A/N : Here we go, for all the Smackers out there, here she comes. From now on, I will try to update every week end. Hope you like this longer part, other chapters should be the same length.

A great thanks again for my beta Blackdragon189 who is editing and correcting my bad english. Thank you so much girl!

And to all my reviewers, AIP, lily moonlight, SMackedFan, rocksmacked, fur3v3r, LILKENNY, StellaBonaseraTaylor and to those who put my story in their alert or just read thanks so much guys, you rock. You've made me very happy and flying over the clouds

Summary : A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...

Disclaimer : I don't own anything. CSI NY and its characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

The white, shining frost crawling upon the glass towers was starting to slowly melt as the sun cast its lazy afternoon rays over the frozen New York City. In the eternal battle between fire and ice, the cold weather had plunged the rumbling city under several feet of white, crusty snow; but now the sun was claiming its right and was shining, mockingly, its warm rays through the frozen towers. Although all informed New Yorkers knew it wasn't going to last, as the weather channel had announced a big snow storm for the next five days, yet, any pedestrians and street sellers welcomed happily its orange-yellow light with a smile as it started to warm bodies and souls in need of heat and comfort; all, but one.

This one soul in particular turned toward its shining reddish disc, a look of melted worry and torment; her green, emerald eyes casting the burden of an unbearable guilt.

Her sight went tiredly back to her computer, sending her curly, golden brown hair dancing over her shoulders as she sighed, again. For the last two hours, she hadn't stopped doing that, glancing over and over; from the frosty window, to her glowing computer screen, to the clock on the wall, to finally end on her phone near the keyboard, hoping this time he was going to call. But he hadn't. Her phone had hopelessly remained silent. It was so unusual for him not to call back that she was really getting worried, although he had every right. She swallowed the guilty knot formed in her throat.

Slowly, Stella Bonasera stood up from her chair, walked to the glass wall of her office and opened the door. As she stepped outside, heading to the break room, her empty cup in hands, she peeped quickly toward Mac's office. In case he noticed her, she would pretext going for a coffee refill, which, wasn't too far from the truth though. Since the early morning, she hadn't taken a break, and was now really getting tired. She didn't recall taking the time for lunch either. She sighed, well, he probably hadn't eaten as well, as usual. She eyed nervously his empty chair. A quick glance at her watch told her, only five more minutes had passed since the last time she had checked. 5:32, she noted. He should be back by now, her mind repeated.

Wherever he went to interview a witness, it had never taken more than few hours for Mac Taylor, to talk to the guy and come back to the lab, unless... She bit her lips, not daring to think about it, unless something had happened, uttered her mind. She shook the threatening idea, he was probably avoiding her after this morning. Yeah, that was it, nothing else, but somehow she didn't know which one was the scariest thing; Mac Taylor avoiding her or being in trouble. She shook her head, of course the latter meant possible injuries, hostage situation or any of the craziest situations, he'd always find himself into. So yeah, the latter was definitely what scared the hell out of her.

As she entered the break room, she recalled the last time she saw him. It was this morning and not her best moment, she sighed as she grabbed the pot and poured the steaming black coffee into her cup. Leaning against the kitchen's railing, she let her eyes closed for a second, recalling their heated argument right before she had said those dreadful words, his baritone voice still echoing in her mind.

« Sorry Stella, but I don't buy his story. Even if the evidence point toward his innocence, I can feel it. He killed him."

His voice had stressed on the last words, the turquoise pool of his eyes gleaming with anger. After ten years of close friendship, she had come to learn the small details of his face and body when it comes to his emotions as he was so carefully bottling everything inside; and at the time she could have told his anger hadn't been turned toward her, but mostly to the case. A small smile curved her lips; if someone had asked her, she would have even been able to recount the number of times he had been angry at her as there hadn't been much.

"And he did it with a careful plan," he had continued on the same angry tone. "We just haven't found all the pieces yet."

She remembered noticing how tired his features were as he had hopelessly dropped his arms along his sides. As usual, he hadn't got much sleep lately, drowning himself into work. But despite his tired state, she had countered him, knowing all too well that they were both too tired to head in the right direction. But she had to speak her mind, let her heart drive her actions once again. How stupid she had been! It's only when you have lost something that you realize how precious it was, she thought.

