A/N:First of all, sorry guys for posting so late, but with the holidays and life catching up, me and my beta got pretty busy, so again, I'm sorry. I'd like to thank everyone who put this story or me on their alert list or as a favorite. I'm very happy you like it.

And again, a warm thanks to my beta, Blackdragon189, who besides her busy schedule managed to beta 'Stay with me for Christmas' and this chapter.

As I already written this story is gonna be long and we barely made it to the end of act I, so stay tuned! Here we go, chapter 6...

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, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

"I hate this," growled Tommy as he lifted a bar of charred wood. Jagged pieces of red bricks slid along the panel and hit the ground with a small thud, swallowed by the fresh, white snow.

Martin glanced at him, anger lurking in the depth of his eyes. The last thirty minutes had been the same, every time Tommy had to pick up something from the ground or look under the remains of a fallen wall, he was cursing. And right now, his older brother was getting on his nerves.

"Just find that damn cop, alright!" he lashed out angrily.

"Yeah, yeah, what do ya think am doin'?"

Tommy looked down at the white powder stuck into tiny, flaky balls around his cotton gloves, his flashlight coloring it in a creepy, orange snow. He hated snow, he hated cold, he hated this damn city, and he hated being here and doing this because the boss had ordered them to. He spat the taste of ice in his mouth and kicked angrily at a jutting fragment of red brick in front of him. Unfortunately, for him, the broken brick was part of a bigger piece underneath that was deeply stuck to the ground. He muffled a growling scream as a jolt of pain soared from his toes into his knees, sending painful sparkles of electricity along the way.

Martin glanced at his brother, his flashlight was lighting the wreck before him, and he couldn't see his brother's face contorted in pain, though he did hear him muffling a curse against the whole crappy idea of trying to find a needle in a frozen haystack. Sighing, his beam shaved the chunks of rocks partially covered by the snow. Searching near the right side of the building, still standing, his boots crunched under shreds of red bricks and wooden shards. Suddenly, he noticed a small hatch at the bottom of a wall inside the standing building. Probably, the old heater conduit, he guessed, turning his stare to the door next to it that seemed to stand solidly in the door, it was clearly indicated basement, though a gluing snow was starting to cover the dark letters. He huffed a scorn as he turned to his brother, anger boiling inside his veins.

"Did ya say you placed the C4 at every story?" he managed to utter between a clenched jaw.

"Hell I did, it took me a while to set it everywhere. Why?" questioned Tommy, his forehead carved by a small crease.

Martin lighted the basement door with his beam. "Did you think to blast the basement as well?"

"Basement?" Tommy stared at him with a stunned look. "You didn't say a thing about a basement," defended his brother.

"Damn it Tommy! I said everywhere! Basement counts for it. How do ya want this to crumble entirely if you forget its bases," Martin scolded angrily. "Can't do a damn thing right without me!"

"Wow, sorry, but you didn't talk about a basement or..." Tommy replied on the same tone.

Martin's hand raised to quiet his brother, Tommy lowered his voice. Pissed, he watched Martin walking toward the door, the argument already dropped. As always, his small brother could get angry really quickly but when he had said his piece, the matter was closed. So he shut up and waited quietly, with Martin it was always the best option.

"Help me out," Martin uttered between two breaths as he picked up a heavy rock on top of the others. A pile of rocks and dirt was stuck almost half way up to the top of the door, making it impossible to enter or even get out.

xxx

He was feeling drowsy, and every second passing was a new fight against sleep to remain awake. His eyes blinked wearily to shave off the dreadful sleep that weighed on his eyelids. He let out a small gasp as the stabbing pain in his side surged like a scorching flame, bursting into his chest and lungs, increasing the pounding hammer beneath his temples. His heart skipped a bit under the violent surge as the hot pain crept inside all his muscles. His arms tightened around his chest as he felt cold beads of sweat slowly dripping into his already damp neck and making him tremble from the freezing air and dull pain.

He smirked, cold as he was, it was very ironic that the only artificial heat provided to his body was coming from his aching wounds. He breathed out faintly as the pain slowly faded, leaving only a coppery taste in his mouth, and thanked whomever was in charge for this small break. His eyes fluttered a second before they shut again. Jerked awake by the sudden fall of his head to his chest, he fought the gloomy sleep and blinked desperately to stay awake. He couldn't sleep now. If he did, he was just as dead as the cop lying in this wreck.

Then, he turned his head, painfully, to the left, thinking he had heard something; every muscle in his body tensed and ached as if cold knives had been plunged into his flesh. He grunted weakly as his neck was stiff and aching as well. Even the smallest movement of his body was taking its toll on him, making him desiring more than ever than to just close his eyes and be done with it. But he couldn't let go. If he did, he knew the odds for him to wake up alive in this cold sickness of a room were as low as the current temperature, though something deep and strong inside of him was still clinging to an illusion of hope and salvation. He didn't know why or how, and yet that faint glimmer of hope was making him hold on though it was fading fast with his blood leaking from his body.

