Chapter 13: Nightmares

A/N: Darkness is back...Well, this chapter is quite long and go deep in the darkness actually. It's a vital turning point into the story, so I hope it will work out for you and please read the warning before the story. Also, it's long because I didn't want to cut in the middle and have only the dark side and left Hope apart. So if you feel sad, you can either use this chapter to let go some steam and cry or pass your way and come back later. Either way it's fine to cry, I did when I wrote some parts; it makes us human and shows our heart.

As always a big thank you to all who continuously reviewed this story. Thanks too, to anyone who put this fic in their fav or alert, or just read and up the stats. Lol.

And a special thank you to Blackdragon189 who, besides her own work and busy RL, still finds the time to beta this story. Thanks Girl!

Summary: presumed lost, Mac has finally been rescued. But now he has to deal with the aftermath of memory loss and stress. Stella and the team step up to help him, while his nemesis are looking to take their revenge on him. Angsty Smacked...team friendship. CHAP 13 UP!

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

Warning: this chapter deals with PTSD's aftereffects and there's mention of torture. So be advised, this chapter will tend to go deep in angst and comfort.

Gee, that guy was like a damn cockroach, cursed Martin. The more you tried to kill him and the more he survived. Though he had to admit this time it hadn't been in his plan to kill Taylor, and the Boss would surely have his ass if anything had happened to him. But he couldn't suppress an admirative sigh at the cop that had not survived twice but three times to his traps. He sighed. So okay for this time, he was somehow glad Taylor had made it out. But when the time would come to finish him, he would really have to make sure that he was really dead.

Martin thought a moment as he watched Stella's building. With this kind of Irish luck and his chick following him everywhere, Taylor wasn't going to be easy to eliminate. Obviously, his previous tactic had worked out, luring him to a trap was a good thing, but next time, his friends might be there too, looking out for him. Meaning he would have to be more creative. A snowplow passed in the street and pushed some snow against his car. Martin cursed. Now he would have to get the snow out because of that damned truck. But for Taylor, the problem remained. Next time the boss would ask him to take him out, then, he would have to be very careful to get him alone. His phone went off. Speaking of which. He frowned as he looked at the caller ID of his phone.

"Yeah, boss?"

"How's Taylor?" asked the boss with a wicked voice.

"Not so good, actually. He kinda ran into..." Martin's voices trailed off. Should he really tell the boss about the explosion that had almost killed Taylor and two of his friends? He cursed mentally. Of course the thing was going to be in the news shortly and then, the boss would ask him if they had been behind it or not. He sighed, resigned. "Well, he tried to come to one of our hide-outs uninvited, and since I had trapped the place, well...he..."

"Is he dead?" growled the boss, anger rising in his voice. "I told you not to..."

"Nah, not dead, boss. Just shaken a bit. He managed to get out with a few bruises, that's all." A long silence followed Martin's words, and he wondered a minute if he was still connected. But then, the boss spoke again.

"So it hasn't been a good day for Taylor?" smirked the man on the phone, obviously happy.

Martin frowned, he could feel a smile in his boss' voice. "Yeah, he kinda spit his gut out the minute he was outside. So, yeah, I'd say he's not one hundred percent yet."

"Good. What else do you have?"

"Well, he went to his office today, and his chick made him do the grand tour. He seemed to recall some members of his team, but he's quite messed up."

"Okay, keep me in touch. I want to know the minute he recovers his memory. I have some plans for him. So don't mess up, Marty. I want him to be able to see in his eyes that he lost the fight when he'll give his last breath."

"Yeah, sure boss."

Then the line went dead and Martin looked puzzled at the phone. That mission was really taking a turn he didn't like. Revenge was always a nasty thing that could get you caught. He glanced quickly at the window where his prey should be right now. The light was still on, and since it wasn't that late, he'd better call and check on Tommy to see if his brother wasn't doing anything to compromise his plans.

xxx

He stirred a little as he felt a warm coat wrapped around him. He felt good and loved as if he was home, though somewhere he heard a voice whispering. Muffled at first, he had a hard time to recognize if he wasn't just imagining it. As he opened his eyes, Mac didn't see much at first, his vision blurred in a foggy, yellow light before him. Swallowing the dread creeping up his chest, he turned around and realized he was still in the bathroom, but alone. Stella left? Stella, his mind mulled over her name. Somehow the evocation of her name meant everything inside him when he was saying it, though every time he focused his mind on it to learn more, every feeling or knowledge instantly vanished, leaving him to face a blank page. He sighed feeling suddenly very empty every time she wasn't there. He leaned back his head against the tub and closed his eyes, leaving the warm water heating his aching body. Really, with her he had no answer. It was like his mind was shutting down every time he tried to push to know more. The hot steam coming from the bath rose in the air, and the warm moisture stuck at his scorched skin, leaving small beads all over his body. The warm water was slowly relaxing his tensed muscles, and the thought that Stella wasn't very far, was enough to shave off his doubts. He felt great and within minutes his mind drifted away.

But not ready to sleep yet, he fought the heavy sleep. He wanted to rub his face but realized with a frown his hands were paralyzed. Forcing his eyes open, he was greeted by a glowing light coming from far before him. He frowned and noticed he wasn't in the tub anymore. His heart skipped in his chest wondering where he was. Around him, walls had crumbled and a white, thick dust was flying in the air, making it hard to breathe without coughing. For a second, he feared he was back in the dark hole. A panel was pressing on his chest, and for a moment, panic seized his mind before he realized he could move and lift the panel stuck over him. As he removed it, a long heavy bar fell down and the whole place trembled around him. His heart stopped, waiting anxiously to be crushed once and for all, but nothing came. Swallowing back his anxiety, he pulled himself out of the wreck. His neck was burning and throbbing madly. Carefully, he pulled on his jacket and found a smear of blood staining his white shirt on his right side. He closed his eyes firmly, trying to stabilize the spinning world around him. Then, he took a step out of the wreck, and called. He frowned, trying to comprehend what he was saying but his own voice was muffled, and soon he crumbled on his knees near a man he had only met once today. Only this time the man wasn't moving or talking, except for a fast tremor running through him as he was about to give his last breath. His eyes darted to his abdomen and met a pool of blood where his stomach should have been. Oh God. Mac closed his eyes, trying to stop the rising bile invading his mouth. In slow motion, he saw with horror his fingers rummaging sickly in the man's gut and screamed. This couldn't be real. He hadn't done that. Don! He heard his voice yelled in pain.

