A/N –I think this may be my favourite chapter, or one of them anyway!

Once again, I do not condone the use of recreational drugs here at all.

Big thanks to reviewers, without you there would be no story.

Israel – Chapter Eighteen

It was late afternoon and Mac sat by his window looking out over the world. He barely moved from that chair anymore, not even to sleep. He hated being alone in that large, cold bed. He could still feel the warmth of Don's body against him sometimes and that terrified him, while simultaneously bringing him contentment. He so wanted Don to be with him there, while at the same time it killed him every time he thought he felt him. He hadn't been out in weeks now, not bothering to dress or wash, ordering food in when he was hungry and ignoring callers. He'd stopped answering his phone and the occasions when there'd be knocking on the door he barely heard, lost in his memories of another time. A time when Don had been alive and life was good. Sal had been wrong, there was no plan or joy in life or the fate men lived by. Life was cruel and man lived to die. Mac blinked his eyes. They felt sore, they always did now and his face was scratchy from where he hadn't shaved in weeks. So maybe other people did suffer heartbreak too. Suffered it even worse than he had...twice. But they hadn't killed their lover. They hadn't looked away as they'd been murdered in front of them. Don's love for him had been his death sentence. Don's love for him had ruined the younger man's life, and always had.

"Mac?"

Mac turned his head ever so slowly to the soft voice he heard calling his name. He hadn't even heard anyone arrive. Maybe no-one had. Maybe it was Don.

"Mac? What have you done to yourself?"

Mac looked at the hand on his shoulder and followed it up the arm to the owner's face.

Stella.

"Oh Mac," she cried and knelt, pulling him against her and hugging him.

"Stella," Mac murmured.

"I've been so worried," she whispered. "No-one's heard from you in weeks. They've been scared...they thought you might have..."

"Stella," Mac murmured again and held her close.

They held each other for a long time. Neither said anything, it wasn't needed, the bond of their long friendship speaking for itself.

"You need sleep," Stella finally spoke up and leant away.

Mac had his eyes closed and barely seemed to hear her. She shook her head and tried desperately not to cry in case he saw. It pained her so much to see him in this state. The once strong, clever and stoic detective so broken and vulnerable. She pulled him up and helped him into the bedroom, where she settled him in the bed. She left briefly to get some sleeping pills and a glass of water, helping Mac to drink them down before staying with him until he fell asleep. He didn't speak once during any of it, like his mind was elsewhere and only his body, his shell, remained.

The next thing Mac was aware of, he was lying in his bed and the last rays of the sun were shining through his window as the star began its decent on another day. Mac pushed himself up. He felt better, his limbs didn't ache as much and the constant pain in his head had gone. He stood and slowly padded out of the bedroom and into the lounge. It was tidy. All the mess of clothes, food remains, packaging, bits of odd papers...everything. It had all gone. Dust had been cleaned off the furniture and the window was open, letting in what the city had to offer in the way of fresh air. Objects had been straightened and Mac was suddenly aware a delicious smell was coming from the kitchen. He turned and walked to the other room and watched as the curly haired woman stirred something at the stove.

"Stella," Mac murmured.

"Well hi there," Stella smiled as she turned. "Good nap?"

"Yes," Mac replied as he went and sat at the counter watching her. "I don't understand."

"That must be a first," she said cheerfully.

Mac almost smiled. "When did you get here?"

"A few hours ago," she replied. "You were sitting by the window. You weren't looking too good, Mac."

Mac didn't reply. There was no need. He was well aware of what state he was in.

"I put you to bed and then cleaned the place up. Then I went to the store and picked you up some food. And here I am now cooking you some dinner."

"Stella," Mac sighed. "You didn't have to..."

"When was the last time you ate a proper meal?" she asked sternly.

Mac furrowed his brow and looked away, avoiding her gaze. "I sometimes order pizza," he mumbled.

"Pizza is not proper food," Stella told him. "You look ill, Mac."

