A/N: Well, I'm really sorry for this delays, and I hope you're still with me on this story. As always thanks to all who reviewed and put this fic or me in their fav or alerts. It helped a lot to keep this working and coming. This chapter should have come sooner this week, but again I got a hell of a week, so it's only now that I can post it .

And again, a great thanks to my beta Blackdragon189.

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... with team friendship.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

Martin watched amazed on his small black and white screen as the two detectives exited Taylor's office. Damn it! They had found something out about Tommy. He shot a furious look at his brother in the passenger seat.

"What did ya do, Tommy?" He growled, staring at Tommy who wormednervously on his seat.

"Nothing Marty," he voiced, raising his hands in defense. "I didn't do nothing, only what ya told me. I left the car in an empty spot, and I came back right away."

"You had your gloves on all the time?" asked Martin, dreading his brother's answer.

"Sure man. It was too cold not to have 'em."

Martin's brows furrowed. So, how did the cops manage to get a sample of him? He shook his head and stared back at Tommy. Then, he spoke with a slow voice. "You used the plastic to cover the seat, right?"

"The plastic?"

Damn it! Martin glared at Tommy, anger boiling beneath his brown eyes. "Can't believe you forgot about it Tommy. I sure told ya to use it."

"Oh C'mon Marty, I just sat like two minutes to drive the car, how could they get..."

"You idiot!" cut Martin. "Again you left a track behind you, damn it!" Martin punched the wheel, and wince at his painful knuckles. "I told you to be careful with these cops. They're not dumb, Tommy!" he sighed, resigned as he glanced at the black and white screen showing Mac's empty office. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. The back of his head hit the top of the seat in anger as he closed his eyes, racking his brain, his whole body tensed.

The cops were on the road for Tommy's place, though they wouldn't be able to find anything, not with the booby trap they had left. He sighed, yeah he was sure of that, but now the boss wanted to keep Taylor alive a while longer and with his trap, he wasn't sure this was going to happen. He cursed. Damn it! There was nothing he could do to stop them now. And if Taylor was out of the game, then be it, he couldn't take the risk to go and disarm the thing. Not without the cops falling down on him. He sighed. At least the cops wouldn't be able to hunt them after that, not right away anyway, but now Tommy was screwed. He looked at his brother who had again put him in a big mess. Now he had to find a way to keep him out of the cops' radar until the heat was off. He locked a pair of angry eyes with his brother who had shelled back against the passenger's door.

"I'll drop you off, and I want you to stay put, understood?"

Tommy looked at him, puzzled. "But Marty, I want to come along, I..."

"Shut up Tommy. You don't go anywhere from now on. Cops gonna have an APB soon on you, and I don't want 'em to find you. Got that?" voiced Martin, his hands squeezing the wheel.

"Alright, no need to be mean."

Martin raised his eyes to the car's ceiling in despair. "Gee, Tommy! We're in a mess because you didn't listen. Now I want you to shut the hell up and let me think!"

Without another word, Martin ignited the engine and pulled away from the dark snowy street they have been waiting in, the wipers shaving furiously at the thin layer of snow accumulated on the windshield. Now he had more in his plate than he wanted to take care. He cursed, and the day wasn't over yet.

xxx

The black SUV silently pulled over in a narrow alley, his passengers staring at the dirty shanty building on the other side of the street. The place was deserted, and Mac felt a small twinge of anxiety nestling in the pit of his stomach. His gut was screaming to get away from this gloomy place while his shattered mind demanded answers. Somehow, the whole building was giving him the creep. Ignoring the irrational fear crawling up into his mind, he jumped off the car, his boots squashing the dirty sludge melting in the dark alley with a small splosh. His brows creased as he noticed the broken, rusty pipe outside the building; releasing its brown stench-filled contents directly into the street, melting the snow and finishing in a few brownish puddles, one being directly under his shoes. He cursed as he stepped aside the stale pool and pouted.

Stella on the other side of the car didn't seem to notice his discomfort, or just acted like she hadn't seen it. She's still mad at me, he realized bitterly. But Stella wasn't his priority, and further more she hadn't proved herself truthful until now, so why bother with what she might think. He sighed, he was angry, beat, and mostly anxious, though maybe not in this order, but he couldn't afford to deal with her feelings right now. For all he knew, she was just a coworker that seemed to care about him. But it was that word that really bugged him: 'seemed'. As his feet deepened into the fresh snow as they were now walking, or more like skidding onto the curb, he took a deep breath, trying to calm down the burning anger still ready to explode. All the while on the road her jaw had remained clenched into an angry rictus.

He glanced at Stella who was about to cross the street without waiting for him as she used to these last couples of days. Then, let her be angry, his own mind voiced, you don't need her, she's nothing to you. A new wave of soaring pain spread over his heart and chest, though this time it wasn't coming from an open wound, but from his last thoughts. He sighed; no, he wanted her to be something for him, though he didn't know how and surely his whole jerk attitude wasn't going to help. He felt lost and sometimes all his being hated her way to mother him while the next minute he was missing her so deeply that it was killing him. What was happening to him? What was she really to him? It was like all their conversations had been about a lot of things but not the one his mind was bugging him about since day one; were they more than colleagues to each other? She had said friends, but was there more to it? And what about her frequent worried glances to him? Or his way to receive them and the fact, well... that they made him feel weird, as if he felt obligated to her. Yeah he was screwed, that's for sure. His lips let escape a small, tired grunt from the white burning pain soaring through his side. Slowly, he crossed the street and joined her on the icy curb where she had finally decided to wait for him. She eyed him suspiciously, a deep frown creasing her face as he stepped closer to him.

Stella watched with misery as Mac crossed the street, still limping, though with the thick layers of snow, it was more trudging than really walking. There was no doubt for her that Mac wasn't in good shape. She sighed. But her stubborn partner had once again stood up proudly as if nothing could stop him, which, she sometimes believed was true. But she was more scared that one day it would be too much, and she would be left alone. She watched as he pasted a weak smile over his face as he arrived near her. He was acting stubbornly, heading in the first open door without even checking if it was a trap, and she wasn't really helping either by letting him go into this building, she thought with torment.

"What are we waiting for?" he asked, his breath coming in small rasps after his painful walk to the building.

She was about to answer when two police cars pulled over behind her. She turned with a smile to meet the new comers.

"What is this?" Mac voiced angrily behind her. Did she set me up? His rage started to soar into his mind. He knew he shoudn't have trusted her. He huffed shortly as three persons headed their way.

"You didn't think I was going to let you go inside alone Mac, did you?" he heard her answer as she stepped toward a tall, smiling man in a brown suit. He greeted her with a serious look as he glanced at the building. Then, his sight went to rest on Mac, and a big grin lighted his face immediately.

"Mac?" greeted him the voice of Don Flack as he closed the distance with his friend. He gave a small pat on Mac's good shoulder. "You couldn't resist one more day, huh?" he playfully added, his crystal, blue eyes sparkling with joy. "You sure look better than the day we found you." He smirked.