"That's what you are," commented a voice near him. "You're no hero." The voice spilled out in disgust. "You're a coward."

He blinked and the crushed building disappeared to be replaced by a gloomy room, laced by green lasers around him. The air was humid and a strong stench invaded his senses.

"You gonna pay," the voice repeated as he saw in fear a gun pointed at him and the trigger pushed.

Mac closed his eyes again hoping to shave away that vision and somehow it worked. The gun disappeared, and the voice too. He swallowed hard the throbbing pain and bile coursing through his body. What had he done? Why so much hatred against him from this man? And why was he seeing Don dying? He breathed slowly, his heart beating too fast for him. He had to be dreaming, this couldn't be real. He hadn't hurt Don like that. Stella had said he was a good guy. So why had he hurt that cop like that? Pain wrenched his side.

Okay Mac, focus, what's the last thing you remember? He breathed out deeply, crumbling on his knees. Stella, his mind shot in victory after few seconds, I was with Stella. And now I'm here, so it can't be real. He looked around him, the air was thick, a cold humidity sticking at his skin. He shivered and his body was run by long tremors as he couldn't shake the cold. He sighed in pain. He was in some kind of gloomy room though he couldn't be sure as it was too dark to even see the wall. But the faint light coming from under a heavy door lighted enough the place to know that it was a room. It wasn't possible, he wasn't here, he should be in a warm bath, not here. Where the hell was he?

Then he felt his heart rate increased quickly as he heard footsteps and muffled voices getting closer. A feeling of dread invaded his body, he didn't like it. He had to get away, there was a nasty feeling with these voices. Realizing he was lying on a cold damp ground covered with mold, he took support on his hands and tried to stand.

With a cold fear nestling in the pit of his stomach, he realized it was hard to move. His body was writhed by a wrenching pain, especially his legs and each move torn at his muscles. He muffled a groan. His heart racing in his chest, and his breath short. He looked down at his body. Dizziness shaded his mind, and he had to focus hard to keep his vision clear. Then, he discovered with despair that he was wearing an old rag for shirt and his pants was cut in several places, leaving his legs uncovered and bloody. As the footsteps grew closer his heart hammered in his chest, his mind screaming to get the hell out of there. But he couldn't move or even have crawled toward some darkness in a corner. Cold sweat slipped along his spine while panic invaded his mind. Something was wrong and he had to get out quickly. Again, he tried to stand but it was vain as his body refused to move, his legs being the most farouche opponents. His breath short and rasping, he looked down and finally noticed the blood smearing his left leg. He moved his leg but let escape a moan of pain as a hot, iron pain exploded and wrenched his entire being. His face contorted in pain, both hands clung at his leg, desperate to soothe the hot tearing pain. His breath short and shallow, he laid back his flushed face and his forehead beaded in sweat against the cold ground. His torn shirt stuck to his back as he leaned on the damp cold ground, already exhausted. He muffled his screams, and heard the voices getting closer now.

Lying on the ground and unable to defend himself; he watched in aweas the old, wooden door opened. Its hinges hissed in pain to reveal the shape of two large men standing in the doorway. Mac raised on his elbows to support his body, and one of the men said something to the other before both started in a sick laugh. Then, to his dismal, both stepped inside his jail and stopped beside him, exchanging few words he couldn't understand. With sick grins, they both grabbed him by his armpits and started to harshly drag him out.

His body screamed in pain at the tension his weary muscles were forced to endure. He didn't know where they were taking him but he had a gut feeling he wasn't going to like it. The pain in his leg was excruciating as he could feel it dragged and scratching limply at the soil beneath him. He tried to stand on the good one, but they were walking too fast for him to succeed. His head sagged before him too exhausted to hold it, the pain overwhelming his senses.

His body slipped from his jailers and they had to tug twice on his rags not to lose their grips. Then, he finally managed to raise his head and looked ahead toward the small light at the end of the gloomy corridor. He clenched his jaw as he was roughly dragged into another room bathed this time with a bright, scorching light. He closed his eyes, the cold, white light cruelly biting into them which had become used to darkness. He swallowed his fear, hoping it was just a nightmare, and that soon he would wake up, and Stella would be there. But he wasn't waking up, and everything felt too real to be a nightmare... and the pain...the pain was real. It was etching inside his muscles and bones, eating and biting at him like an angry, wild animal. He heard more voices and sick laughs around him but couldn't see them as a cold hand wrapped harshly around his neck and he was smashed against the ground. His lungs emptied and he fought madly to find some feelings back into his numb limbs and to defend himself. He groaned in pain, his face deep into the dusty mold. Then, hard knees sank violently into his back, hurting his ribs and he realized he must have broken some as a hot needle spiked inside his lungs. He closed his eyes muffling the hot pain. If one of his lungs was punctured he wasn't going to last long. Strong calloused hands twisted his arms behind his back, and panic surged inside him while other hands were pining his head to the ground. No! his mind yelled. The iron grips ensnared his wrists before cold shackles bit into his tender flesh, trapping him for good.

Thick packs of dust coated with his sweaty face and blood remained stuck to his face as he was roughly lifted up. He coughed, trying to catch his breath while his body sagged dangerously. But the tugs that had picked him from his jail helped him to stand, supporting part of his weight between them. Though, they didn't help him so much as every time he was losing his balance he was putting weight on his broken leg and finished with a hissing moan. His breath whizzed between his clenched teeth, slowly trying to slow down his heart rate. With the small amount of strength he had, he tried to clear his blurred vision. He could feel this wasn't good. Whatever was going to happen he knew he was going to need as much calm and strength, he could muster. So he took a deep breath and looked before him.

A small man with a dark beard and dressed in old, desert fatigues stepped before him and spoke. His face was covered with dust. Mac swallowed as he tried to comprehend what the man wanted from him, though after his frequent glances toward the large bucket he started to have a pretty good idea of what it was about. He frowned and shook his head. The man's words made no sense to him. Was he even really speaking or just voicing weird sounds? Seeing that he wasn't answering, the little man gave him a nasty smile and a bad feeling nestled in the pit of his stomach.