He breathed out loudly, squinting through the darkness. This time he was sure he had heard something. Listening more carefully, he heard voices this time. They were talking to each other. Men? A rescue party maybe? Hoping it was finally a rescue party, his frozen lips parted to yell he was down there. But only a faint croaking sound came out of his throat. What if it's the cops? His mind reminded him. His dry mouth closed on his cold lips. If they were cops, he was dead. That girl would never let him live after what had happened to her friend, he could bet his life on it. Hell, his life was at stake anyway. So he chose to remain quiet and listened to the voices instead.

"The whole damn thin' should have crumbled Martin, I swear." One man was saying. "The cop can't survive to that. So's Carl. We should get outta here."

"Damn it! Help me with this pole and shut up already!" another man replied, angrily, as his voice puffed, probably from lifting something heavy.

"We're losin' our time here, in this damn, freezin' weather. You know?" quickly added the other. "That damn cop's dead. And Carl must be too."

His brows furrowed. Carl? He had found the cop's body. Could it mean he was the Carl they were talking about? Carl's my name? Silly, but it doesn't ring any bell. He thought for a moment, playing with the name and trying to find some images from his memory, but nothing came to his mind. He was as lost as before. His arms wrapped further around his chest as another round of tremors ran through his body, wrenching his aching muscles. His jaw clenched to keep his teeth from clickingand making some noise.

"Shut the hell up, idiot. If any of them's alive I don't wanna spook them before we got to them and finished the job."

"Huh... Carl too?" enquired the first voice with a bit of surprise.

"Yeah, Carl too. I'm fed up with that moron. Should've followed my rules instead of playin' that sick psycho. He's too dangerous to stay alive anyway. One day he'd have bumped into us. So, sooner's better."

"But what if the boss..."

"It was an accident, right? He stayed to play with the cop and got caught up in the blast, true right?"

Tommy shook his head. "Right, but..."

"Shut up, now!"

A long silence followed their words, before he could hear them rummage through more wreck. So, no rescue party; more like a killing party. Crap! Did anyone want to help save his ass? He sighed. Not a good day to wake up in this mess. Definitely not.

With a shaking hand, his numb fingers searched for the cold metal of the upside down bathtub. Pain erupted from the tip of his fingers as blood flowed, again, inside when he took support on the frozen metal, and raised on shaky legs; his right arm carefully nestled against his chest to protect his wound. The cold metal of the handcuff around his wrist bit more into his flesh, as it slid near the hand and grazed painfully at the thin layer of skin over the wrist bone. A small wince carved his face as he ignored the bite; it was nothing compare to his other wounds. No, he had to hurry and move. The voices were getting closer and surely he would be dead the minute they would spot him if he remained here.

Pushing on his tired muscles, he turned to his right, although in this thick darkness, right was a relative heading, since he wasn't sure he hadn't gone in circles since he had woken up. The freezing wind was blowing from this way, so, with some luck, he could head toward the wind and remained in its path until he found better shelter. But first, he had to convince his reluctant body to set in motion as his legs refused to move, the sneaky cold already settled into his flesh and bones. It was like having frozen Popsicles instead of legs. But after a few seconds, he managed to swallow the icy spikes biting into his muscles and was finally able to totter toward the wind. His boots grazed at the now frozen sludge as he hobbledfurther into the darkness, his hands taking support on whatever he could find to lean on.

Swallowing the wave of nausea that hit him, he focused on taking small, short breaths. Each time his lungs expanded to fill with cold air, a new wave of harsh, hot fire blasted from his side and into his chest. His head was madly throbbing, and he squinted painfully through the darkness, hoping to find a quick place to hide before he collapsed from exhaustion or worse.

His hand before him to search through the obscurity, loud, tiring beats burst in his head making him sway as his eyes closed again. One more step, he repeated to himself through his pounding headache, just one more step as he opened his eyes with difficulty. Then, his fingers met the cold rough material of a wall. His hand ran on the concrete wall, looking for anything that could help him as he barely noticed his foot breaking the thin layer of ice formed over a small puddle and the ten inches of freezing water where his foot sank into; he was already too cold for that. Then, finally, after some long and exhausting seconds, he found it as he kneeled down, wetting further his already dampedand frozen pants. He shuddered from the new cold added to his body before he squinted and patted at the opening.

It was a small, narrow opening in the wall, though it was enough for him to slip in, but he would have to sink into the glacial waters to reach the other side of the wall. Probably, an old access to a sewer, he deduced. He knew that going there could be his last move, trapping him, but he hoped somehow he would have enough strength to pull himself out of this hole as soon as those guys had given up on him. If they had found a way in, it meant there was a way out for him.