Her hands on her hips, she had locked her emerald eyes with the green and bluish depth of his.

« He's a kid Mac. Like you said the evidences prove he killed him in self-defence." As she spoke, her voice had grown louder, raising an octave. "God damn it Mac! Simon, his father, was beating the crap out of him every night and day. His foster father," she had said, emphasizing the last word. That's it the word had been said: foster father.

He smirked at the words. "That doesn't give him the right to take a life, Stell." His hand had pointed toward the file open on his desk, before he smashed it angrily. "No, this kid has framed his foster dad to be sure he wouldn't survive to the attack. And we have no proof, no evidence to lock him up."

He sighed as he turned and looked at the window behind him, as if the falling snow could bring him some answers. "And he's just going to walk away from it," he had finally uttered.

Then his blunt anger had disappeared, his voice taking a softer tone, "I know you want to believe him Stell, I know you do," his voice had trailed off searching for the right words, "you kind of bonded with him the minute we learnt he was in the system." He let out a deep, sad sigh. "But he's not like you, Stell. He's not like you." He had added, turning toward her a tired gaze. And he was tired, not just because of this case. She had seen his weariness weighing more and more on his shoulders these last months as they were all coping with Angell's death.

She closed her eyes. She shouldn't have pushed him. She was tired too and should have known what explosive combination a sleep deprived Mac Taylor and a tired Stella Bonasera could make in such a bad argument. She should have backed away and shut up for once, she should have...

But she hadn't, instead, she had huffed in indignation. How had he dared to bring her past up with this case? He was probably thinking she was going to fall for his puppy weary eyes, but no! So instead of taking his gesture as an open hand, she had jumped on his words, her heart beating painfully behind her temples, as anger had raised to the surface.

"What do you mean he's not like me," she had swallowed, ire boiling beneath each words. "That I can't be objective, Mac? That I never got the courage to end what my father did to my foster sister? Maybe not, so you're right, but I didn't know at the time!" she blew out.

"Damn it Stella! It's not what I meant; don't try to twist my words!" He had thrown back his eyes wide open, and anger starting to rise in his own voice too. "You damn well know you're going with your heart on this one!"

His green ocean pools had connected with her emerald eyes; his warmth trying to cool the boiling anger seeping from her lips. He had tried to reason with her head, hoping to calm her down.

But again, as usual, she had acted with her heart; like he had just told her. She had let anger and rage flushing all over her; deep, burning rage against her parents who had abandoned her as a kid, fierce rage against the system that had allowed those scum bags like her foster dad or Simon's to look after foster kids and stay free, even after they had beaten and raped them, and finally rage against the society, damn it, even rage against Mac for bringing up the subject and letting her break in pieces before him.

As rage and anger had quickly consumed her heart, she had let it go; all her frustrations, all the misery that had happened to her, those last six years; the loss of her condo, Frankie, Angell's death, the mistake she had made with Adam. It was too much to be kept inside, too much to bear, too much to deal with, and so she had opened the dam.

Her words rang in her mind like sharp blades as she tried to stop her shaking hands holding the warm cup. All her fear, anger and rage, had been unleashed at the very man that had saved her life more than once, a man, she proudly called her friend, a man she would lean on when trouble comes.

"Yeah, my heart Mac," she had scoffed, "you should it try, once in a while." Even to her, she had been surprised by the dry bitterness behind those words.

Her coldhearted words echoed painfully as she recalled the burning need for revenge, to lash out that angry tsunami on the one who had dared to provoke her wrath. Heated anger burning inside her chest and stomach demanded to get free. How the hell can he think I'm the only one not objective on this case? What about him and his past? How could he not be objective at all? And then she remembered hearing her words, like if it was someone else uttering them, anger simmering behind each syllable.

"Just because you didn't have the nerve to press that damn trigger when you were fourteen, doesn't mean everyone else doesn't and will remain frozen as a friend calls for help," she had snapped. There, she had said it, her face was red from the heated anger burning inside her.