Then, without warning, the tugs that held him pushed him forward. He watched in dread the large bucket filled with dark, thick water growing bigger. Ten feet from it, the bucket reeked of an old, nasty stench. Whatever had filled the bucket before was now much older and much dirtier. His heart hammered loudly behind his ears. The minute his chest collided with the edge of the bucket, two pairs of strong hands thrust his head under the nasty water. In a quick move for survival, he filled his lungs with all the air he could take in just as his head was sunk into the cold, stenchy liquid. His whole body froze under the freezing liquid invading his ears and nose, ensnaring his neck in a cold choke hold.

Pushing hard on his upper chest to lift his head, Mac found with fear more hands trying to keep his head under the cold waters. He twisted and squirmed furiously, not ready to die, and trying to free his head from their nasty touch. But they had several advantages on him, they could see while he was plunged in total darkness, and they were free and outnumbered him. His heart pounded madly behind his temples as his lungs started to gasp in need for air. But as he continued to wriggle and fight, even pushing on his broken leg, kicking the limbs that surrounded him; his body writhed in pain as a vicious blow hit his back. It paralyzed his erratic moves, his weary body slowly shutting down.

This couldn't be real his mind screamed in fear as his lungs burned in need for air. His body sagged limply in the hand of his jailers. He prayed that this was all a nightmare. That he was going to wake up, he wasn't drowning. In a blurriness, and his head throbbing madly, he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. You wouldn't torture people for information and let them die by doing so; surely they would let him breathe at one point. But when? yelled his mind, his lungs on fire. He couldn't hold on any longer. But then, a terrifying idea crossed his mind; what if these tugs were careless and unable to carry orders. Panic filled his mind as he squirmed desperately to set free but another nasty blow pierced through his wounded ribs, and the last remnants of his strengthwaned. His mouth opened in reflex in search of a much needed breath of air. Water immediately filled his throat and he gulped it down in a reflex, filling his lungs with the dirty, stench-filled liquid. His whole body trembled as more water filled him while he desperately tried to breathe. The more he sucked in for air and the more water was filling his lungs. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning and none of his jailers seemed to care about it. His strength abandoned him. His body sagged heavily in the calloused hands pinning him to his death. As his mind drifted toward darkness, he wondered where was the nice and warm place he was before. Where was Stella? What had happened to her? And why was he here at the first place?

xxx

With a worried frown, Stella set the burning pot on the small table in front of the TV. The steaming soup filled the air of the main room with its sweet aroma. Letting out a deep sigh, she headed back to the kitchen to grab the cups they would need. Seeing how tired Mac was, she had opted for a liquid meal, one that she hoped, he would get down quickly as she assumed he would be sleeping in no time. The couch would be the best place as well to rest and take a break. Her eyes scanned the closet and she grabbed finally two large, flashy pink cups. She smiled as she remembered the first time Mac had seen those. He had commented lightly on her color, not really to bother her, but more as they usually did to lighten the mood and start one of their teasing games that could lead their thoughts on trivial subjects and take the work out of their minds. Though she usually was the one to initiate them, that day he had been the one to initiate it. The same surprise had been him visiting her as he rarely did, respecting too much her no-man policy, but that day had been different. Frankly, it had been after a hell of a week. Especially after one of their friend had been found guilty of the murder of his lover's wife. She sighed, this case had been tough on both of them, especially Mac. Finding that his old buddy had used them to seek revenge and coldly planned a murder was beyond Mac's understanding. Friends remained friends; they couldn't use each other for cold blooded murder, at least not in Mac Taylor's world.

She sadly closed her eyes as she remembered that Mac, right now had no memory of this. In a way she was glad that at least he couldn't remember the bad things that had happened to him. But somehow she wondered if it wasn't yet those cruel and horrible things that had happened to him that had made him the man he was today. Would he be very different if the world had been nice on him? She shook her head, no, the Mac she used to know before Claire had died, was charming and playful, but also smart and caring. Her death had only hidden his light side and playful attitude. She knew that this side remained a part of who he was, and she hoped and prayed that one day it would resurface after he'd been healed.

Without thinking, her steps led her to the TV where she left the cups on the table and turned a deep frown towards the bathroom. She had heard something. Turning down the volume, she listened carefully. Her heart stopped when she heard Mac's painful voice calling for help. Rushing to the bathroom, she opened the door in a whoosh and almost screamed at what she saw.

Mac was in the tub, but his body had slipped down and his head was now under the water. His arms madly shaved the air, elbowing in panic the edge of the tub.

He's drowning, her mind screamed in horror as she ran to him and grabbed his arms. But his wet, slippery body escaped her fingers and he fell back with a sickening splash into the now red water. Without processing further the damage she could inflict him, she seized him under his armpits, and got his head out of the water. But it was too late, his wet body went limp in her arms, and his erratic moves froze in the air. In panic, she lifted him with desperate energy. He was heavy and slippery, and she had to tighten her slippery grasp around him not to let him fall back in the red water. Pulling him toward her with a desperate energy, she finally got his chest against her. But his weight combined to her fears made her lose her balance, and they both fell loudly on the bathroom floor. The cold, hard tiles greeted angrily her right hip, and she muffled a groan while Mac sprawled over her, his head sagging on her shoulder. Her heart beating rapidly in her chest, as he wasn't moving, she quickly rolled on her side with him. She carefully cuddled his chest and head pressed against her as she moved him. As he rolled limply on the wet tiles, his right arm slipped from his wet chest, and to the floor as life had abandoned him. Oh, God. The world froze around her the moment she saw his white, pale face.

"Mac?" she screamed frantically as she kneeled beside him. She prayed she hadn't been too late. Her throat unable to speak, her eyes glued to his chest, desperately watching to see it rise. Hopelessly still, her hands joined, she placed herself over him, ready for chest compressions. But then, she watched with relief as his body suddenly retched in pain, struggling to spill the water out of his lungs.

"Mac?...Mac?" she called in fear as he spewed out more water, his arms too weak to move beside him. Quickly, she helped him by rolling him to his side. His head lolled on the tiles as he coughed out more water.

Her hand reached out for the side of his pale face. She gently stroked his wet hair as he stopped coughing, and breathed in short, harsh rasps; the air whizzing between his clenched teeth.