Mac frowned, unable to put a name on the guy. Why? He had been able with Ross and Messer, and obviously the guy seemed to know him, was even there when they obviously rescued him.

As Mac wasn't answering to his joke, Don lost his composure and became more stern. "Now, seriously man, ya shouldn't be here. Surely Stella told ya that, right?"

"Well I'm sorry if my words are going to hurt you, but I have no idea of who the hell you are," started Mac. "Though I'm sure of one thing; right now, I don't give a damn about it and I don't care about what you think I should do or not. I'm here for one thing, get answers! And so far I didn't get much." His eyes darted toward Stella, challenging her to say otherwise, but she crossed her arms over her chest, sulking in his words. If she had hoped that guy was going to change his mind about going after Medriano, she was wrong. He was tired of people telling him what he should do or how he should be. "So right now, I'm about to get these answers. You're free to come along. I don't care! Just don't get in my way!"

On this angry word, Mac passed a stunned Don and a worried Stella, and headed inside the building. Don watched bewildered at the man that had been an example for him, was doing the exact thing he would have been pissed off if one member of his team had gone without backup. But then, he frowned, remembering that Mac wasn't himself and that his friend had a lot to cope to be back to his own self. He shook his head, before he gave a small wink at Stella with a light chuckle. Considering Mac's behavior, Stella probably needed some cheering up before she herself start to broke into pieces. To Don, it wasn't the first time that he had to deal with a pissed off Mac Taylor, and somehow seeing his friend acting like that, was kinda reassuring. Of course, a pissed off Mac was always dangerous and sent warnings in his head, but it comforted Don in the reassuring thought that his friend, his will, hadn't been crushed down by that building. No, Mac was fighting back, and even if it wasn't the best way to express it, like going crazy, at least he wasn't bottling up everything inside. And it meant that their Mac was coming back. But he had to admit with a small pinch at his heart that Mac not recognizing him had pained him a little, but hey, the guy hadn't recognized his best friend and partner either. So maybe he could give him a break. Don stepped closer to Stella, and their eyes connected. He could see the pain and fear blazing with anger inside her emeralds.

"Let's be his backup this time," he whispered as he gently stroked her back and led her towards the building.

She nodded quietly, evident worries carved on her face. Then, Don noticed for the first time, the deep bags under her eyes. If Mac was in bad shape, she sure was competing with him to be the next broken soul on Earth. He sighed, whatever they do or say, these two were too linked not to be affected by each other. With a small smile to his friend, he opened the door to let them in. Hopefully, they would get better together.

A stale stench of urine welcomed them as they stepped into a poor, lighted, narrow corridor. Their nose wrinkled in disgust. Shreds of wood and broken glasses were scattered on the floor as they arrived at the foot of a rotted stairway. Stella raised her eyes to the top, staring at the poorly lighted corridor on the first level. The address mentioned that Tommy was living on the first floor. She pointed at the next level and Don nodded, his hand instinctively going to his gun nestled on his hips as he took the lead, followed by Stella and two police officers. The old, wooden stairs creaked under their weights even though they tried to be careful. Then, arriving at the first floor, Don turned on the right.

As Stella followed him, she immediately spotted Mac at the end of the corridor. He was standing in front of a door, his face torn as if he was pondering his choices. Then, his head turned toward Don and Stella, and he regained a firmer composure; his jaw a bit clenched as he didn't want to let them see the confusion wrenching his mind.

"Need backup?" asked Don with a small, amused sparkle in the eyes as if he was back in the old days with Mac.

Mac's brows furrowed before his lips finally parted as he took a deep breath. "Can get a use of it," he admitted, his anger gone from his voice. He was tired and fighting with everyone around was getting on his nerves too. Especially when he had the sickening feeling that the people he was yelling at could really be what they were pretending to be; his friends. He bit his lower lip, trying to focus on the task ahead while his headache came back to hammer in his head.

"Alright then, it's your lead Mac. Go on," Don urged on as he pointed at the door; his face serious, and his gun lifted and carefully nestled in his hands.

With a smirk, Mac stepped closer and banged at the door. His strong, newly, found voice echoed in the corridor. "NYPD, Medriano. OPEN UP!" His hand instinctively went to his belt to check for his gun, but his fingers only found air instead, and he realized stunned that he had really thought he was armed. He frowned not sure it was a real good idea now that he wasn't armed to go inside. He glanced toward Stella still few feet away and wondered if she was armed, but then, she drew a black glock from her holster and nodded silently toward him. Maybe that's what she meant, when she had said that he hadn't been cleared up. He had no bagde, no gun. He sighed inwardly, and looked at the door that hadn't opened yet. If they were walking in a trap he was the only one unarmed. He cringed at the thought, that wasn't good.

Don raised a brow at the sudden authority his friend had found back. Yeah without a doubt, Mac was back on his trail. He smiled, giving a quick glance at Stella behind him where she was carefully observing Mac, though her gun too was in her hands, ready.

She took a small breath, her lips tight and anxiety building up as Mac glanced at her, his sight unsure, a small sparkle of her old friend surfacing. Through his quick glances she could feel his old partner kicking in and trying to be back. And every time she was hoping he would remain in control and that her Mac would be back. She sighed. But like in a bad dream, he again, turned his head back to the door before him as if he had shaved her friend away, unable to remember. Her heart squeezed in her chest, praying for her Mac to be back soon.

As silence settled in the corridor, Mac took his second option and turned the handle. The bold opened immediately and he pushed the door lightly, a bit surprised it was open. He glanced at Don, and noted that the cop was ready to cover him. The hinges hissed with a small cry when a small click was suddenly heard. Before Mac could react, he heard Flack yelling to take cover and was roughly sacked on the floor. The back of his head banged at the floor while the sound of a trigger echoed through the corridor and the door he was standing seconds before was blown up in a million pieces of wood.

"Mac? Don?" called a desperate Stella as a cloud of dust appeared between them.

A rain of wooden shreds covered both men on one side and Stella and the two cops on the other. Mac raised his head over Don's body sprawled over him and quickly checked where Stella was. Without knowing really why, his heart needed to know if she was okay. The minute he spotted her under the cops he let out a small sigh of relief, though it helped him to deal with the new pain in his chest too. He cursed as Flack had to have played defense in College. Flack's blow had tackled him by surprise, and vented the air out of his lungs in a second. Now the young detective was pressing heavily on his ribs, and Mac had to muffle a groan, not to cough. Flack got up, and Mac raised on his elbows. He could feel the aftermath finally catching up with his aching body. While Flack had jerked him on the floor, his left shoulder had roughly rugged on the ground and he bet, reopened the wounds. He bit his lower lip as he muffled a wince and got up awkwardly. Unconsciously his hand nestled over his side, rubbing at the dressing and the stitches underneath. He muffled a curse, hoping he hadn't reopened the stitches as well, or he was good for another trip to the hospital, and that, wasn't in his plan. As he turned, he finally saw what had happened. The remnants of the door loosely hanged on its hinges, a big hole carved in the middle.