But as soon as her words had left her lips, she had realized what final mistake she had done. Oh god. She hadn't said that. She couldn't have said that!

She had watched as her friend had frozen before her. Her harsh words shattering his unshielded heart and soul. His mouth had opened desperately, but no words had come out, as if air had been sucked out of his lungs to never come back. Heavy silence had filled the room as the two had remained frozen in shock. Her own jaw had fallen open, mimicking his hopelessness, as her gaze had anxiously searched the reassuring contact of his eyes.

And then slowly, she had seen his jaw slightly tighten, as if life had started to flow again in his veins; a faint but quick pulse erupting and beating beneath his temples. Shock, anger and deep, wrenching pain had etched into his green ocean eyes, his reassuring warmth all gone. She remembered thinking she had killed him, not really him, but his soul, his heart. What had made Mac Taylor tick was dead when he had turned around his desk without a word. His ashen face had passed inches of her, as if she hadn't been there.

She had drowned a deep breath, the sweet scent of his cologne lingering for the last time in her presence. Closing her eyes, she had thought he was going to yell at her, like some damn drill sergeant, lashing out a well, deserved word that would cut her in half and kick her back to the pathetic world of the unworthy frankly, she would have let him to do it, hell, even encourage him to it. But he hadn't yelled nor even burst into the wrath she had expected, instead, he had just grabbed his jacket, turning his back to her in a heart wrenching silence. Her stomach churned as she recalled how his muscles had tensed on the back of his neck, his whole body stiff and moving on autopilot.

"I'm sorry.... I didn't mean it...." she had said, her voice breaking the cold silence as she had tumbled on the words, realizing he was leaving. "Mac..." she had moaned, talking to his back, her hand trembling before her mouth. "I'm sorry...I...please... Mac..."

She remembered her croaked voice desperately calling his name as she had watched him pulling on his black coat over his jacket, his face out of her reach. Her heart had pounded hard in her chest, almost about to explode as she had stepped before the door to stop him from leaving. Her hand had lightly pressed on his chest in a desperate gesture to stop him from doing the ineluctable, the fast rhythm of his heart echoing her fear. She had frozen as she had seen his face, drained of all color, his features constricted in a painful turmoil, his dazzling smile forever lost. At that precise second, she had realized how much she had hurt him, as her sight had tried to make eye contact; but his deep green ocean eyes had carefully avoided her, locking her away from his feelings; he would not allow her to come closer this time. A suffocating silence had closed in on her as he had walked pass her to open the door without a word.

Stopping on the threshold, she had heard him taking a deep breath. Her heart had beaten madly behind her temples as she had hoped that perhaps he had changed his mind and was going to turn around and let her apologize. Well, if that word could even be used after such an unforgiven mistake.

But then, she had painfully realized that he wasn't. In fact, she had seen with horror that he was fighting with himself to stand and not crumble before her, here, in the very place that meant so much for him. What had she done? An implacable weight had crushed her shoulders as he had finally resumed his faltering walk toward the elevator.

Fear gripped at her heart; she had never seen him like that, not even after Claire had died. And then, sudden realization had hit her. Of course she couldn't have seen him like that; after Claire's death, he had shelled back within himself, not allowing anyone to get too close to him. She swallowed hardly. No. The only one allowed close had been her, as she had helped him to open up more and more in the late years, lowering his barriers one by one; but then, the words she had thrown had just hit him with more violence and rage, tearing into his unprotected flesh and soul.

Defenseless and unprotected before her, that's what he had become. The words swirled in her mind. All those years she had patiently took steps to get closer to him, and to what? He had let her in and she had striken him at the first occasion. She cursed angrily at her selfish wrath. That's what she had done to him, hurting him more than any human weapon would ever do.

A wrenching pain seized her heart as she remembered when his name had escaped her mournful lips for the last time; her heart sinking further with each step he was taking away from her. She couldn't have hurt him, he was her best friend; the man she could lean on when time got tough, the man she hoped one day would let her in, the man she had never realized till now that she loved more than her own life.

How could she have done that to him? Hot tears stung her eyes as she had watched the elevator's door closed on his back; his shoulders were dropped and his head sagging heavily in front of him in a defeated posture.