"It's okay, Mac. It's okay," she soothed with a warm voice, reassuring his trembling body that whatever it was, it was over now. She carefully wrapped her arms around his wet, shivering body, pulling him to her embrace. Her cheek leaned against the wet skin of his face, as he weakly hissed to breathe. Sorrow filling her heart, she tightened her hold around him, hoping to stop the small tremors that ran through him. Her fingers gently pressed over his wet, bare chest, feeling his heart hammering madly in his chest. "It's okay, Mac," she softly spoke. "You're here with me, now."

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and reality dawned on him where he was. With relief, he recognized Stella's voice. His lips let escape a weary sigh as he tried to move and felt her warm hands holding him. He felt weak and weary, and even keeping his eyes open was a task too big right now. But slowly, in his blurred vision appeared the creamy tiles of the floor where his head lay. They span around him as if he was on a merciless boat and his stomach churned in pain.

"Stell..." he croaked, his throat still hoarse from the harsh cough.

Breathing heavily, he blinked to shave the thick veil covering his eyes. His hands flat on the floor and the tiles still swaying around him, he tried to push himself up. He felt dizzy, and too drained, his hands slipped aimlessly on the wet tiles. His chest fell back heavily. Unable to muster enough energy for standing, or even moving, he let his arms rest on his sides with a deep sigh, and a tearing moan. His head drooped back wearily on the cold floor, and his chapped lips brushed the wet tiles. His warm breath brought a small cloud before his mouth on the floor as he fought to focus his blurry vision. But he had a hard time thinking, and everything was swaying too much. So he finally shut his eyes, hoping the world would stop moving.

"I'm here Mac," Stella replied, her voice stuck in her throat from the tearful vision of Mac being so weak at his vain attempt to raise only his chest. Her arms wrapped back his chest while her eyes quickly scanned the bathroom and she finally noticed the small dots of blood, smearing the creamy tiles. She tightened her hold around him as he shivered restlessly, his wet body cooling at the contact of the air. Then, slowly, his heaving chest began to slow down his erratic rhythm of rise and fall.

"You're gonna be alright," she reassured him, her voice soft and comforting, though she had no idea how she was going to help him with what he was going through. She had no clue of what had just happened? In a complete loss of answers how could she help him? But as Mac slightly trembled in her arms, his back pressed against her chest, she knew she had to try. Whatever had happened to him, PTSD or accident, she would be there for him.

xxx

The white, neon lamps brightened the small room where, she and Sheldon had deposited the bathtub on a large, black tarp. The white tub smeared in blood and soot looked old fashioned and had been pretty heavy to get out from the ruins. Lindsay glanced at Sheldon.

"So where do you think we should start?" she asked with a grin.

Obviously, with the bright light they could see that the tub had a long story to tell. At first when they had turned it over in the ruins she had just expected to see an old, dirty tub, which is what happened. But inside that nasty tub lay another painful story. The whole thing was smeared with traces of blood, and obvious signs of battle and bloody prints. She had already taken lots of pictures of every corner of the thing, knowing that the blood had remained frozen because of the cold weather, and now in the lab, things could change quickly. So time wasn't on their side.

Sheldon sighed, knowing Lindsay was more than competent and had only asked his advice to be friendly. "I'll get the prints, you get the traces," he said with a firm glance.

"Then, let's do it," she replied with a sigh. Maybe they would finally get some answers for Mac.

Taking her kit, she rubbed a swab on a trace of blood, then another one inside the tub. Turning around the tub, she frowned and grabbed a blue light. Her orange shades on, the light shaved the outside of the bathtub. "Sheldon?" she called, needing confirmation.

Having collected two prints on the edge of the bathtub, he turned to see what she was doing and put his own glasses on. He nodded.

"What you make of this?" she said, the light showing a long row of blood drops and blue fluid glowing on the same line.

"Medium velocity blood spatter," he said bitterly.

"Yep, but the fluid looks to me as if it went along with the blood," she replied thinking.

He shook his head. "Maybe saliva? If Mac had been in a fight, then he or his aggressor could have spilled that blood and some saliva with the force of the blow."

"Let's check. If it's the same DNA with the blood, and not from Mac, then we might have the beginning of what happened." She crouched near the glowing dots and took a sample. At the same time, she took another one from the black soot smearing the right side of the tub, covering most of the previous blood.

Must have been spread on it after the blood. In fact, apart from the clean blood samples she had gathered on the other side of the tub, this side was messy, and the traces of blood were covered by the thin, black soot. She frowned, noticing a dent made in the porcelain ceramic. One inch wide, the dent was protruding on the inside and all around the surface it was chipped. But with no rust on it, she assumed this had been done recently. Whatever had made that dent had been thrust with a lot of strength, and had made quite an impression, she realized, as this kind of tub, were resistance to a lot of things, even flames and acid. So one couldn't pierce ceramic that easily. She pouted, her mind worrying about what had happened to Mac. But at least, with this dent she would have a good print of what it was. But the black soot smearing one side of the tub, and the dent was leading her to make some first assumption. It was clearly the evidence of a fire followed by projection, like an explosion. She tightened her lips; an explosion again. God, but just how many lives had Mac left before the last blow would kill him. She sighed; she started to believe that Danny was right. If they didn't find who was behind all this, this whole case could really end with Mac's death. Her heart squeezed and she frowned. No, it couldn't be. Mac was strong and she had to keep her mind on this hope. Focus, Linds! Focus!

Then, her eyes settled on the inside of the tub. There were traces of blood in the middle and near one side. Bending over, she took several samples and discovered a strand of thin, brown, matted hair, caked with blood. Her heart squeezed as it could only be Mac's. She put it in a small evidence bag. Looking more carefully at the rest of the tub, she quickly noted several, partial footprints opposed to where she had found the hair. With her kit, she measured them and took several pictures of them. Then, carefully, she applied a transparent tape over it. Biting her lower lip, she took a sample from the mud belonging to the prints and at the same time discovered a hair, but this time it was black and thick. Not Mac's. Continuing her search, she scanned the middle of the tub, she noticed some silver scraping and her heart skipped in her chest. Her mind already knowing with what the silvery color could match too: Mac's cuffs. Taking a step back, a quick image of Mac's cuffed wrists grazing the tub appeared in front of her. Could be that. But she would have to check to be sure.