Don whistled. "Wow. That was close."

Mac nodded as he noticed the worried glances Stella was giving him. His lips tight in a small remorse, he shook his head to reassure her that he was okay, sent back the same question. She quietly nodded too, and he let out a small sigh. Then he realized what they had just done, and how they had just communicated without words, checking each other. Was that the nature of their bond? The ability to understand each other without a word? He frowned, this new information leaning to reinforce what she had told him since the beginning, that they were close friends. He sighed, not sure of what use he could do with it right now. He would think about it later. No, right now he needed answers, and for that he needed Medriano.

Sweeping the dust from his leather jacket and wincing every time his sweater was grazing at his wounds, Mac followed Flack as they entered the apartment. Then, he felt Stella's hand reassuringly patting his arm as she came closer, her emerald eyes darting nervous questions to know if he was really all right. His green, ocean sight avoided her worried glances, not sure how to behave around her anymore. So instead, he chose to scan the place and let her wander alone.

Stella had watched with a beating heart as Mac had finally rose onto his legs beside Flack, dusting pieces of wood scattered over him. She winced mentally as each time he was moving, she could see his face flinching under the pain. So, quietly as they had all entered Medriano's place; Flack and the cops ahead of them and clearing the kitchen and the room, she had stepped by his side, unable to resist to the urge of touching him to know if he was okay. Though he had given her an answer before, she had been relieved he had acted as he used to before his memory loss. However, she still needed to feel the reality of it. She could have lost him a second time. But now, she was wondering why he was taking steps away from her as if somehow he was afraid to get too close of her. It was like last night when he had quickly dismissed her. She muffled a deep sigh and biting her lower lip, she resigned herself to give him some space, hoping that when the time would come, he would know that she was there. Then, mirroring his actions she headed to the kitchen to look for any evidence that could help him.

From the corner of his eyes, Mac caught Stella's shape disappearing in the kitchen. He sighed, both from the headache that was still hammering in his head, and from the fact his own body was tensing at all the implications his mind was offering about Stella. Her way to be around him was more than disturbing, and he had no answer to that. Clenching his fists, and trying to forget about her, he looked around, although his sight glanced from time to time into the kitchen where she had disappeared, not sure why.

Stella cursed, the apartment was a mess, not just because the shotgun nailed on a tripod in the middle of the room had transformed the door in small splinters. No, but because it appeared that obviously Medriano wasn't the kind of guy to clean his place. Used plates and bowls were left to rot in the sink, and on the corner of the island cockroaches crawled away at her footsteps to go hiding under some old leftovers. She watched with disgust as the bugs crawled away, preparing their come back for the night. Lighting her penlight, she rummaged through a pile of clothes left in the corner of the room.

Don, him, went to the bathroom, looking for drugs in the closet, or in any hidden compartment that smugglers could create. There, he unscrewed the tub main tile at the bottom, only to discover an empty, dark opening smelling mold but nothing else. He cursed as his eyes scanned the small place and hoped his friends would have better chances.

For a moment Mac remained in the middle of the main room. There was something missing, he could bet on it. The shotgun at the entrance was obviously to dissuade anybody trying to get in, possibly killing any intruder at the same time but it didn't fit with the guy's profile. Medriano was closer to a bully than a brain. And this weapon carefully set in front of the door wasn't the work of a bully. Then, he was pulled out from his thoughts by the curse offered by a cop near him.

"What is it?" he asked, an uneasy twitching in his gut.

"Detectives," the cop called as he glanced at Mac with dread before he pointed to a chair where he had lifted a dirty, yellow sheet.

"Oh God," whispered Mac as he saw the numbers counting down.

Nine... Eight... Seven.

"Get out now!" he screamed as he pushed the cop outside. "Get out!" he yelled again as now Stella and Don were looking at him, stunned. Damn it! Cursed Mac, he had no time for frozen cops, waiting near the deadly artifact. Grabbing Stella's wrist, Mac pushed her before him and to the exit as Don stepped right behind him, finally registering the urgency in Mac's eyes.

Three...two...

Mac plunged on the left, taking Stella to the ground with him. She stared with fear as her back hit the floor, although his strong hand shielded the back of her head from the impact. For a second their eyes connected in a whirlpool of fear, before he wrapped his arms around her, covering her body. Without thinking, his face pressed against her cheek, his hand snuggling her head against his shoulder as a wild explosion blew up behind him.

The ground shook beneath them, and he breathed laboriously, his heart beating too fast for him to keep the pace. Pieces of heavy panel dripped on his back and head as he tightened his grip around Stella's body, shielding her face from the falling pieces. At one point something hard sank in his back and he muffled a groan while he lifted his shoulder to be sure to protect her face.

Stella felt Mac trembling from the explosion as he held her close. She closed her eyes in a reflex, her voice calling his name muffled by his shoulder. She prayed for them to be okay and held onto him not ready to lose him again.

When the dust finally settled on their bodies, Mac released his grip, his ocean eyes searching for any gash etched at her face. He sighed not sure why he had done that, but relieved when he found her unharmed. Since he first woke up in the hospital they hadn't stopped to fight and argue and he had a lot of doubts about her. But with the proximity of death, his instinct had taken over without even thinking, and his priority had been her safety. He swallowed, his face inches of her as she stared in fear into his eyes, looking for signs that he was okay, too.

"Mac?" she finally croaked, her emerald eyes still unable to leave the green ocean of his.

Without a word he nodded, not able to cope right away with the strong feelings that surged inside him. It was too weird, too strong and too powerful to be understandable. He rolled on his left side to give some room for Stella. Pieces of wood fell from his back and to the wreck the ground was now as he looked toward the corridor. Then, his eyes set on the still body of Don Flack lying on the floor, his dark hair covered with a thick layer of white dust, and Mac's heart stopped in his chest. Now he remembered, the guy's name was Flack, Don Flack. The image before him seemed to freeze as he could hear his loud breathing echoing through his ears. Then, he saw the cops run toward Flack in slow motion. The sound of his breath was stronger now, overwhelming his senses, beating behind his ears. He felt drowsy and unable to move as he watched the cops bent over Flack to check his pulse. The detective wasn't moving. No, his mind screamed in dread. He saw the lips of the cops moving, but he couldn't understand them, his breathing now too loud and covering the sound of their voices. Then, a loud rumble rang into his ears as he felt a voice calling him from afar.

"Mac," called Stella for the third time as she was staring with fear at his haggard posture. Her hand on his shoulder gently squeezed to pull him from wherever his mind had thrown him into. She watched with worries as he slowly turned toward her, his face ashen. "Mac, you okay?"

He saw her lips formed slow words, her voice deformed slightly by a grotesque effect. Breathing hard, he swallowed and his eyes went back to Flack's still form. Then, the world seemed to get back to its normal speed, and he clearly heard Stella beside him. Worries smoldering beneath her frenetic calls as she was squeezing his shoulder, her grip too tight to be the first time she had done it.