Crouching into the cold waters, he winced as the movement had reopened some of his wounds and felt suddenly dizzy. He hissed a muffle groan through clenched teeth, his hand pressing on his throbbing side. The sound of falling rocks hitting the ground far behind him woke him up and sent more energy into his weary muscles. With no time to think, he crawled into the small opening and choked back his breath as the frozen, dark waters hit his exhausted body, soaking his clothes. A small puffy cloud escaped his lips as water arrived to his chin, and he had to duck his head to pass under the small arch and onto the other side. His hands were numb and frozen as he couldn't feel them, and he quickly pulled them out of the glacial waters, rubbing them frantically.

Violent tremors hit him as he crawled out of the frozen waters and onto the other side, on drier ground, trembling and shaking uncontrollably as the cold liquid dripped from his soaked clothes. His teeth clicked together as he managed to find a dry spot against the opposite wall. His back against the cold wall, he slid, crumbling to the frozen ground. His breath was short and his heart about to explode beneath his skull as the tremors continued painfully to ravage his being. His head was pounding and he had a hard time to concentrate. He had shot a quick glance at the place, but through the darkness since he couldn't see much, he had just given up the idea of finding an escape and was more preoccupied now by the urgent need to warm his body than anything else as cold had seeped deep into his core. No heat was left in his body, hypothermia was already settling in. He breathed harder, cold air raking his throat as his lungs constricted under the loss of body heat. With pain stalking effort he wrapped his shaking arms around him and brought his trembling legs up, but they refused to join his chest, and he had to give up as he couldn't move anymore. His body frozen in a vain attempt for survival, he let his head sag limply on his shoulder. The glacial temperature was everywhere and he couldn't stop the mad tremors running over his lips and through every inch of his body. Maybe going in this hide out hadn't been his best idea. His eyes closed from exhaustion, his chest raising and falling in rhythm of the fast beating of his heart. He just hoped they wouldn't find him.

xxx

His boots slipped onto the cold mud, moving small rocks. The stones rolled down and fell with a dull thud into the frozen ground.

"I think I heard somethin'," whispered Tommy as his beam shoved the entwined rocks and poles standing before him.

"You mean besides your clumsiness," sneered his brother, referring to the noise he'd just made.

"No, not that. Listen!"

Both men remained quiet, listening into the darkness. And then, suddenly, they heard it. Although it was weak, it sounded more like light breathing; a whimper into the cold darkness.

"Okay, you go this way," instructed Martin, as his flashlight pointed straight ahead of Tommy's side, on the left. "I'll go the..." his voice trailed off and finally stopped. "What's that?" he asked with a hint of fear.

"What?"

From far above, the faint, whining sounds of sirens were starting to be heard.

"Shit!" cursed Martin. "Cops!"

His beam shaved frantically over the fallen rocks and wrenched poles, lighting hastily the darkness in hope of finding their prey. He could see thousands of spots where a man could hide. Damn it! He cursed again as he glanced at Tommy.

"Let's get outta here!"

He heard relief filling his brother's voice as he sighed heavily. He shook his head and smirked at the cold wreck as a small cloud escaped his lips. It was even colder here than from above. Ice had begun to cover the ground and every spot that was probably wet after the explosion. If anyone had managed to survive, then that damn freezing cold would finish him before the cops could get their hands on him. The place was too messy to find anyone quickly.

Sure of the terrible fate that awaited his teammate and the cop, he headed back to the crumbling stairway. Half of the steps had been reaped off with the blast, and now, he had to jump to reach the top end. His legs swung lightly under him as he got a hold on a strong wooden step. He crawled up, bringing a knee up to the step and stood up. As he turned, he grabbed for the hand his brother was handing him and pulled to lift him up. He stepped back to make room for his older brother, and to be sure the staircase wasn't going to collapse under their weight. As they both stood in the stairs, they climbed up to the exit, and pushed the door open.

The cold wind grazed at their sweaty faces as they rushed outside, the sound of sirens getting louder. Standing to the basement door, Martin glanced at his brother and grabbed a bunch of rocks and small poles, Tommy did the same, and they tossed together the junkat the back of the door, ensuring that nobody could get out from this exit. They smiled at each other as they looked at their work and ran into the snow toward their car. The harsh, blowing blizzard covered their tracks as they jumped in their car, started the engine and rounded the corner.

A furious truck pulled over right where they had been parked a minute later, its tires sliding onto the thin layer of ice now covering the snow. As it skidded on the frozen road, its left side first, it stopped instantly when its side ended with a bump into a chunk of icebound snow on the curb. Two people jumped out of the car, their sight moving from the left to the right of the street, before it finally settled on the ruins before them. The car's lights cast a yellow beam toward the ramshackle building hidden by the falling snow and the gloomy night; the blue, flickering light of the sirens scattered giant, moving shadows over the frail standing walls. Fear choked their hearts as they realized their friend might just be right under this mountain of broken rocks.

"Oh god!" whispered Flack as he glanced at Stella that had remained still.

Life had vanished from her green, emerald eyes and her jaw had dropped in a silent breath. Heavy, white flakes were starting to mass between her curly brown hairs as the wind blew violently in the empty street, lifting packs of fresh fallen snow. She remained still and silent the time she heard Flack calling for EMS and search parties, but then, she was quick to recover; time to dwell had long gone. It was time to find her friend.