"You never were one to beat around the bush," Mac mumbled.

Stella grinned at him. "Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

Mac arched an eyebrow at her.

"So here we are," she smiled, serving out what she'd been cooking and handing him a bowl of hot stew.

"Thanks," Mac nodded and picked up a spoon. He stared into the bowl, not really feeling hungry but knowing he should eat if only to be polite to his dear friend. He tasted a first spoonful and at once felt a warmth spreading through him. He realised his body had been starving and this first mouthful was like the oasis it so craved.

Stella waited with him while he ate, glad he was finally doing something that was good for him, before they both went into the lounge and sat on the couch. Mac leant back and relaxed. He felt better at that moment than he had in a long, long time.

"So talk to me," Stella was saying.

Mac looked at her and sighed.

"Why have you been ignoring your friends, Mac?"

"I see him, Stella," Mac murmured quietly.

Stella's eyes widened in shock and her brow furrowed. "See him?" she repeated.

"I hear him too. He's here, in the apartment."

"Oh, Mac," Stella said sympathetically, shaking her head. "It's not real. You're just imagining him because you miss him so much."

"I never saw Claire," Mac said defensively.

"Claire was different. She was never found. You never saw the...well, you never saw her."

Mac nodded and looked down. First Claire...then Don.

"I miss him so much," he choked. "When I hear him, when I see him...I know he's not real, I know it's impossible...but I never want him to go. I love him so much..."

"That's understandable Mac. How long's it been? Seven weeks nearly? You'll take much longer to get over him than that."

"I don't want to get over him. I don't want him to be gone," Mac said sadly, and Stella could hear the anger that tinged his voice.

"You need to lean on your friends, Mac. Don't shut them out. They care so much about you and want to help."

"They blame me. They blame me for what happened," Mac said bitterly.

"Of course they don't..."

"Danny does!" Mac interrupted. "He hates me. And how can I blame him? I killed his best friend."

"Mac, no, don't say that," Stella cried. The pain she saw in her friend was breaking her heart.

"I'm drowning, Stella, drowning in my own life. Can you ever have too much life? To be starving of oxygen?"

"I don't know," Stella said sadly, unable to answer his question. "But what I do know is that Don wouldn't want you like this. It would break his heart to see what you're doing to yourself. He loved you, Mac. He'd want you to move on, to be happy."

"He never loved me...I betrayed him. I betrayed him so many times. I forced him into our relationship. He didn't want it, he wanted to get on with his life without me. Danny told me."

"And what would Danny know?" Stella suddenly shouted. "Don loved you more than anything, Mac. He told me. He was head over heels for you and nothing he did ever stopped that. And more to the point nothing you did stopped it either."

Mac rubbed his hands over his face as he shook his head. Stella didn't understand, she couldn't.

"I waited too long for him, Stella. Every time he gave himself to me I pushed him away. If only I hadn't...we might have had ten years together at least. This might have never happened. And in the end, in the end maybe I forced him. He said he'd wait, said he still wanted to but...but I just don't know what to believe anymore."

"Mac? What the fuck?" Don shouted angrily as he stepped inside the door of Mac's apartment, rage behind his eyes.

"Nice to see you too, Don," Mac replied.

"Jo told me what happened. That you nearly got killed? Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Mac sighed and sat in his easy chair. "Honestly...I don't know. I didn't tell anyone. I wasn't sure how to cope..."

"You coulda come to me," Don snapped.

"I just needed to think some things through. I needed some time alone.

"Alone?" Don repeated as he paced up and down. "I see. I see what you're telling me."

"What?" Mac asked, frowning.

"That the other night was all a big mistake. You were upset, drunk off your ass and I was just there. There so you could relieve some of the stress."

Mac quickly jumped up and went to Don. "No, Don," he said defiantly. "The other night was not a mistake. Not unless you regret it?"