She sighed this whole case was difficult, not just because one of their own was the vic, and having your boss out of order didn't really help, but mostly because until now, they didn't get a lot of evidence for a lead. She sighed. They had found nothing on Mac's clothes after processing them. No, the mud had covered his clothes and had mixed with any elements that he could have garnered from his aggressor, and his stay in the frozen water hadn't helped either. She really hoped that with this tub and the elements gathered at Medriano's place they would finally get a lead. For now, they weren't even sure of what had happened to Mac. No witness, especially with him having no memory at all, and the weather hadn't played to his favor. So yeah, they really needed a break this time, and possibly something that wouldn't explode in their faces like the last time.

In her inner pocket, her phone went off and she picked it up, stepping aside to let Hawkes collect the rest of the prints.

"Danny? Everythin' okay? I mean, Mac and..." She started, her heart skipping in her chest, praying that nothing more had happened. She quickly exchanged a worried glance with Sheldon as the former ME stopped waiting for the same news that she was waiting for.

"Linds," interrupted Danny. "They're okay. But I need you to go to Medriano's place. The ATF and the FDNY had cleared the place, so we can go process it now."

She closed her eyes and sighed in relief. She nodded with a small smile toward Sheldon. "I got to go, will you be alright?"

Sheldon nodded with a smile. "I think I'll be able to manage," he said with a small grin. It was part of a quiet banter to tease each other about his or her ability to manage a scene. Even if it never happened often, it always helped to set a better mood for the one who remained behind.

"Okay," she answered with a small smile. "Danny?" she said on the phone. "I'll be there in a few."

"Okay, thanks, Linds," Danny answered, his voice smiling at his wife.

"Oh don't worry, you'll get plenty of time to thank me when we get home." Her cheeks warmed suddenly as Sheldon glanced at her with a smile, before she exited the room.

She heard Danny laugh, before the line went dead, and she knew that at least she was still able to bring a smile to her husband's face. And considering the latest news, it wasn't an easy task.

xxx

Stella brushed back his damp hair and turned off the light on the nightstand. Gently, she covered his shivering body with a warm blanket, and sat beside him on the bed. She sighed as she looked at his tired features. Gently, she cuddled his cold hand in hers, remembering how hard it had been for him to simply walk after his last outbreak. His feet shuffling, and grating the carpet, as he had leaned heavily on her. His eyes were almost closed when he had crashed on the bed, and she had to roll him over to help him get into bed. It was like his whole body had just shut down and nobody was in command anymore. Her lips tight, her soft gaze caressed his face.

She hadn't realized how long they had remained in the bathroom, her cradling him in her arms like a scared, trembling child. She shivered at the thought of what could shake her partner like that. Even since he had lost his memory, he had managed to keep a poker face and hide his pain and discomfort from her. But this, in the bathroom, had shaken her more than she would ever admit it. She had never thought that anything could have that kind of impact on him, apart from the day he had lost Claire. Maybe it was his last trauma that had lowered down his mental barriers, making him vulnerable to any showdown, or it was his memory loss, which had sent him to a world he had nothing to hang on to. She sighed, whatever it was, it wasn't a good sign. It meant that whatever he had been dreaming of couldn't be a product of his imagination. Mac Taylor had never been afraid of his nightmares. She knew that. So if something was gnawing angrily at him it had to be real. Her lips tight, she observed him for a moment. He had never talked about his past, and she feared that something unresolved could be one of his latest triggers. She sighed heavily. Trembling, he cuddled upon himself as if he was trying to brace himself from something coming his way.

She let out another tired sigh, and tenderly brushed his damp hair, her fingers gently circling around his left ear. He was burning, and restless, his eyes fluttering to stay open. Her worried gaze rested upon his tensed features. One of her deepest fears was that she had to admit that maybe he would have never let anything surfaced on his own. So somehow, if she was there to help him to deal with what was back to haunt him, it could be a chance to help him start over, and healed as she had wished for him. Her lips tight, she hoped she was right about it. Gently, she stroked his cheek, her calm voice reassuring him. With small satisfaction, she watched as slowly he slumbered into a much deserved sleep.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered to his ear as her breath caressed his cheek and she deposited a warm kiss on his forehead. As if he had heard her, he stirred a little, and she watched to see if he was waking up. But his eyes remained close, his body still under the warm blanket. Gently, she put his hand back under the covers and tiptoed toward the door. Only on the threshold, she glanced back at his frail form curled under the covers and hoped that he could finally rest.

xxx

"Gee!" voiced angrily Danny as he slipped on a charred piece of wood and almost fell lamentably to the ground. But thanks to his cane, he managed to remain up, but not without letting escape a small wince from the pressure put on his hips and back. Damn it, Danny! Be careful! Not the time to break your back alright.

A deep sigh echoed from behind him as he felt a hand gently pressed under his arm and helped him to steady himself. "Told ya, you shouldn't be here," scolded gently Lindsay.

"Yeah, well, they're my friends as much as yours, Linds," said Danny as he hobbled near the window and peered down the street.

"It's not what I meant and you know it." She lightly replied, knowing he wasn't really angry after her.

"Sorry, Linds, but with this," he said, pointing at the mess they were in. "Mac used his third lucky cards and this time, Stella and Don weren't far from becoming casualties too," he voiced angrily. He gave her a sorry glance. "Didn't mean to snap." He apologized. "Sorry."

"I know, but Adam and I are quite capable of handling a crime scene without you. Besides, when Mac would be back to his old self you can be sure he's gonna be pissed off you didn't remain in the lab as he ordered you, though Stella might deal with you much sooner," she quipped with a small smirk.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I just came to take a look," he dropped, his sight shaving the scattered pieces of charred wood and wall on the ground.

"Right, it had nothing to do with your revengeful side?" replied bitterly Lindsay as she bent over a long shaft and examined it with her light. It looked like the remains that had, according to Flack, supported the shotgun.

Danny glanced furtively towards his wife rummaging through pieces of wood and tagging some of them, before she grabbed a long shaft and stared at it. He had to admit it was hard to swallow that someone was after Mac and that whatever they had done until now hadn't been enough. He sighed. And knowing that once again his life had been in danger, with this time Stella and Don becoming potential DOA too, was just making his blood boil. He clenched his jaw, it was like their enemy knew each of their moves and how they would proceed to clean the scene and left as less evidence as possible. Who were these guys?

"Danny," called Lindsay, bringing him back to reality. "Look at that."