Heading to the back of her truck, she opened the trunk and drew a pair of heavy duty boots. As she changed her shoes, her eyes remained stuck to the fragile building and its eerie shadows. It seemed that the right side was about to collapse in the next second; the wind blowing forcefully on it, trying to tackle it down.

She offered a silent prayer to whoever was in charge up there to keep it standing the time she could find Mac and crossed the street in a quick jog, her feet deepening into the ten inches of fresh snow with each step. Her flashlight shaved the dark shadows on the other side of the street as the light oscillatedbetween the shredsof the building. The wind blew stronger as to keep her from reaching her goal. Lifting her collar up to her throat, she darted a determined look at the angry weather. Even if a tornado was about to appear and land right in front of her; nothing would make her back away, nothing would stop her to reachMac if he was inside. Strong rage was etched on her face, her eyes casting her determination toward the grim elements as she bent forward and rantoward the building, her face trying to avoid the tiny shards of ice lashing at her exposed cheeks.

She knew Flack was right behind her as she could hear his footsteps crunching the icy snow. His determination was strong, too, as he hadn't uttering, a word leaving her to take the lead. She swallowed the hard lump deep in her throat. She was glad he was here with her. Mac would need any help they could gather; and if Lindsay and Hawkes hadn't already been assigned to a crime scene right now, she knew they would have been there too. Her thoughts went to Danny. The young, although experienced CSI, had dropped off his daughter to her nanny as soon as she had called him to tell him about Mac. But because of the weather and that the nanny was living on the other side of the city, he hadn't been able to join them. He was probably yelling at his wheel right now for not being here with her. Danny had a special bond with Mac. The young CSI looked up at to Mac like a big brother, even a dad sometimes, and it was probably hurting him now, not to be part of the search party. Although with his limping leg and this harsh, weather, it wouldn't have been good for him to be outside. Hell, Mac would have yelled at her if she had allowed him to be on the field right now. She sighed. Mac had probably felt guilty about Danny being in that wheelchair, even though it wasn't his fault.

She looked up at the red bricks scattered on the ground among the wrenched poles and pieces of wood and other fallen rocks. The snow had almost covered everything, hiding the red color beneath a thick layer of white, flaky powder. Deep sadness clutchedat her heart. Seeing the fresh broken wood, she calculated that the blast had happened lately and with the amount of snow covering it and the time snow had started to fall in the city she estimated that the explosion had probably occurred in the early afternoon. Her eyes closed as the hard truth hit her. If Mac was there, then, it meant he had been trapped in this damn mess for more than six or seven hours now. Her jaws clenched and her hands closed into fists at the thought of her partner stranded alone in this cold, maybe wounded, at gunpoint of a madman. As fear clutched at her heart, she scanned the ruins, trying to find an entrance to the basement, where the other guy, Mac's kidnapper, had said he would be. He had to be there, for her sake, and the team, Mac had to be there and alive.

Then, as she trudgedbetween the debris and headed toward the part of the building still standing, her beam met a wall. As the light rubbed its yellow color on it, the beam finally met what looked like a door. Though, it was hard to really be sure as the panel was covered with a thick layer of white sticking snow; it could be the extension of the wall with something stuck on it. Intrigued, she was heading toward it when her cell phone went off. She looked down at the screen, hope and fear blended in one full blow of emotions.

"Adam?" she asked, nervous. Please don't give me a bad news. Not now that I have hope. She closed her eyes afraid he was going to tell her they had found Mac's body somewhere in the city and that she was too late. She waited anxiously his answer.

"Huh, Stella?"

"Yes, Adam?" C'mon Adam, don't make me wait.

"I huh...huh..." oh god, she thought, when Adam was rambling it was never for good news. "I...analyzed the 911 call and huh..."

"Adam! Just spit it already." She couldn't afford to lose more time. Hell, Mac couldn't afford to have less time. "I don't have time for..."

"It's Mac, Stella!" he cut her off, realizing too it wasn't the time for rambling.

"Adam, I don't understand." She pressed the phone closer to her hear, a confused look painted on her face.

"Well, I analyzed the 911 call and passed it through the scan to clean the interferences and..."

"Adam cut the crap! What about Mac?" her heart was beating fast now in her chest and she couldn't wait any longer. If the lab tech had something, he should just say it and be done with it. She had to find Mac, no time for processing or going by the book. And all his talk about the interferences and all, Jesus, she just didn't care. Why was he talking about that anyway, they had Mac's location with his cell... Her thoughts were cut as Adam continued.

"It's him Stella."

"Who? What?" she was confused now. What was he talking about?" Adam, I don't..."

"The guy you talked to, Stella. My analysis confirmed it, it's Mac. Your guy is Mac!"

"What? That can't be, Adam, they don't have the same voice and..." and I wished him so many bad things. She finished mentally. Oh god.