Don pursed his lips in a moment of anger and then relaxed, the tension leaving his body. "I'm sorry, Mac...I just...when I heard..."

Mac nodded his head. "I understand. You heard I'd been keeping something from you again, that I'd not trusted you with it so naturally you assumed it was starting all over again."

"I'm so sorry, Mac," Don muttered miserably.

Mac smiled sadly at him and pulled him into a hug. "It's okay, Don. I love you, I really do. I promise."

"Then tell me what's going on, Mac? Please?" Don pleaded.

Mac sighed and sat back in his chair.

"I'm leaving the lab," he said.

Don's eyes widened in shock. "You're what? Why?"

Mac rubbed his hands over his face. "Because staring at that gun, knowing death was imminent...and then surviving...I asked myself why? Why am I doing this? How long can I keep doing it for?"

Don dropped onto the couch and sat starring at Mac, waiting for him to continue.

"I've done my bit, Don. Solved all my cases. I can't be there forever. I need some time."

Don blinked, his eyes watering and he nodded his head. "What about me?" he asked softly.

Mac sighed again. "All I've wanted since the day I returned from London was to be with you, Don. And I swore I'd wait, I'd be patient and see what happens. Never in a million years did I ever think I'd get another chance, especially after Jess. I know how much you loved her."

Don's eyes welled up and he nodded again. "I did...very much."

"I never thought I'd ever earn your forgiveness, Don," Mac said honestly.

"It wasn't hard," Don sighed. "Not after I realised how close I was to losing you a few weeks ago on the Tessa James case."

"You don't know how much you mean to me, Don. I love you very much. But right now, what I need is to be by myself. And it has nothing to do with you."

"Then why?" Don murmured.

"Because I feel lost. The lab has been my entire life for so long and I no longer have that. I just need a bit of time to sort myself out, find myself. And I hope that you'll wait for me?"

Don blinked and a tear dribbled its way down his cheek. "How long?" he asked.

"I don't know," Mac replied. "But I want you to know I'm not breaking up with you, Don. If you're still here when I finally find out what I want from life without the lab, then I'll be with you forever. You know that."

Don sighed. "This is hard. I love you, Mac. I want to be with you."

"I can't, Don, not right now. I just need to be by myself..."

Don nodded and another tear fell down his cheek. "I'll wait," he said as he stood up. "I'll wait, Mac. I'll wait forever if I have to."

"I waited too long. I needed time to get over Claire, sort myself out. By the time I was ready...I'm sure he'd moved on. I made him fall back in love with me," Mac murmured.

"Impossible, he never fell out of love with you," Stella said kindly.

Mac wiped his hands over his face again and Stella glanced at them.

"Where's your ring, Mac?" she asked.

Mac dropped his hands and smirked. "My ring?" he said standing up and going to a draw where he pulled out a small box. "Which one? I have a whole collection now!" he came back to the couch and emptied the box out onto the coffee table. Four rings fell onto it. Claire's. His. Don's. His.

"You know which one," Stella said calmly, picking up the one she knew Mac had chosen together with Don. "You don't take it off until you're ready," she warned. She slid the band onto Mac's left ring finger and held it there. "He's a part of you until you're ready."

"I bought him tickets, you know that?" Mac murmured, almost to himself.

"No?" Stella said, shaking her head.

"I'd bought two tickets to the New York City Ballet for the week after our wedding. They're still in the draw, I couldn't throw them away," Mac said painfully. "When Claire died I had two tickets for the opera that night. It took me ten years to throw them away, to let her go."

"So even if it takes you ten years to let go of Don, it doesn't matter. Don't do it before you're ready, but don't wallow in self pity and misery for the eternity. That's not what Don would want. That's now how he'd want you to remember him."

"I know," Mac muttered. "It's just hard."

Stella nodded sympathetically and stroked a hand over his back. Mac said no more, exhausted from their talk and feeling sleepy once again from the first food he'd consumed in days.