He turned a pair of wide eyes as he stared at the broken shaft of a shotgun. "Must be the thing that shot at Mac." He turned towards the door, his mind replaying what had happened, and the shotgun firing, digging a big hole in the door and missing his friend by an inch. Yeah, Mac really got lucky. But he couldn't shake the bad feeling he had about all this. At one point one would run out of luck and it would be over.

He closed his eyes, remembering Mac's troubled face when they had met in his office this morning. His clothes were a bit too loose for him to give him the same aura of strength and power he used to, though it wasn't what had really mattered to Danny. And besides the shadows lingering in his friend's eyes, what had really shaken him was his words. Messer. It seemed so cold and empty of Mac's natural warmth. Did Mac really remember him beside his name and the fact he was married? It was like his heart hadn't been there, but only a cold mind. That warmth usually conveyed by his turquoise, ocean eyes had been gloomily absent. But somehow Stella hadn't seemed to be bothered by it and Danny really wondered why. Okay, she had spent all her time with him since he had been released from the hospital, but even that, she seemed to expect another thing from him. Was there anything more behind Mac's odd behavior that the pair were hiding from the team? He sighed. He wasn't sure, but he could bet there was something more with Mac, he just hoped they would be able to help their friends and do it fast.

xxx

Pacing the living room, Stella glanced at the pink cups she had set a few hours before and sighed. She couldn't believe what had happened. What was happening to them? What was really going on with her partner? How could he be in danger in her own apartment? She swallowed slowly her fears, slumping heavily into the couch. Was he breaking into small pieces? Would he ever be alright at all? And why hadn't he been able to get out of the tub? She couldn't believe he had remained almost absent for the most part of it. What was really going on in his mind? Fidgeting nervously with her phone in her hands she decided she had to call him, after all he had told her not to hesitate and besides, seeing Mac's state, he would need at least a quick checkup tomorrow. She closed her eyes trying to shave away the image of his reopened stitches that had slowly reddened the water in the bath. After helping him to dress up, well literally dressing him up as he was too drained to make a move; she had applied a small dressing over his reopened stitches, hoping it would be enough for the night.

Sighing, she dialed his number, hoping he would bring her some answers.

"Dr Shen's office," answered a young woman's voice.

"Hi, I'm Detective Bonasera, and I..." she began before the voice cut her short.

"Ah, Detective," answered quickly the young woman. "The doctor asked me to pull you through if you called. Can you wait a second please?"

"Sure." Shen had asked his secretary to pull her through right away? She began to be really worried now. She frowned.

"Detective? Is everything okay with Detective Taylor?" echoed Dr Shen's voice.

"Not exactly," she sighed.

"I was expecting your call. I'm sorry, tell me what happened?"

Stella looked at the window, the bright lights of the city glowing in the night. "I don't really know. One minute he was taking a bath and the next he was drowning and screaming. I... I never saw him act like that."

"It's odd, you're right. But I must say I'm not surprised. It's due to his trauma. Did he ever have any trouble with water in his life? Did he drown as a child or anything special happened on a boat?"

Stella thought a moment. "Not that I can recall." she sighed, and now she couldn't help Mac because she didn't know enough about him.

Damn it! All these years, more than ten years of friendship and she couldn't answer those simple questions. Was he fearing the water? She cringed internally. It's true he had never spoken too much of his past, but she had never really tried to push to know more. Maybe she had been afraid of finding things that would break the beautiful image of the hero she had in her mind. And maybe she hadn't tried enough and that's why he had never talked. Her lips tight in remorse, she closed her eyes and promised herself that when he would get better, she would ask him about his past. She would do whatever it takes to overcome their own tendency to remain each aside and talk only in time of need. No, she needed to know more, she wanted to know more, to help him. In fact, she was starting to understand why he had been so frustrated when he had woken up at the hospital. It wasn't the things she had hidden. No, she just had no real clue about his past, and that's what had pissed him off. What kind of friend was she, if she didn't try to know him better? Damn it! She should have known that he needed to talk, but busy with her own wounds and Jess' death, they had put so many things aside. And now he was lying trembling in her bed, shaken by whatever thing that had happened to him and she couldn't help because she had no clue of what it was.

Of course if he had screamed about a white cloud or something like that, she would have had a clue. But that? Drowning? What the hell had happened to him? Furthermore, he lived n a city surrounded by water, so if he really had any trouble with water she would have noticed by now. He wouldn't have taken boats during their last case, though knowing Mac, even afraid he would have sucked it up and put a brave face. But yet, she was inclined to think she could see the difference between his brave face put voluntarily and when he was really fine. The voice of Dr Shen, pulled her out from her reverie.

"Detective Bonasera?" Dr Shen called.

"Huh, yes, sorry. I..." She replied tiredly.

"It's okay, Detective Bonasera. How is he now?"

"He's sleeping." She sighed, at least she hoped he was.

"Okay, why don't you come with him tomorrow?" asked Dr Shen. "We'll run some test and see how he is."

"Well, I was thinking about it. He reopened his stitches and it's not nice to see."

"Ah, did he bleed a lot?"

"No, I don't think so." Come to think of it, the water in the tub had been really red when she had released the tap, she realized. But then, she had put new dressings over his wounds just as he was beginning to fall asleep and it didn't seem to look so bad, though with the faint light she couldn't swear it wouldn't have looked that good. "We'll come to see you first thing in the morning then." She finished.

"Okay, I'll be waiting for you," replied Shen as he hung up.

She stared at the night sky falling over the city and let out a deep sigh following the slow descent of the snow. The weather channel was forecasting another three days of freezing weather, with strong gust of wind and freezing temperatures, with only a calm weather tomorrow. Her arms crossed over her chest in a vain effort of shaving away the small shivers she felt. But she knew how futile it was. She was shivering because of Mac's state and not really from the cold. At least he's here and safe, her mind repeated to calm her fears. He's not alone anymore, he's with you and you both are going to make it. She sighed. They had to. Her shadow still reflected in the window, she dialed her second correspondent, hoping for better news.

"Danny?" The young man answered her with a slur as he had just woken up. "You okay, Danny?"

"Yeah, yeah, just dozed off, sorry."

Stella checked her watch, it was around nine and as neither Mac nor she was in the lab, Danny was taking over their bad habits. She smiled weakly at the young man's dedication. "Did you find anything?"