"I know, I know. But I cleaned the interferences and although his voice seemed deformed, the voice analyzer confirms they have the same pattern, same tone and..."

"But he..." her words remained stuck in her throat, she couldn't believe she had talked to Mac, and he hadn't said a thing. Does that mean he couldn't remember her? Oh god. ...Need help, she recalled his words...head's hurt... Oh no, if he had a concussion or something like that it could explain his odd behavior. ...hole in the side....bleeding, can't stop...

Bleeding. The word echoed in her mind like an painful alarm. Mac was hurt. She had to hurry. Her heart beating fast, she didn't take the time to answer Adam as she just slid her cell in her coat's pocket, her hands shaking, and rushed to what could be the door she was looking for.

"Stella?" called Flack behind her, noticing her frantic behavior. "What?.."

Her gloves shaved quickly at the pack of sticking snow covering the door, unveiling the small black letters of the word BASEMENT. Her heart jumped further into her chest as blood pumped violently through her veins. Mac's there, her mind repeated, Mac's there.

"It's Mac, Don! Mac is the guy I talked to! He's here!" she shouted, her voice covering the blowing wind as she tried to pull the door open, but something was keeping it firmly closed. She looked down and saw with anger the chunks of rocks and iron bars pressed against the door.

Flack cursed as he hopped over a pile of junk to join her and tugged at the pole stuck between the rocks in front of the door.

"How...I mean why didn't he..." he tried but his thoughts were confused as he realized all the implications this simple statement would have on Stella and Mac. She's going to be even more pissed at herself. But it meant Mac was alive, and that on itself was the best news he had ever heard.

He looked up, and shot a grim look at the frail arch they were under. That building didn't look like it could stand up very long. He glanced at Stella picking up rocks covered with snow and tossing them aside to free the door. If the building collapsed now, it would bury them both as well as Mac. He gave a silent prayer for the building to hold on just enough for them to find Mac and get the hell out of here as he picked up heavy rocks. Help was on its way, all they needed to do now was find Mac.

Stella was still tugging madly at the door, frantically using her hopes and fears as driving forces to open up the damn door; pulling more and more on it, until it finally gave in on a dark opening.

The stench of putrid waters and cold humidity assaulted her nostrils as she stepped inside the gloomy mouth. Her heart was wrenched inside her chest as she imagined her partner bleeding, stranded and alone in this dark and freezing universe. Her boots crunched a bunch of wooden shards as she stepped further. She was about to let herself sink into the obscurity when she felt the firm hand of Flack gripped around her arm just few seconds before she lost her footing and her right leg dangled freely into an open space.

"What the..." she cursed as she brought her foot back to a solid ground, realizing she would have fallen without Don by her side.

"Hey! Watch your step, will you?" called Flack with a friendly voice. "One CSI missing is enough for the day, okay?"

She nodded lightly. He was right; she would be of no use to Mac if she got herself trapped or hurt. She took a deep breath and this time was careful to light her way in as she let herself being swallowed by the bleak mouth.

xxx

Voices echoed far from him. Painfully, he lifted his head, squinting toward the small obscure opening. He prayed they wouldn't find him. Those guys had been serious about no survivors; and since he was one, he wasn't going to let himself get killed that easily. He let out a weak sigh, although right now, he had nothing left to oppose them, he was too weak anyway. He wished he had taken the cop's gun with him; at least he would have been able to fight back, but it was too late for regret.

His eyes shut. Too drained to oppose them any resistance, he felt his head drop before him, his forehead resting over his damped, frozen knees. He tried to further tighten his arms around his chest to get some warmth, but it was a lost cause, as his limbs remained in place, too numb to move. The freezing cold had settled painfully inside his bones and joints, draining the last remnants of strength and will he had. He swallowed painfully as his mouth was so dry that even the cold seeping air was a freezing scorch every time it went in to fill his weary lungs.

Even though he knew he should be cold, hell, he was frozen cold, but his forehead was burning, a deafening hammer pounding behind his temples. In a last effort, he blinked to shave the drowsiness, and noticed with defeat that his eyelids were too heavy to stay open, so he gave up and let them shut for good; he was dying anyway. Maybe it would spare himself a long and agonizing death if he was just giving up right now. His mind screamed to wake up and fight, but it was hard when you had nothing to hang on to. As if to goad him and remind him what he would never have, his mind brought back the call he had with that woman. That cop girl; Stella. She had seemed very determined, a strong will; she was probably an extraordinary woman to meet. His thoughts drifted off to what his life could have been if he had met her before all this. Would he have ended up as a killer too? Or as a better man with a friend like that? Lead sleep was pressing on his shoulders and neck. It was hard to remain awake now.