"So Don liked ballet?" Stella asked in an effort to cheer the mood.

"Yes," Mac murmured. "But not Swan Lake."

"What's wrong with Swan Lake?" Stella laughed.

"He hated birds," Mac said.

"He hated birds?" Stella laughed. "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard."

Mac smiled for a moment, remembering when Don had told him his views on Swan Lake himself. Suddenly his face dropped and he paled. His heart thumped inside him and he felt tears making their way to his eyes.

"Mac...Mac what's wrong?" Stella asked worriedly, aware something had happened.

Mac didn't hear her, his mind somewhere else entirely. His mind on Don's words.

"But Prince Siegfried is an idiot. All he has to do is choose the right girl, make the right choice but he doesn't and because of that he loses Odette."

Make the right choice...but he doesn't...and because of that he loses the love of his life.

"Oh God!" Mac cried.

Stella couldn't do anything but hold him as Mac finally broke. She'd never seen him cry in all the years she'd known him and it scared her, but at the same time she knew this was what he needed. Mac was finally letting go of all the pain inside him.

Danny felt happier than he had in a good few weeks. Lindsay was out having taken the kids to spend the night with his mother so he could have a break away from them. That meant no screaming baby, no constant reminder of the disappointment he was now reflected in his daughter's eyes. He knew once Lindsay returned they'd be having a long conversation about what was going on with him but for a few moments he had some peace. He wheeled his chair over to the lounge window and stared out of it at the building opposite. He longed to go out and breathe the fresh air but hadn't in weeks. Lindsay had offered but he'd always declined, not wanting to put her out, not wanting to see the pitying looks they would gain from passers-by. Danny pushed himself closer and with a hefty tug opened the window. He breathed deeply, the smell of the city filling his nostrils and something else, something else that he recognised. Ever so carefully he pushed himself out of his chair and pulled himself up onto the ledge, using his arms to swing his legs out and then shuffling until he was sat on his large window ledge. He smiled as he saw Mr Woo sat in his garden in a deck chair with a parasol attached high above it, beads hanging round the edge of it and his strange bowl pipe in his hand. Weed, that was what he'd smelt mingled in with the city air. Danny waved at him and then sat back, the sun shone brightly onto the ledge and he felt warm, relaxed and he closed his eyes.

"Mister Danny?"

Danny blinked his eyes open and saw that Mr Woo had come over to him and was looking up at him.

"A very bad accident that is," Mr Woo nodded, his face serious.

Danny tried hard not to smile. Mr Woo was being serious and kind to him and yet, his funny way of putting things made Danny feel better about what had happened.

"Hey, Mr Woo. Yeah, I guess it is kinda bad," Danny agreed.

"You would like some?" Mr Woo asked offering Danny up another oriental looking bowl pipe.

Danny looked down at the offering and thought about it. He wasn't a cop anymore, Lindsay and the kids were out, what harm could it do?

"Yeah, thanks," Danny nodded, taking it while Mr Woo lit it for him.

Danny breathed in the smoky fog and once more leant back against the wall behind him. It was so warm in the sun's setting rays and he was reminded of that evening he and Flack had sat out on the ledge, drinking beers and talking excitedly about their futures. He'd been so excited to be a father again, to have a son and Flack had been thrilled at his wedding to Mac. How much things had changed since that innocent chat only a few months ago. Flack now lay in the ground, Mac was doing god knows what to himself according to Lindsay and he was stuck in that wretched chair unable to do anything he wanted, hating his baby boy for coming into the world and replacing his friend. He had tried, God knows he had tried to love the baby, tried to think of it as his son...baby Donny but he couldn't. Just looking at it made him feel sick. Danny inhaled again on the pipe and opened his eye. Colours swam before him, his arms felt heavy, felt like nothing just as his legs did. He felt happy. He laughed at Mr Woo sat in his chair in the garden; the guy was grinning at him and pointing.

"Mister Danny."