And then, he was gone, her head reminded her. She had killed him. In fact, she had killed both of them as for now on there would be no rest until she was absolutely sure she had made amends. Somehow she had no idea how she would be able to, or, even if he would let her, but she had to try. He deserved it after all she had done and taken from him.

Of course he was right. She sighed heavily. She should have checked the evidences and try to remember the interrogation with the kid; all his ambiguous answers as Mac had pressed him. Now, she could see it. The kid had counted on his poor, beaten appearance to drive them away from the truth, to play her. But instead of going with her head like Mac, she had taken the opposite way and gone with her heart, and now Mac was paying a hell of a price for her mistake.

She drew a deep breath, trying to calm the restless churning in the pit of her stomach. This was going to take some time to erase it from his already too much, torn and wounded soul. Even with a patient and forgiving Mac, she knew her words had hurt him deeply, leaving a hell of a scar that she didn't know if it would ever heal. All her efforts to help him open up have been reaped away in a heartbeat, smashing and shattering ten years of friendship into pieces. She let out a deep heavy sigh, this wasn't like the one time she had pissed him off, breaking the lab's rules and flying to Greece.

No, today it was words, her words, spoken aloud and sharpened like a knife. Words she would never be able to take back, no matter what she would do. Words that would remain forever carved in his flesh and soul, new scars that would hurt him forever. She pinched the top of her nose, unable to take her thoughts away from what she had done to him.

What if he decided to never talk to her? How could she ever be able to make amends if he refused to see her again? How could she ever live if he couldn't forgive her?

Her guilty image floated in the black steaming liquid of her cup, as gloom wrapped its shadow around her soul. She had read somewhere, words could be as sharp as a blade and cut through soul and flesh as there was no shield to protect them from. Now more than ever, she realized how close to the truth that writer had been.

She had flung a piercing knife through his heart, and now she had no clue on how to remove it and heal him without adding more pain.

Deep in her thoughts, Stella gazed at the sunset rays gleaming through the darting silver towers, wondering where Mac was, and for how long he would avoid her; she didn't hear Danny, nor even saw him, as he entered the break room, hobbling.

"Should I worry?" asked Danny with a light smile, his left hand firmly clung around his cane, as the other tossed his cup, playfully, on the counter, and watched it slid gracefully before it stopped inches of the pot. A wide grin sprayed over his face, as he pushed back his glasses, obviously very proud of his skillful move.

"Not bad, huh?" He threw, his voice filling the silent room.

Getting no reaction from Stella, he called her, intrigued by her silence. The call pulled her from her thoughts as she turned a pale face toward Danny.

"Uh....sorry. Whad did you say Danny?" Her tired voice echoed.

"Wow, sorry Stell but you look like hell. Are you worried about the case or is there something else?" He probed, raising a brow toward her.

Yes and no, she thought. How could she say that to Danny? Yes, she was worried and not just because she could have screwed up the case. In fact, that damned case could just go to hell, she didn't care. No, right now she wanted to know where Mac Taylor was; where her best and wounded friend was.

"Ah, just tired Danny, I guess," she lied. "Didn't get that much sleep last night. Probably the cold."

"Yeah. Some cold," he smirked. "Seems very contagious lately," he continued, a boyish grin curving his lips as he poured the steaming coffee into his cup and went to sit at the island. "Mac got the same."

She stopped dead at the mention of Mac's name. Her eyes locked with Danny's, hoping he wouldn't catch the anxiety rising inside her.

"What do you mean?" She anxiously questioned. Had Danny seen Mac lately? Then it meant he was back. Hope gleamed behind her emerald eyes as she straightened from her position. If Mac was back, then she had to go and talk to him. She had to apologize and... Her trail of thoughts were cut as Danny spoke.

"Ah nothing," he said. "Just caught him in the parking lot this morning when he was heading to his truck." He seemed to recall the moment as he looked up to the ceiling then down to his fingers, tearing the small, white bag of sugar. He spread the white powder over the black liquid, continuing, "I called him, but he seemed lost in his thoughts," his blue eyes looked straight at Stella. "Pretty much like you," he stated, a small smirk grazing his face in hope to light the darkened mood he could read on Stella's face.