Somewhere, he heard terrified screams. Before him the images of a grey, angry cloud of dust wrapped around him, choking his breath inside his throat; people were running and crying everywhere around him. Again, he felt death seep into his flesh as life had no meaning anymore, as if all the good memories inside of him had died in one sick moment, leaving only an empty shell filled with despair. Another voice yelled, as the images changed, the shadow of a man standing before him, uttering harsh, bitter words at him. He wanted to cover his ears with his hand but his body wasn't responding and the voice continued to scream, repeating he didn't deserve to live, he was a coward. His heart was about to explode in his chest now, and the pounding was so loud in his head that he couldn't fight anymore. His last thoughts as heavydarkness swallowed him, taking him to oblivion, were that the guy was right; he didn't deserve to live, he should let go.

xxx

She called his name, even though he might not respond to it, she wanted to make him know that help was coming, that he wasn't alone in this cold darknes; that his team and she hadn't given up on him.

"Mac? It's Stella. It's okay, I came to help," she added in case he wasn't remembering her.

Unfortunately, only silence answered back. Maybe he was hiding or unconscious. She shook her head, now wasn't the time for bad conjecture. Damn it, Mac, where are you? Make a noise... something that could help me find you.

"C'mon Mac, if you can't talk just make a sound, something, please." She called again, her voice echoing into the cold basement.

Her beam frantically ran over the wreck before her, shaving in a yellow light the piles of the broken bricks and wooden panel scattered messily on the ground. After Flack had helped her to get down the broken stairs, she had immediately squinted at the darkness. Mac was there, she could feel it, and she was going to find him. With fierce determination, she hobbled between the piles of stones and shredded woods, dusting some broken panels as she had to move them aside and made her way in toward the center of what looked like a giant basement. It could have been used as a small parking lot or storage for goods at one point, but the truth was, that now, it was really difficult to know what its first purpose had been. There was nothing left from the internal walls if there had ever been some. She glanced at her cell phone, and pressed to call Adam. But her line went dead.

"Don? Is your phone working in here?" she questioned.

"No. Mine neither," he answered back after a minute.

"Crap, the storm and the wreck upstairs must have stopped the signal," she stated with gloom.

This wouldn't be good if the building finally collapsed. Then, they would be trapped and with no way to make themselves known. She nodded silently. This wasn't gonna stop her from finding Mac.

Her light moved quickly to the left, shadows fleeing from the bright light as she was looking for a trace or a face looking back at her, Mac's face. But as the seconds passed, her heart pounding faster with each minute, nothing moved, only the cold silence of death remained. They hadn't found anything or anyone until now. She glanced nervously at Flack ten yards to her right, her face a mask of deep sorrow and wrenching pain. His crystal blue eyes stared back at her with grim, tight lips. If Mac was there, he wasn't going to be easy to find.

"Mac, it's Stella. Mac?"

A cold wind blew into her neck, and she pressed her collar around her throat, shivers running through her skin. This place was even colder than outside, she thought. The muddy ground she was walking on had frozen some time ago, although it happened that her foot sank deeper into it when her boots broke the thin ice covering the remnants of small puddles of water, like now. She let a curse escape her lips as she raised her foot with a sucking sound, as a gluing, cold sludge stuck to her boots, but she quickly forgot about it. Everywhere her beam lighted, it was to discover a broken panel covered with dust, a thin layer of ice cladding it. She prayed Mac had found a way to stay warm, at least she remembered than when he left he had taken his coat; hope lingered in her eyes when she glanced at Flack.

For the young detective, the cold silence of the basement, only broken by Stella's desperate calls, reminded him of the time he had barely woken up after the blast he and Mac had been caught in. At the time he hadn't been very conscious to register what happened around him. He could just recall Mac's urging voice talking or mumbling things to him, even now it wasn't very clear in his mind. But what he recalled the most was the cold; that sickening cold. In all his life, he had never felt that cold but that day. Though today, he swore this silent basement was pretty much as cold as how he had felt at the time. Nervously, he swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping Mac had found a way to escape this freeze. The man had been there for him, although he couldn't remember much, but now he wanted more than anything to find his friend and be there for him as well. He didn't want his friend to experience the same cold, sneaking death that had seeped through his skin and sucked all heat from his being. His sight went down, as a scariest thought invaded his mind. If Mac was really in this mess, he could also be in a crappier place than the one he had found himself into. Shit! He hoped it wasn't the case. Mac was smart and would find a way to hang on, no matter what the odds were.

Slowly, his beam shaved a pile of bricks, and he blinked to make sure of what he had seen. Near the bricks, he distinguished a small panel which was odd as it wasn't covered with the same white dust like the others. Intrigued, he walked with difficulty toward it, avoiding a heavy panel that had half collapsed to the ground, and stopped dead. Before him, between pieces of broken bricks and wooden bars, the body of a man laid motionless on the ground. His face down, a pole entered from the back of his head and finished deep in the ground, making it hard to really see the hair color or who it was. His stomach churned from the amount of blood clotted beneath the head and body. Fate hadn't given any chance for the poor bastard, he just hoped it wasn't Mac. But then, fear seized him as he recognized Mac's pin on the black lapel. He remembered what Stella had said, about the guy on the phone being Mac; he just hoped she was right.