"Hey Mr Woo," Danny giggled.

"Mister Danny, you smoke."

"Yeah I smoke," Danny replied. Mr Woo was talking nonsense.

"We all smoke."

"Yeah...yeah...all of us..." Danny laughed, slumping against the wall.

"You like?"

"I love," Danny nodded at the old man.

"I think Mister Danny's friend want some," Mr Woo pointed.

"Friend?" Danny asked and looked beside him. He grinned happily. "Flack, there you are. Want some?"

Flack looked down warily at the pipe.

"Come onnnnn..." Danny giggled. "You said you wanted to, Flack!"

Flack grinned and then accepted the pipe from Danny, putting it to his lips and inhaling.

"See, it's good, isn't it?" Danny smiled.

"Yes, yes...very good," Mr Woo nodded from his deckchair.

"Danno...it's great..." Flack said in awe. He too leant back next to Danny and the two friends sat in contentment together.

"This is great," laughed Danny. "I feel happy."

"I'm happy too, Danno," Flack murmured, smiling at his friend.

"We should have done this more often, I don't know why we didn't," Danny mumbled.

"Work," Flack reminded him.

"Oh yeah," Danny chuckled. "Stupid work."

Flack passed the pipe back to Danny and sighed in pleasure.

"Kinda took over our lives, didn't it?" he said.

"Danny looked over to him. "Yeah...but we always had each other."

"That we did," Flack grinned.

Danny hummed happily and swayed slightly against the wall. "I love this feeling."

"It's so much better than the last time I tried," Flack mused.

"I'd forgotten," Danny smirked.

Flack grinned at him.

"Wish we could stay like this forever," Danny murmured.

"Me too," Flack nodded.

The two friends smiled happily at each other and then looked out over the garden. Mr Woo waved to them and they waved back, giggling with each other as only two best friends could.

Mac lay in bed, he was exhausted after crying with Stella and completely embarrassed too. He'd never cried in front of anyone before, not even Claire or Don. In fact it was probably only his mother who had ever seen him cry. Stella was now watching TV in his lounge while he rested. He glanced down at his hands and smiled sadly. After she had left him he'd put the rings away, the two of them, but Don's...his precious Don's...he'd put his ring on, next to his own one where he could always be with him. Mac sighed; he had no idea what to do with himself anymore. The guilt he felt was like a heavy weight on his back, a heavy weight pressing on his chest crushing him. He couldn't get Don out of his mind and yet he didn't want to. He'd never felt so many contradictions going on inside him as he had since Don's passing. One half of him desperately wanted to move on with his life, forget about Don and go back to work, to his life. The other half of him wanted to hole up in the apartment forever, living on the memories of a life now lost, of his hopes and dreams now lost. And Stella was telling him to do somewhere inbetween, to never forget, but not to wallow in misery. Mac just didn't see how that would be possible until he could unite himself.

"She's worried about you, you know? They all are."

Mac looked up; Don was perched on the end of his bed, staring at him with sorrow in his eyes.

"I know you're not really here," Mac said logically, attempting to keep his emotions at bay, his chat with Stella strengthening his resolve to move past these illusions.

"I can be if you believe it," Don said wisely.

Mac laughed loudly. "Reality is that which when you stop believing in it, it doesn't go away," he stated coldly.

Don just blinked at him. "Do you want me to go away?"

Mac swallowed and felt sick at the very thought of that. "No..." he finally whispered said resolve breaking easily.

"Then I'll stay," Don replied. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

"But you can't last forever," Mac whispered. "I can't stay talking to myself forever, because I know that's what this is. I'll go mad."

"Madness is what we suffer for being human," Don replied. "I know I did, I know you have before."

Mac sighed and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"You're not real, are you?" he tried again.

"I'm as real as you want me to be."

"I don't believe in ghosts," Mac stated. "So what are you? A figment of my imagination? A projected memory? Or have I already lost my marbles and gone crazy?"