Mac blinked and watched as Flack finally moved and propped himself up on his elbows, pieces of charredwoods falling from his back while he raised on his legs. Taking support on the closest wall, he rubbed slowly his face, looking aimlessly around him. Then, one of the cops wrapped an arm around his neck and helped him to walk toward the exit.

"You guys okay?" managed to speak Flack through a deep cough as he had stopped before them.

Mac nodded slightly, his eyes not leaving Flack. "You?" he asked with a small voice, an irrational fear born in the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah, just need to sit down for a while." Then, the cop continued to walk, pulling Flack with him and out of Mac's sight.

"C'mon," Stella suggested as she stood up and extended her hand for Mac.

Still trying to get his heart rate to normal, Mac raised a pair of weary eyes to her. Their eyes connected and he felt even more anxious now. He grabbed her hand and as she helped him to get to his feet an idea crossed his mind; he could have lost her today. He froze before her as the sudden realization dawned on him. With a small breath, he swallowed back the fear that had crawled up to his stomach, and glanced over his shoulder, checking if she was okay, their hands still clinging to each other. Although her face, hair and clothes were covered by a thick, white dust, she seemed to be all right. Biting his lower lip, his sight looked down, almost lost, not sure what he should say or do. This was all his fault.

When Stella caught the look of sorrow and remorse on Mac's face, she knew that this time he wasn't going to protest to her proposition. "Let's go home," she murmured to his ear as she gently stroked his back and led him to the stairs. And without a word, he let her guide him outside.

The cold, frozen wind greeted them as they exited the building. Over their head, a broken window vomited a thick, dark column of smoke staining the white, snowy sky as a painful reminder of what could have been their fate. Her eyes not leaving him, Stella walked slowly to their car, keeping her pace in rhythm with Mac's. She wasn't sure what was going on with him beside the fact he looked drained, his natural color having abandoned his face. So she didn't speak and just walked towards the driver's side. In silence, she climbed in the car, waiting for him to join her when he would be ready.

Mac exhaled deeply as he leaned his back against the SUV still trying to catch his breath. Suddenly, his vision blurred and he slanted forward with a weak yelp. His hands gripped at his knees before he felt his legs giving out. His knees splashed into the wet, dirty sludge as he puked, emptying his stomach; his body finally giving in to the long exhaustion and mental pain. They could have all died because of me. He closed his eyes trying to hold on to the thought that they were all alive, but it wasn't enough. Light tremors ran through his body and a new wave of nausea assaulted him. His stomach tore in hot pain as he bent over again. His fingers sank into the frozen sludge while his churning stomach tried desperately to empty more which was already a deep void. You almost killed them, his mind shouted in deep anger. Cold beads of sweat dripped from his temples and into the snow. He fought to clear his vision as his stomach retched in painful heaves. Before him, the frozen sludge spun and he took a deep breath to remain on his hands and knees. He couldn't break now.

Jumping out of the car, Stella circled the black SUV with a frown and thanked her gut for parking far from the burning building and the now crowded street with cops. She wouldn't have liked anyone to witness Mac's distress. Not like this, not when he wasn't totally himself. Silently, she stepped next to his fallen frame and crouched. Her hand softly rested on his back, gently stroking him. He shuddered under her fingers but as the light tremors continued, she realized she wasn't the cause this time, and with pain she discovered why. He was in shock; his body trembling uncontrollably from whatever mental torment his brain had decided to put him through; and what she felt under her touch was his body finally giving out, his will not of much help anymore. Slowly, her hand went to his neck finding it hot and sweating. No wonder he was shaking with the frozen wind blowing in the street.

"Let's go home, Mac," she repeated with a soft whisper as her fingers gently caressed his nape. She watched with a pinch at her heart as he nodded wearily to the ground unable to speak or daring to look at her.

Then, slowly rising on shaking legs, and his sight avoiding her, he managed to open the door and climb inside the car without a word or a look at her. It's only when he had tightened his seatbelt that she saw him lean his head back against the seat, his eyes already closed, too drained to try to put his usual brave face for the one around. Her heart squeezed in her chest, knowing that today something had struck him hard and she was helpless to know what.

xxx

From the corner of his eyes, Flack saw the black SUV leaving the dark street as the ME was checking him in the back of the ambulance.

"I'm okay," he grumbled as the ME shoved a small light in his eyes. Flack closed them quickly to stop the pain coming from it, though it didn't stop the throbbing headache that was hammering and playing a concert between his ears. He sighed. At least Mac and Stella had been smarter and had headed to their car right away, avoiding that small check up.

"No sign of concussion," stated the ME as he left Flack to button his shirt, and put back the penlight away.

"Yeah I know. I told ya that," he mumbled, fumbling with his vest.

The ME nodded, ignoring Flack's comment as he pulled out his gloves. "If I were you, though, I'd stay home for the rest of the day, just in case. You bumped your head pretty hard, Detective, so you should take it easy."

"Thanks for the tip," replied dryly Flack as he jumped off the ambulance. "But I'm not sick." And I'm not letting those bastards run away after they'd tried to kill us. He sighed, his face carved with a deep frown remembering Mac's haggard face after the explosion. It was like his friend had seen a ghost or something. His gut had twitched madly at the view, and if he hadn't been too knock out to say something at the time, he would have remained with him to check that he was really fine, though he was sure that Stella was going to do that check up as soon as they would be home. Flack swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Something in Mac's eyes had scared the hell out of him. Something dark and tormented he had never seen before, and in perspective of the last events he didn't like the sound of it.

Turning a glassy face to the building, Flack pulled out his phone. He had to call Danny and the team, make sure that if anything happens, the team would be there for their friends. Of course he wasn't gonna talk about what he had seen in Mac's eyes. No, he didn't want to embarrass his friend with things he would have preferred to remain buried, but he had to keep the team in the loop. Whoever had set those traps wanted to make sure there wouldn't be anything left of the place and its visitors as well. Flack sighed, hopefully, Mac's instinct had kicked in quickly, and without the combination of his warning and his prompt reaction, he didn't want to imagine in what pieces the EMS would have found them. No, once again they had been pretty lucky, which in his world wasn't good. At one point, you could run out of luck and then it would be too late. Flack looked up at the dark smoke clouding the white sky over him and prayed that whatever came next, they would be able to face it and stay all alive.

xxx

When Danny had received the call, his first thought had been that it couldn't be true. Another trap set no less than three days later, that was real, bad karma, signs of something really important going on. He huffed to his screen as Lindsay entered their office and frowned when she caught the look of worry in his blue eyes.

"Danny? What's goin' on?"

He bit his lower lip. No less than thirty seconds, his mind shot. As always, his wife had seen through him even without a word out of his mouth. Was that the power of love? Then, why wasn't he able to do the same? He smirked, women's trick. Somehow he wondered if Mac had felt so powerless facing a woman, surely not. His boss' will was too strong to surrender to anyone or let anyone see through him, although, he did remember Stella doing some of her voodoo tricks on him. A small smile grazed his lips. Yeah, women's trick. He was now sure of it.