"I found someone," Flack called; his eyes half shut, as he tried to suppress the sudden urge to hit something. His friend couldn't be dead.

In a matter of seconds, Stella was beside Flack, staring over his shoulder as he was crouched near the body and had picked up something on the ground. With shaking hands, he lifted the jacket and noticed the cop's badge stuck in the frozen sludge.

"Shit!" He cursed, as his beam light Mac's shield and ID. His thumb rubbed the dirt spread over the number engraved on the golden shield, 8433; Mac's shield. The deadly realization sank in him as he heard Stella beside him.

"It can't be him, Don!" Stella shouted with a painful moan. "I know it can't! It's not him, Don! It's not! I talked to him!" Her hand came before her mouth as she locked her desperate eyes with her friend.

"Stella, I'm sorry, but it's his clothes, his shield and ID, and the head is too..." his voice trailed off as he didn't want to upset her more and didn't want to believe it himself; but cold truth always hit hard. "Look, I don't know how to..."

"I know," she cut him off, as she passed him and kneeled in the frozen, bloody pool near the body. "I know it's not him," she repeated as she lifted the body on and turned it on its right side.

She knew she was going against the rules by doing so, she was messing with the crime scene, but right now she had to be sure. They had to find Mac and couldn't lose time by processing a body in a building about to collapse knowing it could clearly sign his death. No. Life first, it had always been Mac's motto and she intended to keep it going. So for her, it was Mac's life first.

Flack watched silently as she pulled a knife from her pocket, slid the blade and began to cut through the white, bloody shirt, revealing a yellow undershirt that she quickly cut too. Then, her fingers rubbed the skin as she was looking for something.

"Stella?" he questioned, not sure if his friend hadn't lost her mind.

"Here," she stated with relieve. "Look!"

"Look to what?" he asked raising his brows.

A stern look appeared on her face as she pointed to the skin near the heart. Flack squinted but seeing nothing he raised a curious look to her.

"I don't see anything," he admitted.

"Exactly," she stated, with a tint of victory. "Mac has a scar over his heart," she explained.

He sighed a long relief. "So Mac is still somewhere." A faint smile grazed at his lips. Thank God!

"Yeah, and now we have to find him," she quickly replied as she stood up, and resumed her search. No time to lose.

Her eyes darted to the darkness, hope gleaming with more force in her eyes. If it was the body Mac had talked about on the phone, then, he was definitely in this place, and hopefully not too far from it. She painfully recalled his voice through the interferences. How could she not recognize his voice? The voice she had craved for hours to hear. She cursed at the destiny that had played tricks on them. First, tricking and confusing Mac, and now her, to be unable to reach her partner when she could have helped him sooner on the phone.

Slowly, her light grazed at the ground, looking for the small detail that would lead her to her partner, and then, deep in her thoughts, she spotted it. It was small though, but used to crime scenes, she wouldn't have missed it. It was a small dark smear on the frozen sludge. Blood drops. Mac. As she gave a silent prayer for him to be okay, she followed the bloody trail. Her heart pounded in her chest as the harsh reality sank in. He was hurt and bleeding; he hadn't lied. The drops were sparse and then vanished when the ground became less frozen and wetter, the sole of her boots slicking into cold sludge. She raised her beam to the wall before her; her heart taking more speed as she spotted a trace left by a bloody hand mixed with dirt on the wall.

"Mac," she called, almost unable to keep her heartbeat from exploding into her throat. "It's Stella. Please Mac, make some noise so that we can find you."

She listened carefully, waiting for a slight brush, a wheeze, anything that would state he was there. But nothing; only the same deafening silence.

"We've come to help," she continued, not about to give up on him. "We won't hurt you. I know you may not remember, but you're a cop too. Please, Mac..."

Only the faint dropping sound of water dripping somewhere echoed to her voice. Damn it! He had to be somewhere. If the trace on the wall was from him, he couldn't be very far. Her light shavedthe wall looking for more details, and fell to the bottom of the concrete wall. In the sludge, she could see footprints mixed with the same dark crimson color painted on the wall. More blood. He was there. Mac had been right here. Hope and anxiety raised inside her, her heart beating madly behind her temples as besides her or Flack there was nothing else moving. He should have answered her by now. Was he afraid of her? If he was in shock and still not remembering who he was, then he would try to hide from her. Cold fear clenched at her heart, imagining her partner, bleeding and dying a few yards from her but afraid to reveal himself. But other dreadful thoughts invaded her mind, paralyzing her hands as Mac could already be dead. No. She prayed she wasn't too late. No. Mac would hold on. But another scaring thought rose with a frantic panic. What if he didn't remember who he was? Would he be able to hold on? She swallowed the fear that had invaded all her muscles, taking a deep breath and pushing away the panic that was rising inside her, paralyzing her.