Her eyes dropped back to the inside of her cup as she let out a long sigh, knowing what Danny was trying to do; cheer her up, but she didn't want it. She felt she didn't deserve it. She had hurt her best friend, and nothing should make the pain go away, not until he was fine too.

"Did you check the third round of fingerprints?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

Danny stared at her for a minute before losing his smile and replying on a more professional tone. "Yeah, I did. Not conclusive. I was unable to recover enough streaks to compare with the kid's."

His sight went back to his coffee, his hand mechanically stirring the black, hot liquid. If Stella wasn't up to discuss about what troubled her mind, then, it had to be more serious than he thought. Could it be linked to Mac, he wondered? Not wanting to press her further if she wasn't ready to talk, he stood up. His left leg grazed the creamy tiles as he spoke again.

"Well, I better finish my report, before Big Mac comes and asks for it."

He winced as he caught Stella tensing at the corner of his eye. Ouch, he thought, he had obviously pressed on the wrong topic. So it was linked to Mac. He cursed himself for being such an idiot.

Not wanting to get involved into what was going on between his two bosses, he quickly excused himself before taking his leave and headed to the hallway; releasing the breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

"Not conclusive," repeated Stella as she found herself alone in the silent room.

Did Danny too think the kid was up to no good? Was she that blind that she hadn't been able to discern the lies from the truth? Losing track of time, she remained still in the kitchen; her mind still trapped to the coldhearted words she had flung at Mac, and his shocked, pained expression, forever etched before her eyes.

How could she have done that to him, after all he had done for her? Coming to Greece at the darkest time of her life, protecting and saving her, being her rock through all those years. We help each other, that's what we do. Her comforting, old spoken word echoed in her mind; it sounded so meaningless now, that she had just done the opposite, driving a deep wedge between them.

Another sad sigh escaped her lips as she got into motion and exited the break room. As soon as she entered her office, she closed the glass door, and slumped down in her chair, desiring nothing more than to be left alone to wallow in her guilt. But first she needed to try again, just in case. She wanted to be sure he was alright.

About to press on the speed dial of her cell phone, she raised her head as Lindsay's face popped inside her office, a file stuck under her arm.

"Hey Stell!" she called, a big smile on her face. "Have you seen Mac?"

Stella winced, her gut twisting painfully again at the sound of his name. God, if it was the price for hurting him, then be it, she mentally swore.

"No, I haven't seen him since this morning. Why?"

"Oh, he asked me about these results, saying it was important and to get in touch with him, as soon as I have them. But he's not in his office, and nobody recalls to have seen him since this morning, so, I wondered if you knew more before I call him."

Since this morning... The words echoed in her mind. Is he really trying to avoid me, or is it something else? Fear started to creep inside her. She didn't like the sound of that. No it wasn't like him. But right now, she prayed he was so pissed off about her that he had just left and nothing else had happened.

"Is it about Simon's case?" she questioned, hoping to find a clue.

"Yup. He said it could lead us to a new path." Lindsay shuffled through the sheets of the report in her hands, her eyes wandering over the lines. "I managed to find a trace of DNA mixed with the particulates, though I haven't found what they're made of, yet." She paused looking at a puzzled Stella.

A frown appeared on Lindsay's face as she saw worry and fear gleaming behind her friend's eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know Linds. I really don't know," Stella replied with a tired voice, shaking her head. "Just leave me the file. I'll check with Mac." Like that I should be able to talk to him, she added for herself as she took the file Lindsay was handing her. "Thanks."

"You two are okay?" probed the young CSI awkwardly as she stayed in front of Stella's desk, waiting.

Stella looked up, her emerald eyes locking with the darting hazel eyes as her friend was watching her with gravity. "Yeah, why do you ask?" she uttered weakly, her tone not really convincing.

Lindsay bit her lips, hoping she wasn't about to cross a line. Although she and Stella had a close friendship, she remained her boss."Well.... it was hard not to hear the two of you arguing in his office this morning."

"What?" Great, now everybody knows...... Did they hear everything I said? God, I hope not. "What exactly did you hear?" asked Stella, unsure she really wanted to know the answer as her heart began to beat harder in her chest.