"Danny?" repeated Lindsay as she stepped closer.

"Huh, sorry Linds." He sighed. "Flack's just called. There was a trap at Medriano's place; a bomb to be more precise."

"A bomb!" exclaimed Lindsay, her hand covering instantly her mouth. "Are they...?" her voice trailed off unable to finish with the fateful word.

"No, no, Linds, sorry I should have started with it. They're all okay. Though Mac escaped twice the trap. Call it luck, or bad karma, I don't know," he said as his hand shaved the air before him.

"Twice?" she asked puzzled.

He sighed as he got up and hobbled to the window, looking at the city shrouded by a white thick coat of snow. "Those bastards were waiting for them with a shotgun pointed at the doorway. And ya know Mac, well, he wouldn't have left anyone to go in to take the first blow." He sighed, his thoughts drifting to what could have happened if his friend had been alone. "But luckily Flack heard the trigger on time to get him out of the way."

"Danny," she whispered, confusion in her eyes as she sat in the same chair he had be in minutes ago. She needed to sit, her legs suddenly too shaking to support her. What was going on? What was happening to them?

"I know, felt the same way when Flack told me." He nodded slightly. "I just hope he's not gonna run out of luck." He sighed, his head sagging before him hopeless. It was so hard to believe that anything could happen and reap them of one of their friends like that. Of course it wouldn't be the first time. They had already lost Aiden and Jess, but Mac? Danny couldn't let that possibility sink to his mind, though the night Don and Stella had pulled him out of that ruin, he had really felt his world about to crumble. But Mac had made it out alive, and he had stupidly assumed that his friend was out of the woods. But with this now, he wasn't sure anymore.

With a pinch at her heart, Lindsay joined her husband wrapping her frail arms around him, and rested her cheek against his back. "He's gonna be okay, Danny. You know, Mac." She paused feeling the tension in his shoulders relaxing a little. "We're all gonna be okay." Softly she dropped a kiss between his shoulders.

With a weak smile, Danny twisted in her arms and wrapped his arms around her in a warm embrace. Abandoning her barriers, Lindsay closed her eyes, her head leaning against his chest and lulled by the slow, reassuring beat of his heart. Silently, she prayed for the team to be okay and especially for their boss.

xxx

Mac shivered as he followed Stella into her apartment, his mind having finally given in to any suggestions she had softly uttered. He was tired. He was broken, and he had enough of all of this: his shredded memory, those bastards that tried to kill him, almost killing those who claimed to be his friends, and most of all of him. He hated to feel like that, so powerless in the face of what was happening to him and the fact he was continually fighting his own mind to know who he should trust or not. No, he was done. Done for today, done for the week, and possibly the year. He sighed, releasing some of the turmoil that wrenched his mind, and dropped on his bed, broken.

"Mac," called Stella as she entered his room. "Do you want to order..." but her words died on her lips the minutes her eyes set upon his exhausted frame, sprawled on the bed.

She noticed he was still wearing his jacket, and his face was pale, even whiter than her own walls if it could be possible. His glazing eyes stared at the ceiling without focus, and he didn't seem to register her presence. Tightening her lips, she sat next to him. She wanted to touch him to reassure him, but she couldn't, in fact, she didn't know if the real Mac would have left her doing so. So, instead she opted for the closest thing she thought he would allow her to, she gently patted his arm, her warm gaze searching for life in his green, ocean eyes.

"Hey, you need to eat a bit Mac," she whispered warmly.

Slowly, he moved and seemed to be alive again. His eyes focused on her with a light frown. "Not hungry," he dropped as his eyes went back to the empty ceiling.

"I bet you ain't." She gave him a small smile. "But I'd like you to join me." She wasn't mad at him, and she wanted to have the time to tell him that. So, if he could stay with her, says on the couch, for example, maybe she would get the opportunity to ask him what he was hiding and what was really bugging him.

His frown deepened not believing what he had just heard. What was she doing? She wanted to see him? After all he had put them into. Then, a word he wouldn't have thought he would say came out of his mouth. " 'kay." Yes, he was okay with that. In fact, he wanted to understand why he felt so strange around her, going from anger to love in a matter of seconds. He smirked inwardly. Love? Was he really feeling that for her?

"Good. Now let's get you out of these clothes and into something more comfortable before you catch a cold," she said with a warm smile. Maybe things were going to be better now that he was remembering some members of the team.

He sighed, giving up. He propped himself on his elbows and sat while trying to take off his jacket, which appeared to be a more difficult task that he had envisioned it.

"I'll be there soon," he puffed tiredly, hoping to dismiss her, but instead she stared at him with a sad smile before she fumbled with his jacket to help him. Normally, he would have opposed directly, pretending he could do it alone, but this time he didn't. He was too tired to pretend that he was okay when all he wanted was to lie down and forget about this day. Sure, he had remembered some names, and information about the team he had been obviously working with, and it was good news. But on the other hand, he had almost killed two of the people that pretended to be his friends. And even if he didn't remember their friendship, he couldn't ignore the fact that Flack had saved his ass back there or the frightened Stella's face after the shot.

A wince escaped his lips as they finally got his right arm out of the leather sleeve. Frowning, Stella watched him closely. She noticed how his wrist was still wearing the blue, brownish bruises left by the cuff; a painful reminder of his ordeal with the same aggressor that had almost booby trapped them all today. "What's going on, Mac?" she asked, expecting him to tell her the truth.

"Told you, I'm tired," he whispered with a grunt, feeling the rage soaring through his core about her question. This whole thing with her was starting to get on his nerves now. And why did he have to be so damn angry at her, now?

"I've seen you tired, Mac. Maybe you need a shower or a bath to relax?" She tried.

"I'm okay Stell. I don't..." he began, shaking his head, and then stopped as he noticed the wide smile she was giving him. "What?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

Standing up, she faced him with a warm, sparkling smile. "You called me Stell, Mac."

"Well, that's your name, isn't it?" He replied, confused. What had he done this time? He sighed inwardly.

"I know, but it's the first time since you're out the hospital that you've used my name this way." She grinned like a kid. He was really coming back, she thought with joy and pride. They would finally be able to see the end of the tunnel.

"Told you I was remembering working with you." He frowned. So now what? She hadn't believed him?

"Yes, you said so. But until now you weren't acting like...you," she finished the words escaping her lips with a whisper as she gave him a shy smile to forgive her.

He let out a light chuckle unable to resist at the mischievous, puppy eyes she was giving him. This woman was amazing; one minute he was pissed off because of her questions and the next he felt wings growing up in his back.

"Alright," he admitted a weak smile tugged at his lips as she was pacing the room in front of him. He raised a brow with content, a slight feeling of déjà vu popping in his memory, and he realized he liked that. Well, not the fact he remembered, of course it was great, but his heart was suddenly lighter as he was watching her, his sight following her graceful, perfect curves as she paced the room with a big grin plastered on her face. She was really an amazing woman.

