifteen odd years ago and she was killed. Mungo can't form new memories so he'd go about his old routine. Coming here, drinking the same drink, reading the same paper and now that's been taken from him."

Mac suddenly felt very small. He'd been so consumed with his own grief, so hurt by what he'd done and so betrayed by the God he'd once believed in that he'd forgotten how the world moved on. It wasn't just him. Other people suffered too and some much worse than him. The people who came to this place were good, kind, decent souls who'd had their lives turned upside down due to the evil of just a few men.

"What about his moustache?" Mac whispered nodding his head behind him to the man sat there.

Sal smiled a little and then once more went back to looking sad. "There was so much blood in it...Felix tried to save Margot...he couldn't get it out so he shaved it off."

Mac sighed and looked away from Sal's gaze. His heart ached for the souls in this room. It was the first time since Don had died that he felt anything for anyone apart from himself.

"So how're you doing, Mac? I gotta say, you're not looking so good..." Sal said.

Mac looked back at him. "I've been through a tough patch recently."

"I thought you were getting married to that handsome boy of yours? Where's your ring gone?"

Mac looked down at his bare finger and felt a lump in his throat. He'd removed it the day after Don passed and hadn't thought about it since. He'd not wanted to.

"Don died," Mac suddenly said, opening up to the man before him, a man he really didn't know that well, all things considered.

"I'm so sorry, Mac," Sal said earnestly.

"It was a little over five weeks ago, the day before our wedding," Mac murmured, somehow finding it easy to talk to Sal.

"God giveth and God taketh away," Sal said wisely.

"God doesn't exist," Mac said bitterly.

"Oh Mac," Sal sighed. "We may not be able to see it but he has reason for his actions."

"And what would you know?" Mac suddenly said angrily.

Sal shook his head sadly but he didn't look offended, if anything, he looked sympathetic.

"When those men came in I wasn't here," Sal told him. "I was out back seeing to a delivery."

"Oh no..." Mac whispered as he realised where he was going.

"Este was minding the till," Sal continued, tears in his eyes.

"No..." Mac said in horror.

"At least it was quick," Sal nodded. "He tried to run and get me. They shot him in the back."

Mac tried hard to hold himself together as Sal cried quietly in front of him. This was beyond cruel. Crueller than even Don being taken away in the way he had been. Este had only been eight years old, just starting out in life and to have it cut short like that...it made Mac believe even less in a benevolent God.

"Don't be angry, my friend," Sal said knowingly.

"How can you not be?" Mac asked him.

"Because this is the way things are. Vuolsi così colà dove si puote. It's no use being bitter...who to? It doesn't solve anything. You hurt yourself and those around you."

For once Mac had nothing to say. Despite all his learning, all his intelligence it was this simple, everyday man who had managed to show him how utterly wrong he had been. Maybe God did exist? Maybe he didn't? That was by the by. What did matter was that he was driving himself into an early grave, worrying those around him and destroying any happiness that may be saved from the remains of Don's existence. He needed to pull himself together, Don would always be in his heart but he had to let go of him. He just didn't know how to yet.

Lovato sat at her desk in the bullpen and once again, as she so often did, glanced over to the empty desk behind hers. Flack's. They hadn't replaced him yet, having only just found four replacements for the other cops that had beaten on him a few months ago. Lovato swallowed as she felt a lump in her throat. She missed Flack a lot, she'd never had a colleague die before and nothing could have prepared her for it. To see Don's body like that, grotesque, mutilated face...head blown off... Lovato gulped and closed her eyes against the burn. She wished Flack was there now, he'd be the one to cheer her up with his cheeky grin and witty comments about something. They'd banter some more about baseball or which rotation Hatcher had put them on. Or they'd place bets on how long it would be before Marchini shouted at Purvis that day, once it had only been three minutes. He eyes suddenly flicked open as she heard mention of Flack's name coming from someone behind her. She frowned and listened in on the conversation.

"That's right. He's the one that died," a female voice said.

"I heard he was marrying the head of the Crime Lab?" a male voice replied.

"That's true. Mac Taylor. Complete and utter prick. The guy loves himself."

"I heard he was an alright sort?"

"Who told you that?" she laughed. "The guy's a queer! You should keep away from him."

"Is that why Flack died?"

"Unfortunately not. He was shot. From what I heard he deserved it. Dirty little faggot that he was..."

Lovato's rage was pure as she shot up from her seat and stormed over to where Rose Callaghan was talking to one of the new detectives.

"You bitch!" she yelled and slammed her fist into her face with as much force as she could muster.

Callaghan's head flew back and then the blonde stumbled backwards, falling over her chair to land on the floor.

The bullpen suddenly went silent; you could have heard a pin drop, every cop in the room staring at the two females.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that! He was worth a million of you. You're not even fit to speak his name!" she yelled, fury in her veins.

Callaghan looked up at her from the floor, nose bloody and possibly broken and she looked scared. Lovato sneered at her in derision.

"Lovato!"

Hatcher's cry echoed round the bullpen as the angry Captain stormed into the room.

"Coming, Cap," Lovato grinned, not even caring what punishment she might be served. Hitting Callaghan had been completely worth it.

"Hey, Lovato," Marchini growled as she passed him by.

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"About time someone did that," he grinned.

"Thanks, Marcs," she replied and followed the Captain out to his office.

Mac sighed wearily as he plodded heavily down the corridor to his apartment and inserted the key. He'd forgone buying alcohol and instead bought some proper food. Some bread, chicken and fresh vegetables. He'd hated seeing Sal's place looking so destroyed, the people there all so different and unhappy. He guessed he was one of them too now. And yet, and yet Sal still managed to be happy. To see the good in any situation. Mac knew he had to try harder to be like that. He knew that he shouldn't forget Don, that Don would always be a huge part of his life...but he shouldn't just keep hoping...keep waiting to maybe hear his voice. He'd make himself crazy. He pushed opened his door and slammed it behind him, not bothering to take off his shoes and proceeded into his apartment. He froze as he walked past the lounge door and stared in. Don was lazed across the couch, watching TV and eating a bag of potato chips. Mac gazed in apt horror at the scene.

"Hey Mac," Don smiled as he looked up and saw Mac standing in the doorway.

"No," Mac choked. "You're not real...you're not real..."

Don smiled and put the chips on the table. Standing up he started to make his way over towards Mac.

"You're not real...you're not..." Mac murmured. "Just leave me alone!" he yelled and then backed away from the door and fled to the kitchen.

He grasped the counter and started hyperventilating, shopping bag falling to the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them before repeating the action a few times. Why was this happening? Why couldn't he control his thoughts better? He'd so wanted to see Don again, had hoped to see him again but this...this was just cruel. He'd been thinking clearly after his chat with Sal, mind set on forgetting these glimmers...and now... Mac slammed a fist down on the countertop and then turned, storming back to the lounge. The room was silent. The TV was off and there was no chip packet, in fact there was no evidence at all to suggest that anyone had been sat watching TV and eating only a few moments before.

A/N – Thank you to Dante's Inferno for enabling me use a line of Italian in this chapter.