"Just ramble, really," added quickly Lindsay as she saw Stella's panicked look. "The glass kinda muffled the whole heat."

She closed her eyes, glad nobody had heard the blow she had thrown to Mac. The subject was already too sensible to add anything more to it. For Mac, a very private man, having his life being thrown to gossip, then....God knows how he would react. Why did she have to give in to anger for god sake?

"We....I..." started Stella, her words quivering as she felt her eyes watering. Oh god, she wasn't about to break in front of Lindsay. Tightening her lips, she took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts before she spoke, "I may have..... backed him in a rough corner." Her eyes wandered onto the file on her desk, not really wanting to see the cold reprobation in Lindsay's eyes she was sure to find.

Lindsay lightly nodded, understanding all too well what 'backed in a rough corner' implied for Stella and Mac, as one had to really push hard on his buttons to get this kind of reaction from Mac. As a former marine, and cop, he had seen the worst side of humanity; losing his wife in the devastating and ignominious attack on 9/11 being the peak of all his nightmares, so for him to react this way, it meant it had to be a very bad argument.

"For what it's worth, you know," Lindsay offered, with a shy smile. "...Life taught me that where there's true friendship, there's always hope." She gently squeezed Stella's hand. "I'm sure he'll be back when he's ready, and you'll be able to put things right. Mac isn't the kind of guy to hold a grudge very long, even if he plays the rough ass sometimes." Her face lighted at the image of her boss. "He's too nice for that."

Pushing lightly on the glass door, she gave a reassuring smile at Stella before she left.

"I hope you're right," Stella whispered, as she watched her friend walk away.

Still deep in her thoughts, she resumed her last idea and picked up her cell phone. As she pressed on the speed dial, she hoped this time he would finally agree to answer. Somewhere deep inside, she prayed he hadn't because he was angry, and not because something else had happened. She closed her eyes as the beeps started to echo in her ears, and slowly sank back in her chair, her fatigued muscles starting to release the tension of the day. The beeps continued to ring regularly, and nobody was answering.

C'mon Mac, pick up! Yell at me, scream, I don't care, but just let me know you're okay.

After what seemed an eternity, she was about to hang up, when she saw the connection appeared on her screen. Her eyes widened, as she hastily stuck the phone back to her ear, relieved he was okay and ready to talk. Maybe there was hope, she thought, remembering Lindsay's words, a weak smile displaying on her lips, maybe they would be fine after all.

New warmth heated her body as she remained suspended eagerly to the expecting sound of his voice, which should break the silence in the next seconds. But her hope quickly faded as a low coarse voice answered; an unknown male voice.

"Mac?" she frowned, thinking it had to be him; she had just mistaken the voice that's all, she said to herself, it had to be him.

Maybe he had been drinking, explaining that coarse tone; even though she had rarely seen him tend to do that, but she had hurt him, and as she recalled the look of hurt on his face when he had left, she had to admit, she had no idea how he would react. She waited patiently for him to answer, hoping he had no second thoughts about the call and wasn't about to hang up on her. But then, she heard shuffling and a deep sigh. The drinking theory sounded even more probable with all this rumbling and shuffling. She decided to speak first again before he changed his mind.

"Mac?" she asked in a low, gentle tone. "Are you okay?"

Her heart stopped in her chest when the deep coarse voice broke the silence.

"No..... sorry," answered the broken voice.

"What the h....Mac?" Something's wrong! Fear started to seize her body, as chills ran down her spine, hoping she got it wrong.

The hard pounding of her heart beat loudly beneath her temples as she tried to distinguish the words through the gritting interferences. Where the hell was he to have that kind of disturbed signal?

"...not Mac," the voice replied.

Not Mac, what? How? Why? Where was he if it wasn't him? All questions burst in her head, as panic and confusion struck her mind.

"I can't hear you!" she yelled in the phone, hoping with all her heart she had mistaken, she hadn't heard those words.

A long tired sigh blew in the phone. "Sooorrrrry miss.... 'r friend......dead."