Don smiled at him, and it was that goofy, lopsided smiled that made Mac's heart flutter.

"I am whatever you need me to be," he murmured.

"I miss you," Mac finally said after a silence. Whether this was real or not, he no longer cared. This was the longest that Don had appeared to him for and he wasn't going to waste it, he had so much he needed to say, to get off his chest even if talking to an empty room meant that he was crazy.

"I miss you too, Mac. But you already knew that."

"I didn't," Mac said, shaking his head. "I have no doubt in mind that you hate me after what I did."

"You did nothing wrong," Don said. "You chose wisely, logically. A choice I would have made myself."

"But I loved you more," Mac said in a louder tone. "I loved you so much more than Danny."

"So you would feel better now had I survived and Danny died?" Don asked sincerely.

Mac took a deep breath and leant back against the headboard. "I don't know."

"You would deprive a woman of her husband? A little girl of her father? A new born baby of its parent?"

"No..." Mac whispered.

"You're a practical man, Mac. You rarely ever let you're emotions control your actions, that's why it took us ten years to be together. I knew as soon as I heard that you would have to choose that I would die."

"No..." Mac said in horror. Don had known all along.

"I wasn't scared, Mac. I just wish you had made your choice sooner, to save Danny as much pain...and yourself as much guilt."

"I could never have let you go just like that, Don. Not after everything..." Mac stated.

"I would have made the same choice," Don replied. "If our roles had been reversed."

"You're just saying that," laughed Mac. "You're just saying that because I'm imagining you, and I want you to forgive me."

"Really?" Don said knowingly. "Or would your mind make me hate you, like you've been hating yourself, because you believe that's what you deserve?"

Mac blinked up at Don and realised he had been caught out. For once Don had outsmarted him.

"When did you suddenly become so wise?" he asked.

"I learnt from the best," Don smiled.

Mac smiled too and nodded his head. It felt so wonderful to have Don here with him again, even if he knew he wasn't real and that he'd disappear again before long.

"So you knew?" Mac finally said.

Don nodded his head. "You could never have done that to Danny and Lindsay... no more than I could have. I knew my fate was sealed the moment he made you choose."

"I'm so sorry, Don," Mac said, frowning as he felt he could almost cry again.

"I don't blame you, Mac. And if you need my forgiveness then you already have it."

"I don't deserve it. I only deserve penance," Mac said miserably.

"No," Don said severely. "I don't want you to seek revenge for what happened to me. No payback, just do your job. And that's done, Bedford is dead. So you need to stop doing this to yourself, seeking revenge on yourself. I don't blame you."

Mac nodded and watched Don carefully, studying his features, grateful for another chance to look at his handsome face, his wonky smile, his oversized nose, his bright blue eyes. It felt as though he was falling in love with them all over again. Don was perfect and he'd never get tired of just watching him, real or imaginary.

"I have to go now," Don stated, watching Mac watch him.

"I knew this couldn't last," Mac stated.

"I'll come back, if you want me too," Don replied.

"When my mind decides to play crazy again," Mac joked.

"You never were very funny," Don grinned and Mac smiled at him.

"Don?"

"Yes, Mac?"

Mac furrowed his brow as he tried to order what he wanted to say.

"What was the last thing you thought? That went through your head when you heard me say...when you knew..."

Don tilted his head for a moment and then smiled at Mac in sorrow.

"Regret," he answered truthfully and Mac took a breath in. "Regret that I would never get to be your husband. It was the only thing I ever truly wanted out of life."

And then he was gone, and Mac was looking out into his empty bedroom. Yet this time, things were different. His heart may have still felt pained that Don had just been a part of his imagination. But he felt lightened, and a little less guilty of the decision he'd made. His mind was slowly healing him.

A/N - Flashback from 7x22

Thanks to Philip K. Dick for a quotation used in this chapter.

Anyone notice a line from 8x18?