"Okay, give me five and I..." He began tiredly, before she cut him off.

"Yeah right, nice play, Mac," she smirked, knowing that his private side was trying to avoid the obstacle, but she wasn't going to back down. He didn't seem in great shape, hell, he was a mess, so she couldn't really leave him to struggle on his own. What kind of friend would she be to let him struggle alone, right?

"What?" his eyes rose in a question.

"Seeing the trouble you got with your jacket, let me help with your sweater, I bet it's more complicated," she quipped, knowing that by a quick look at his posture and weary sight she was right.

Complicated, huh, she has no idea. But then, he couldn't let her see his wounded shoulder or his side, or he would have her on his back for the remaining days he was condemned to stay with her, though it would mean he would have more time to know her, and somehow he wasn't sure anymore if he was really against that idea. "I'll be fine, really."

"Maybe," she said eyeing him suspiciously. "But you know there's nothing I haven't seen before," she grinned at the stunned look he gave her. "So, let's get that sweater off."

Nothing she hasn't seen before? What the... The words struck him. What did she mean by that? He had thought they were just friends. A wave of panic soared inside him as he saw her stepped toward him. "I..." his words died in his throat as he felt the soft touch of her hand delicately grazing his skin near his waist. His heart skipped in his chest, and he felt warmer than he should, her perfume exploding in his brain like a million sparkles when she slanted towards him. Her fingers began to tug at his sweater while he tried to breathe in vain. "Stell..." his voice trailed off, not sure how to hide his discomfort without hurting her. He couldn't let her get too close.

"Raise your arms," she whispered, her warm breath caressing his cheek.

Swallowing, he complied without even thinking as if he was under some kind of spell, her spell. His heart echoed louder in his ears now, but then, the pain brought him back to the harsh reality. Without noticing it, he had lifted his left arm and reawakened the deep slashes carving his shoulder.

Stella noticed his winces almost immediately, and a light frown appeared on her face as his sweater was finally out. For a minute she remained silent, her sight lingering on Mac's flushed face. "Mac? You're hurt?" Even though she had pronounced those words with a question, she was more stating a fact. Her eyes observed him, noting every detail of his flinched posture, and the way his black, wet t-shirt was hanging loosely over his right shoulder but seemed to clad his body on his right side and his left shoulder. Even his right arm was carefully cuddling his side in protection. Worries crept in her mind as she sat on the bed beside him, and tried to look closely to his side, though his hands hindered her.

"I'm okay, I'll..." he began. His cold hands pushed hers away. He didn't want to hurt her, but he couldn't resign to let her see how weak he was.

This time she didn't let him finish. No, something was off and she was determined to know what. "Please, let me see, Mac." Pushing his hands away, she delicately lifted the dark fabric and discovered with horror that some stitches had reopened, part of his t-shirt now clotted with dried blood.

He swallowed, knowing already the tongue lashing she was going to serve him. But after she had examined his raw side and his shoulder, she stood up and extended her hand. He raised on her a pair of weary, stunned eyes. What now? With a deep sigh, he grabbed her hand and stood up. And without a word she led him to the bathroom. He winced at the thought of struggling alone with the water and his t-shirt, but then she surprised him once again. She closed the door behind them, and as she put the heat on, she turned on the water to fill the tub, a sad smile on her face. He remained in the middle of the bathroom, watching her with nervousness.

"You should have asked..." she dropped sadly, referring to his bleeding wounds. "I would have put a fresh dressing over this." She pouted at the thought of him opting for the worst solution, leaving his wounds unprotected.

He sighed, his eyes lost on the tiles floor. "I didn't want to bother you...and..." His hand brushed his hair, searching his words. He let out a deep, exhausted breath. There were things that seemed too hard to express what he had on his chest. "Sometimes, I'm lost..." he began. "And...well I...I don't know what I should do or say to you or the others." His sight avoided her, not sure it was the right time to confess this, especially after he had put her life on the line. What right did he have to ask for her help and her kindness after he had almost got her killed by his reckless actions. "Sorry," he mumbled. "But... I just can't behave as you expect me to. I don't know how."

Biting her lower lip, Stella gently cupped his cheek with a warm hand, and slowly lifted his chin, her tender, emerald eyes gazing at the deep, ocean pools filled with pain and remorse. "I don't expect you to behave in any particular way, Mac. You're my friend. I've already decided to take you as you are, with your strength and your bad ass sides." She gave him a playful wink, trying to reassure him of her friendship. It was hard for her to hear his confession and see so many doubts lingering in the turquoise fields of his eyes.

He gave her a muffled chuckle. "Yes, but you never signed for this." He glanced at the mirror behind her, displaying his wreck silhouette appearing like the shadow of a man he had been.

"True," she admitted, realizing they couldn't ignore his physical situation. "But I know you, Mac. You may be lost because of the events, but you're the strongest person I have ever met. I have no doubt that when all of this will be over, you'll be back to normal." At least she hoped he would, not sure if it would happen soon, but knowing her partner, anything was possible. She hadn't lied, if anyone could come back from a double fight with memory loss and PTSD, it was him. And a fighting Mac was worth ten Goliaths.

Slumping on the edge of the bathtub, Mac sat and covered his face with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He let out a deep, painful breathing. "I'm not so sure."

Her lips tight, she crouched before him and cuddled his hands between hers. "It's okay. I will be for the two of us until your strength is back," she comforted as he raised his exhausted gaze on her, and noticed her determined stare.

He took a deep breath realizing how much he could drown himself into that stare. It was weird, since day one at the hospital, he had wondered what was that power lurking beneath these emerald jewels. And there he was, weak and beat, before her like the first time, and she was still giving him that feeling that nothing on earth could stop her. He bit his lower lip, wondering if one day, she would hold that gaze for her lover, or if she had ever done it for him or would. He sighed mentally. He shouldn't be thinking like that. As friends, if nothing had happened between them before this day, what were the odds that it happens in a near future? He sighed, almost remote.

"C'mon. Let me help you," she said as she stood up and slightly lifted his black t-shirt. He groaned as the fabric, stuck with dried blood, was pulling on his skin, sending waves of hot iron pain through his tired body.

"Sorry," she muffled. She clenched her teeth at the torn face he was giving her and stopped what she was doing. She took a step back, considering him a moment. His t-shirt out of his pants, he looked like a beat soldier after a battle, she thought as she noticed the fabric cut over his right arm, probably from the fall with Don, she assumed.

"Okay," she began. "Let's try another way." Rummaging through the closet next to the shower, she pulled out a pair of scissor.

Mac frowned. "What's that for?"

"Ah, don't worry, I've always been good at cutting things in the kindergarten." She smiled as he gave her an anxious look. "Relax, Mac. I'm just going to cut through your t-shirt," she pointed at his right arm. "Since it's already torn, I guess, I can finish the job."