Appearing from nowhere, her beam caught the sight of a small opening carved at the bottom of the wall. It was small and narrow as the dripping water had started to hide the hole, but it was there. Kneeling into the cold puddle, she quivered as the freezing water wetted her pants, sending chills along her skin. Her beam lighted the dark opening in front of her as she pressed her forehead against the cold damp edge of the broken wall and squinted to see what was inside.

At first, she saw only darkness as the golden ray of light swayed between one corner to another, but then, the light caught a small shape. It was far from the hole, and she could only distinguish clothes. It could either be a big pile of old ragsor Mac, she wasn't sure. Her light rested on the spot as she went further in the dark waters; the cold liquid seeping to her waist as she crouched and passed the small opening, leaving Flack and the basement behind her. The yellow light swayed with her awkward move, scattering shadows behind the dark shape. As the light went to a halt, her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest when she caught the glimpse of a face; Mac's face.

She couldn't see much as his head sagged limply before him and most of his face was covered with dirt and blood, but she would have recognized him was him, her partner. She had found him. Relief, happiness and dread all together blending into a turmoil of emotions that surged through her heart and mind as she frantically called his name.

"Mac!" her voice broke in her throat as he didn't respond.

Standing up, her boots and pants soaked by the cold waters, she waded through the dirty frozen sludge and crossed the distance that separated her from Mac. She kneeled beside him on a drier but frozen ground as her sight took account of his fragile and bloody shape.

His face ashen, he sat limply, his back drooping against the small, concrete wall, his knees tentatively brought to his chest as his arms were trying drearily to cling into the bottom of his frozen pants as if to protect him from the cold. He wasn't moving, neither appeared to be breathing. She pulled off one glove, fearing the worst when her warm fingers touched his clammy, cold skin near his neck. After an eternity, she finally found a pulse and let her breath go not realizing she had held it all this time. It was weak, but the slow beating of his heart was there; he was holding on, Mac was holding on.

"Hold on a little bit Mac,"she whispered to his ear, praying he was conscious enough to register her words."Flack, call EMS. I found Mac," she yelled to the detective.

She heard him running and stumbling through the wreck as he rushed outside to pass the interferencesand call them.

Her attention back to Mac, her heart sank when she noticed the thin layer of ice covering his eyelids and the frozen blood and dirt stuck in strands of his dark hair. His pants and undershirt were covered in a cold mud, although most of his clothes were soaked. She discovered with pain that the end of his pants and sleeves were frozen when she tried to take one of his hands in hers. His fingers were so cold that she shivered as she entwined her fingers in his. Cupping his chin with her other hand, she lifted his limp head up. Panic was now invading all her senses as he wasn't reacting to her touch and as his eyes remained painfully closed, as if, even unconscious he could still feel the cold frosty bite of the low temperature around him. As she tried to calm her own heartbeat, she pressed a soft hand against his forehead, and found his skin clammy and burning; probably from a fever.

"C'mon Mac, wake up. It's Stella." She wanted to scream, yell at him and shake him to have a reaction, to be sure he could hear her, but seeing his weak frame she was afraid he could break in her arms like a fragile doll.

He needed heat something to warm him up. Pressing her body against his cold and wet form, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led his back to lean against her chest. Opening her coat and jacket, she shivered when she felt his cold damp clothes starting to wet her own shirt; but she didn't care, this way she hoped he would get some heat from her. Quickly, and carefully not to move him too harshly, she pulled off her coat, and as he lay back against her, she covered his frozen body with it. His legs unwrapped on the ground now, she noticed the crimson shirt wrapped loosely around his waist as she tugged him in.

Swallowing her fear to lose him, she placed a warm hand over his wound under the coat, trying to keep his body firmly nestled against her and then pressed tenderly the other against his glacial,left cheek, his cold head resting in the crook of her shoulder. Her chin leaned on his soaked, messy hair as she prayed and closed her eyes. She gently rubbed his cold cheek, softly wiping the dirt and blood with her thumb and hoping he would hold on long enough for EMS to arrive and take him to a warm place.

A silent burning tear, rolled down her chin, and got lost between the ice and dirt stuck in his hair. Her arms tightened around his cold, fragile body, never wanting to let him go as she slowly rocked him back and forth.

"I got you, Mac... Please... don't leave me... Just... Just hang on, okay?" she murmuredas she dropped a warm kiss on his cold forehead. "Don't leave me now, Mac." More tears ran down freely into his cold, messy hair while her warm cheek nestled against his, cladding her own skin with a mix of dirt and blood. They gently continued to rock; his arms lying limp against his sides; his still body a mournful contrast to life as she softly stroke his cold, bruised cheek with love.

Her croaked voice came out full of pain and sobs as she dearly clung at him, still rocking him back and forth. "Stay with me, partner. Just stay with me..."

TBC...

A/N: Well, another cliffie, can't help sorry! So what do you think it's gonna happen to them now? Will Mac survive to that as they're finally together? All thoughts are welcomed, so feel free to say your piece Smackers!! :)