"Huh? Sorry, no. We got samples from the blast in Medriano's place and Lindsay is comparing it to the explosive's samples we got from the ruins and the bath tub, but so far we didn't get much. I'm really sorry, Stella."

"Not your fault, Danny."

"I wish I had better news," he paused as if he was thinking about something. "How you guys doin'?" his tone was low and asking for more than a simple, casual answer.

She sighed inwardly. How could she tell him about Mac? He didn't know about his PTSD asShen had asked herto keep it secret, at least until Mac knew himself and could choose if he wanted the others to know. Though she knew his answer. He would probably keep that a secret.

"We're okay, Danny," she lied. But it seemed her lie was too obviously forced as Danny was quick to call her on it.

"Hey, c'mon, Stell, it's me. If now I can feel when you're lying to me, it means it's pretty bad. What's going with Mac? I mean really?" His voice was stronger, filled with worries, and determined to get answers this time.

"I'm sorry, Danny. Don't worry, Mac will be okay." She softly replied. She was too tired to explain anything to Danny, though she could understand his worries.

"So he's not right now?" He was quick to pick from her words.

Smart ass. She sighed. "No he's not doing so well. But you know him, Danny. He'll come around eventually." She could hear the long pause her young friend gave her.

"If there's anything I can do, ya know ya don't have to ask right? I'll do it right away."

"I know Danny, and Mac knows that too."

"Maybe we could come visit you guys tomorrow with Lucy, it might cheer him up and awake some of his memory?"

Stella smiled at the warm support Danny was offering. "It would be nice Danny, but I don't know for tomorrow, I'll have to check with Mac and see how he's doing. I don't think we'll go to the office either." But then, if they weren't going to the office, Mac would want to go back to his apartment. And that wasn't a better option either. She cringed at the thought of him reliving Claire's death. That event had nearly killed him, and honestly, she had no idea if he could make it back a second time.

"Oh," muffled Danny a bit disappointed. "Well as long as you guys are fine. Well we'll see anyway."

"Thanks, Danny." She knew he wanted to help, but right now, Mac really needed to rest and get back on his feet at his own pace.

"Stell, you sure you guys are okay?" asked Danny, his voice still full of concerns.

"Yeah, don't worry. We'll do fine."

"Alright, you take care."

She sighed as she hung up and leaned back heavily on the couch. She was tired. This day had been too much to bear. Between seeing Mac almost shot and then the explosion where he had remained frozen for sometime and then that scary moment in the tub was just too much for her. She let out a heavy sigh.

She didn't know for how long she stared at the TV without really watching. The reporter was probably speaking about the latest news but she didn't care. Her mind wasn't up to it. No, in fact she was still in the room with Mac. But tired and drained by this day, her mind finally drifted, only to be startled a little while later. Glancing at her watch she realized she must have dozed off as an hour had passed since she had talked to Danny. She frowned remembering that in her dream someone was calling her name. Listening carefully just in case she was reassured after a quiet minute, and that only silence remained. But then a faint moan came from her bedroom and confirmed her worst fear. In dread of finding her partner in a wreck state like the last time, she rushed to the room and opened it with a whoosh.

Instantly, the corridor's light bathed shyly the room and the man moaning in the middle of the bed. A cold grip ensnared her heart. This time, Mac wasn't drowning, but the spectacle he offered her wasn't to reassure her either. The blankets were rolled and tossed at the foot of the bed, and he seemed in a deep struggle against an invisible force. His body lightly jerked as to set free from an invisible grip. In the second she was by his side, and sitting next to him, she caught his flying wrists as he was about to knock her down. She pinned them down, her heart beating madly and realized with a mix of fear and sorrow that he hadn't resisted much, already too drained to fight her. His lips parted, letting a painful groan escape his throat. His chest heaved in pain through his breath coming in short rasps, just before his back arched to free himself from her grip.

"...'d get nothing from me..." he mumbled, his eyes closed and streaks of sweat dripped to his neck. His whole body was covered in sweat and his t-shirt and pants were now sticking to him.

Stella leaned over him to maintain him still on the bed and to prevent him from harming himself, her hands still pinning his arms to his sides. "Mac, it's me. It's Stella," she called with a wavering voice, hoping to reach him through his nightmare. "You're home and safe, please wake up, Mac."

"...home..." he muffled, as his body arched in pain before it finally gave up and dropped heavily on the damp sheet. Slowly, his erratic moves stopped. "Not home," he whispered, his voice wavering and filled with torment. "...no home for me...not givin' you anythin'," he slurred out. His head lolled to his side, and she could see his glistening veins from his neck throbbing beneath his wet skin.

His words hit her with dread. Not home? "You are at my place, Mac. Remember? You're with me. It's Stella." Oh God, what had happened to him? What painful secret had he buried inside his tortured soul? She swallowed painfully as his back arched again as if he had been struck by an invisible blow. With a tearful moan he fell down exhausted, his breathing now laborious. "Mac, please. It's Stella," she spoke with pain. It hurt her to see him in so much pain and trapped in this nightmare. "Please, Mac." She pleaded, her eyes misting from his torn features.

"...not home," he muffled, grinding his teeth, his forehead creased deeply.

Hoping he wasn't going to fight her again, she slowly released his arms, and cradled his head between her hands, her hip now resting beside his sweaty chest. Her thumbs gently stroked his temples, trying to reach his mind, as her other fingers brushed his hairs. "It's okay, Mac, it's over." She soothed. "You're home now." She stared anxiously at his flushed face. Then, after what seemed an eternity to her, she saw his features slowly relaxed and his eyes fluttered open.

He blinked. "...home?" he murmured, his voice hoarse and unsure.

She smiled warmly at the two thin rays, trying to look at her. "Yes, Mac, home." with a smile, she gently brushed his damp hair, her fingers taking the time to caress his burning forehead. She knew he needed to feel something concrete and real like her fingers on him to keep him grounded to this reality. After that kind of nightmare, it was the only way to get back to reality. With joy she felt him finally relax slowly, his breathing slowing down until his eyes were fully open.