What?! No! Her mind screamed. It wasn't true! "Who are you?" she growled with anger. "How....how do you know he's..." She couldn't finish it. It was too painful. Mac couldn't be dead.

"Doesn't matter.... who.... am. ...... wanted to tell...........the truth," fluttered the voice.

"What truth! Where is he? How did he...." her mind was overwhelmed by so many questions, she felt a pounding headache forming behind her eyes. It's a nightmare, this isn't real! Oh god I wanna wake up now, please.

Rasping cough echoed as the man began to speak again then stop brutally, coughing with every breath.

"Where are you?" she questioned eagerly.

Maybe if she could find him, she would find Mac as well. He couldn't be dead. Wherever he was she would find him, and bring him back to his family, to his team, to her. She swallowed the knot forming in her throat. She would know if he was dead, she had to. He couldn't disappear without letting her know somehow. It was silly, but she was sure they had some kind of bond, and she could feel him alive somewhere. No, Mac isn't dead, he can't be, her mind repeated in a lamenting prayer. She had no life without him, she had nothing.

"Don't....know," answered the voice through the loud shrieking interferences. A long deadly silence followed. "Don't... remember..." slurred the voice.

Stella closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as she spoke, "why do you say he's dead? How do you know?"

She waited what seemed an eternity before the cold answer came and broke her heart.

"Am near...his body....and...."

"And what? How can you be so sure it's him?" She wasn't about to give hope that easily. This man could just be playing with her.

"Found...wallet......number 84...33..... guess..... dark here..."

"You're lying!" she shouted in anger, as she could picture Mac laying motionless, his blood leaking from a bullet wound, helpless, and this man watching him die slowly, enjoying his talk with her, and not doing anything, not caring for her partner. She closed her eyes as hot tears threatened to roll down. She could hear him calling her, whispering her name as he was about to pass out from blood loss, hoping she would find him.

"Did you do it? Did you hurt him?"

Controlled anger simmered behind her words as she stood up in a frozen stance waiting for the answer. She had to control herself for Mac's sake; the guy was their only lead right now. Her body went stiff at the images of her partner, hurt and waiting for her; only her arm was able to move as she knocked on the glass wall to get a lab tech attention. Alerted by the sound, a small blond girl wearing a white lab coat walked toward her with a puzzled look on her childish face and entered Stella's office.

Stella covered the speaker with her hand, not wanting to spook the man. "Get a trace on my cell phone right now!" she ordered to the girl, not caring if she had been too rash with the young woman; she would apologize to her later.

Right now, if Mac was in trouble or even worse; hurt or... god she didn't want to believe this guy. If anything had happened to Mac, then it was up to her to get help as quickly as possible, as it could mean the difference between life and death.

Without asking any further details, the blond lab tech, ran back toward Adam's lab, the sound of her heels echoing in the corridor. Stella watched her turning to a corner before she totally disappeared, her focus back to the unanswered question.

"Did you hurt him? Did you hurt the man near you?" She repeated, between her clenched teeth, as she tried to not let all her wrath slash at the man. She had to keep him talking, get a trace, and she wanted to be sure. She needed answers, she needed to know. But if he had hurt Mac, even a scratch, god protect him as she would tear him into pieces.

Then, he finally spoke, his voice fluttering like a ghost; only cut by the damned screeching interferences, "yes." Her eyes watered. "......think....I killed him."

Then the line went dead, silence only broken by lonely beeps.

The words echoed in her mind, stabbing her heart, as her knees buckled under her. Unable to support her own weight, she found herself on the ground of her office, a haggard look painted on her face as her world had been shattered into pieces in a matter of seconds. Her hand dropped numbly to her side as her phone hit the ground with a deadly thud.

Mac's dead... her mind rambled, Mac... dead.....dead. The terrible word repeated itself in a mad circle.

Hot burning tears rolled down her cheeks as she released her pain. Her blurry eyes stared aimlessly at the crimson sunset gleaming through the cold window; its bloody rays caressing her cheekbone to soothe her infinite pain. But it couldn't, how could her pain go away, as she was certain of one thing; now she was dead too.

......TBC........


A/N: I know, another cliffie, now it's time to let me know what you think of this chapter and help me to write faster :) R&R