"I don't need your help, Stella. I'm quite capable of..." He tried again, but she stopped him right away.

"Yes you do," she cut him off quickly, an amused smile grazing her lips, though, deep down she knew he was hurt. "I'm sure it would be hell to try to get rid of that thing alone, Mac." And I'm betting it's why you weren't up for a shower this morning.

"I'll be fine," he tried to counter, hoping she would drop the idea of helping him. He was grateful for her help, but something inside him was feeling very uncomfortable with the idea of being shirtless before her, furthermore if she was starting to play nurse. He took a deep breath, and held her gaze, but she took a step further and stood next to him.

"C'mon Mac," she smiled. "Let me help, okay?" she pointed at his arms tugging at his t-shirt to keep it firmly in place.

With a deep sigh, Stella noted he gave up as his hands dropped limply on his sides, and his green, ocean eyes stared at her with a deep sadness she had never seen as if he was resigned to embrace death itself. She frowned not sure she wanted to do it if he was feeling like that.

"Mac, I'm not gonna hurt you." She tried to comfort him.

"I know," he dropped with a tired voice.

"So what is it? Why do you look so beat?" If it wasn't her, then what was the problem?

He sighed. "Just tired," he admitted in half truth.

"Mac?"

He rubbed his face with a lazy move of his hand, not sure he wanted this conversation going that way. How could he tell her that her taking care of him sounded too weird for him to be able to cope? As if something inside him was rebelling against it, screaming and yelling that he shouldn't trust her despite all the things she had done? He closed his eyes. He wanted to believe her, trust her, so why so many doubts now? Why did he feel as if she was going to betray him in the next minute? And what about this urgent need to yell on her and be angry after her? About what anyway? He clenched his jaw. No, he couldn't tell her that, or sure he would hurt her, again.

"Just need some sleep," he replied, h alf lying as he really needed sleep too. His eyes locked with the small tiles of the floor.

She sighed. He was keeping things from her. But could she blame him? She was doing the exact same thing about his PTSD. "Alright, I'm just gonna get rid of this shirt, okay?"

He nodded, not really looking at her. With tight lips, she kneeled beside him and began to cut through the dark fabric starting by his back and from the bottom of his black shirt. Slowly, the scissor went up as Stella was careful not to touch his skin. After some long and silent seconds, his black t-shirt was cut open, and standing up behind him, she softly lifted the wet fabric around his wounded shoulder. Careful not to pull on the flesh, she gently separated the fabric from the clotted wound, wincing at the view of the chewed up skin mixed with thin black fabric. She sighed deeply, discovering the long grazes carved in his skin; she had no idea his shoulder had been torn like that. Clenching her jaw her mind offered her images of what he had been through to have these marks.

Then, her heart beat faster as she felt him shuddering when she lifted more of the t-shirt, cutting the short sleeve to free his left side, and revealing a small family of dark, purple bruises on his back. In her career she had seen a lot of bodies and victims of attacks, but seeing those same, evident marks of a beating on her partner was hard to swallow. Mac had always been a private man, and seeing these, she could verify this side of his personality hadn't been altered, this too he had hidden from her. Of course processing a crime scene should have led the team to take pictures of these, but with the mess provoked by his absence and her staying with him, and dealing with his suspicion, she had preferred to ignore it and wait for a more appropriate moment. Now, she was reminded that she would have to talk to him about it.

"I'm almost done," she said, as she felt him quivering beneath her touch. Then, she lifted the right side of the black t-shirt, ready to cut the right sleeve. But then, her hand remained frozen in the air as her eyes had caught something she had never expected to see. Beneath the black fabric, a short scar was carved in his flesh right under the last rib. Trembling, her fingers brushed softly at the rough damaged skin. It was obvious that this scar was much older than a week, years maybe?

"What's that scar, Mac?"

Small tremors ran through his back when her soft fingers caressed his skin. "What?" he asked with a tired voice, not sure he had heard her right. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"How... I mean, I thought you remembered?" She sighed, visibly disappointed by his answer.

"What are you talking about?"

"This scar, Mac," she repeated, her fingers delicately brushing the old wound. "I... Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

He could hear pain in her voice, but frankly he had no idea what she was talking about. A scar? On his back? He had no idea what it was. Until now he wasn't remembering anything about himself, about others yeah, but that was all. "I remember things when I see them, like Messer or you, ya know," he explained. "I remember where you were born, your track record, and..."

She didn't let him finish as the harsh realization hit her. "But you don't remember working with me," she finished with bitterness. "Or our friendship..." her voice trailed off, thinking about the implications. "Or things about you, like this scar? Nothing personal?"

"No, I don't." He admitted with a deep, painful sigh. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I see images, but I don't..." his voice trailed off, knowing that if he was telling her everything she would be sad, and right now, he didn't want to inflict her more pain, he had done enough already. His lips tightened. No. He didn't want her to be sad, never, she deserved better.

Her hand went to his neck, and gently stroked his cheek. He blushed slightly at the gentle gesture. His heart was strangely beating faster every time she was touching him. And even if his mind was confused, something really clear was starting to form in his mind. He was feeling something for her that was beyond friendship and that he couldn't deny it. He looked down, not sure what to do. Then, his body shivered from the cold grazing his sweaty skin and he clenched his jaw to hide his winces.

"It's okay, Mac. I know it will come back to you, and I'm not sad or angry at you for not remembering me as a friend," she admitted, though she wouldn't tell him that it hurt her that he wasn't remembering her more than a number or a data in his mind. She sighed inwardly. All these years she had thought she had a special place in his heart like he did in hers, but obviously, those feelings weren't strong enough to overcome his memory loss. Truth was, he had never talked about this scar to her, hell, if she hadn't happened to be there that fateful Sunday after the blast, she would have never known about the one over his heart as well. Of course she should have expected not being in his heart, knowing it had always beat for Claire. But some nights she had hoped that things could evolve between them. She swallowed the small knot in her throat. obviously she had been wrong, he had no strong feelings for her.

Okay, no time to indulge myself in misery, she told herself as she noticed her partner shaking more within the minute. He was exhausted, wet from the sweat he got after the blast and probably mentally beat as well, that was why he hadn't put much resistance for once. Resuming her work, she resigned herself to ask him later about this scar, when he would be back to his old self. She cut his right sleeve.

Kneeling before him, her eyes crossed the weariness in his as he straightened up to let her access to his right side and swallowed the pain lingering in his eyes. Slowly, she lifted the fabric, but this time she saw with worries that the fabric was entangled with the stitches. Very slowly, she pulled the fabric toward her, mindful of his slight twitches and his muffled grunts, escaping his throat.

"I'm almost done," she added softly, just as the last pieces of clotted fabric left his skin, his black t-shirt remaining in her hands.

With misery, he watched her as she turned off the hot water, the steam now covering the mirror and his skin. He shivered as her move lifted the air around him, cooling his wet skin. Glancing at the small bath behind him, he looked back at her, waiting for her to leave, but she remained before him, waiting. She couldn't expect him to undress while she was here? His mind wondered.

"I'll do fine with the rest," he said trying to dismiss her once again. But instead she gave him a warm smile he couldn't resist and raised a pair of tired brows to her.

"Mac, you need to get cleaned up. Now I can turn if you need some privacy, but those wounds need to be attended to and you can't wet them. So I'm not leaving," she stated with a warm smile.

He sighed. She was right, though he didn't think it was a good idea to get that close of each other as his only memories were some images of gruesome case or data about people, but never anything personal, though his heart was clearly looking for more with her. Looking around, and her still waiting for him to do the first move, he resigned himself. He knew that his only way out was to make sure she would be satisfied, and since she wanted to play nurse, then, he had no real reason to oppose to it. So, he stood up, careful as he felt his legs a bit weak. He detached his belt, his eyes hovering in the bathroom as his cheeks were turning into a soft pink. He just prayed she wouldn't notice. So far, she had only talked about a mere friendship between them, and he wasn't sure that his real him would appreciate things to change, especially due to his condition. And the pity he could read behind her green, emerald eyes wasn't what he wanted her to think of him. He unzipped his pants, and his cheeks turned crimson, so instead of making a fool out of himself, as soon as his jeans were on the floor, he made his way to the bathtub.

Stella blushed at Mac's nervousness mixed with shyness. It was all so Mac Taylor, she noted with a small smile as he entered the tub with his underwear on. Well, in fact, she hadn't expected otherwise. She didn't want him to think she was taking advantages of him due to his situation. She couldn't and wouldn't. Though the whole situation made her grin mentally, her mind playing with the mental image of her partner in a non professional or friendly way. She took a deep breath, scolding herself that it wasn't the right time or place to think like that about Mac.

Mac grimaced as the warm water began to seep through his tired muscles, the hot liquid stopping just a bit over his hips, avoiding his stitches. He sighed loudly, feeling the hot water warming his cold limbs. It felt good. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub, but opened them the minute a pair of warm hands rested on his right shoulder. Stella, his mind shot in expectation. Oh God, what is she doing now? His heart skipped in his chest from her soft touch.

"It's only me, Mac," teased Stella at the light shivers she felt under her fingers. Then, with relief, she felt his shivering stop and his breath started to slow down.

She had to admit, she could enjoy seeing her partner more often like that. Not wounded of course, that alone was enough to wrench her heart for a long time, but she had to admit that she indulged her eyes as they caressed his frail, but well built body from top to bottom. But then, the warmth growing inside her stopped cold when she discovered a long, nasty scar running like a snake around his left leg. Another old wound Mac Taylor had never talked about it, she noted bitterly. How many more secrets had he still kept from her? How much was still buried inside him that he had never thought worth sharing with her? She felt a deep sadness invade her as she knew he was most of the time alone, and not one to share his pain. No one should bear so much on one's shoulder without being able to release it. But here was the main trouble, to who? Mac wasn't one to discuss openly about his physical or even mental scars, even to her, the proof right before her. It had taken years before he had really spoken about Beirut and that was only due to Don closing to death's door, otherwise she would bet she wouldn't know a thing about it. She sighed, hoping that at least, their close proximity this time could come in handy and help her to make him realize that he could let her in; that she cared about him, and that nothing else mattered for her but him.

"I need you to bend forward a little, Mac," she said, hoping he was going to comply. To her surprise, Mac leaned forward, resting his face in his hands, his elbows supported by his knees.

Softly, she took the sponge bath, soaked it in the warm soapy water and pressed it around the wound on his shoulder. The warm water dripped slowly along his back. Her other hand resting in the crook of his neck, she felt with delight the tensed muscles of his back beginning to relax as she repeated her action and more warm water slid along his spine. She tried to clean the wound as much as she could without wetting it too much, which would hinder his recovery and prolonged his torment. After sometimes, and when she was sure the wound was clean, she soaped his whole back, gently brushing his hard muscles with the soft, warm sponge. She couldn't suppress a smile when his head sagged before him, more relaxed. She could picture his eyes closed and his jaw loosening. A warm smile spread over her lips as she realized he was trusting her enough to abandon himself into her arms.

Mac swallowed slowly, his mind drifting in and out of this reality. He was feeling warm and almost relax for the first time since he had woken up in this dark hole. Even if he had a hard time to focus on what was going on around him, he knew his current delighting state was due to one person: Stella. A small, anxious voice rose in his mind, nervously telling him that he shouldn't be there with her like that. He sighed inwardly and shaved the voice away. He was too tired to give in to it, and to the fear that seemed to surge every time she came too close to him. No, her hands on his skin was all that mattered right now. He knew he should have tried to tell her to leave that he would take care of himself, but the more the sponge brushed down his back, the more his will was drifting away, defenseless against this woman. He felt his body sagging slowly and knew that soon she would be able to do whatever she wanted to him because he had no strength to oppose to her. Though it didn't matter anymore. Somehow deep down, now that he had stopped to fight her he could feel that he was slowly falling for her. He knew it was dangerous and risky, as he hadn't remembered a lot of things about her. But her care and attention to him was enough to shave all his questions. Tonight, he was done with his questions. He sighed in content as her warm fingers gently stroked his neck. His head sagged further in his hands and he had to fight to remain awake and not slide in the water.

Stella watched with delight as Mac was almost limp in her hands now. Gently, she helped him to rest his back against the tub to attend to his other wound.

"Thanks," she heard him muttered as she pressed the sponge near the stitches, cleaning the dry blood clotted around it.

"You're welcome," she whispered as she looked up to meet his green eyes turning into a clear crystal blue. He leaned back his head against the tub, a soft smile of delight grazing his lips as his eyes finally shut.

She smiled back at him as he closed his eyes, completely relaxed although the situation had started as a real awkward one for him. Then, she finished with his wound and began to clean his face. Gently, the warm water washed away the brown dust still stuck on his cheeks and forehead, then she slid the sponge to his chest. A soft moan escaped his lips as the warm, bath tool caressed his chest and she followed the curves of his well-built muscles, indulging herself of doing it again but with another goal in mind. Releasing a deep sigh, she scolded herself for having those thoughts while he was just giving her his fragile trust and reminded herself, that he was broken and in need of her friendship first, the rest, if it could ever happen, should wait. So, slowly she left the sponge in the warm water, and stood up, gazing at her quiet partner finally resting. With a deep breath, she resisted the urge of brushing his hair and left. It was time for him to have his privacy and relax in silence. With a quick glance towards him, she closed the door behind him, a wide smile of content grazing her lips.

Mac felt a soft cold wind brushed his wet chest and heard a door closed somewhere. But too tired to open his eyes, he slowly slumbered in a more, deserved rest, the world shutting down around him.

...TBC

A/N: Again, sorry for the delay but since this story is beta read, then it takes more time on editing. So, I hope it still works with you guys.

As always you can leave a comment and let me know what you thought of this part.

Coming up next...Eternal Flame