He blinked and finally realized he wasn't being tortured, all these images had been a nightmare, a delirium. It had never happened. He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath; he was safe. He let out a heavy sigh and felt a warm hand caressing his cheek, and brushing his hair. He knew who it belonged to, the same woman who was there every time he was waking up from a nightmare or from the harsh reality; Stella. He sighed; she was a constant reminder that reality wasn't that painful. He opened his eyes again and watched as her warm emeralds were carefully observing him, anxiety lingering behind her green jewel.

"I...I'm okay," he tried, but the words came out unnatural and painful before his eyelids shut again. He was too tired to fight and try to give the image of strength he wanted to.

She watched as her partner tried to pull his usual brave face, but the last nightmare and his numerous brushes with death had clearly broken his shield. It broke her heart to see him so vulnerable. Obviously, there was more than one thing that was eating at him. Softly, she brushed back a short strand of wet hair from his forehead. Her fingers gently followed his wet temple before they lingered over his cheek. He shivered under her touch. Her lips tight, she glanced around to the messy bed and the blanket rolled at the foot of the bed. Even with the heater on, her apartment wasn't that warm, and seeing how wet he was, he was going to be cold in a few minutes; if he wasn't already.

"Mac?"

He slowly opened his eyes again, brought back by her calm and soft voice.

"We need to get you out of these clothes," she stated, her eyes pointing at the cold and wet things that stuck to his skin. "You're burning and drenched. Mac you're gonna catch a cold like that."

He nodded slowly and raised his elbows. His body was aching everywhere, he was so tired, and before he knew it he was lying back on the bed, his body having given up on him. Stella called his name as he closed his eyes, his mind still further away from this reality and the place he was. He blinked trying to focus his attention on her but it was hard with the wrenching headache hammering behind his skull.

Her heart squeezed in pain at the weak state he was in. "It's okay," she said, reassuring him when his eyes locked wearily with hers. She gently caressed his forehead. His eyes pleaded her to understand that he was too tired to move right now. "Let me help," she whispered, realizing he couldn't move.

He swallowed, his eyes anchored to hers to remain awake. He was so tired. He felt her hands gently fumbling with his wet t-shirt and slowly pulling it up. A groan escaped his lips as she helped him free his left arm.

She took a slow breath, her eyes not leaving him. He was so weak that he barely moved to remove his t-shirt. Mac was just limp in her hands. And the minute she freed his left arm, it fell back limply on the bed; his eyes fluttering again. She clenched her jaw, trying to be gentle while every move provoked a faint moan of pain from him. She knew he was hurting, but she had to get him out of these wet clothes before he caught a cold, and honestly, seeing his current state she wasn't sure he would resist to that. Then, his right arm was free too, and it slowly fell down to rest over his naked stomach. Carefully, she lifted his head to pull away the rest of his wet t-shirt. His head fell back limply to the fluffy pillow and his eyes immediately shut, exhausted. Her eyes lingered over his sweating chest slowly rising with painful grating breaths. With relief she noted that his dressing was still in place; at least he hadn't pulled more on his stitches. She sighed, but seeing his strength, it was out of the question to think about giving him another t-shirt and to try to move him more. Every move had hurt him, and she had not the heart of hurting him. No he would have to do with this for tonight.

Picking up the covers rolled in a ball, she pulled them over his shivering body. He slowly trembled a minute, before the warmth finally settled in and he became still again. Gently, she picked up his right hand which had fallen from the covers and nestled it in her hands. She muffled a silent prayer for him to have finally a peaceful night, but she wasn't sure anymore. Shen had warned her about PTSD's aftereffects: dissociated personalities, nightmares even awake, angry outbursts. She sighed, so far he had shown the majority of them at one point or another, she just hoped his pills were finally going to work, and he would get better.

A new wave of light tremors coming from his exhausted body brought her back to the reality, and his eyes fluttered open, peering anxiously through the shadows. Her stomach churned at the sight of his frightened look, searching anxiously the small darkness for something to hang on. Then, his eyes settled on her, and he didn't move, staring, probably wondering if she was real, she realized with pain.

She stroked his cheek. "You need to rest," she whispered as she put back his hand under the covers. She bent over him, and laid a warm kiss over his forehead, hoping the Mac she had always known would understand her action. She saw a small sparkle, lighting his eyes and quickly disappeared as if his mind had brought him back a new memory and had ripped it from him right away. Her heart still in pain, she brushed back his wet hair and let out a small sigh. Her lips tight, she finally stood up and headed for the door, her whole body aching by leaving him in such a distress state of mind. But considering his lack of memory with her, and his late showdown, she didn't want to make him uncomfortable by staying over. Her hand nestled around the door handle, resisting to her heart that strongly called her to stay with him. She sighed and as she was about to close the door, to her surprise she heard his sleepy voice broke the silence.

"Stay," his weak voice murmured in torment.

Biting her lower lip she thought a moment, pondering if it was wise to be so close of him while her mind and heart wanted more than anything to hug him and be with him, even more than a friend. Anything could then happen in their frame of mind; anything that both could regret after the things would have finally settled. She looked back at the curled up form fading between the blankets. Even resting, he seemed like the ghost of himself. But as he muffled a weak moan, her decision was made and she closed the door before heading back to the bed. Without another word, she sat beside his cuddled form as if her brief absence had made him colder, and he had tried to find warmth by curling around the covers. A weak, and unsure hand came out of the covers and softly touched her face, carefully grazing her cheek as if she was in thin crystal and on the verge to break.

His heart pounded madly in his chest when his fingers gently stroked her soft skin. She's real, his mind shot with hope. "You're not a dream?" he asked weakly, not sure if his fingers could sense the difference between reality or not. Last time, he remembered he had really felt his lungs filling with water, although it had been a nightmare. Could it mean he imagined her skin, he imagined Stella? He frowned, but he had never touched her before, right? Never felt her skin beneath his fingers before this day? So how could he remember it and recreate it. He let out a small sigh, his mind even more confused than before.

Her heart wrenched in pain at the cold realization that he still thought of being in another nightmare. Her lips tight, she nestled his cold hand in hers and brought it to her lips. She laid a soft kiss on his cold fingers, her eyes not leaving his. "I'm real, Mac," she spoke softly and keeping his hand pressed against her heart. Burning tears threatened to well down, but she held them back. His face moved slightly, the faint light of the streets gleaming over his tired features.

"Don't leave," he murmured in torment, his eyes fighting to stay open while his fingers remained firmly clung at her hand. She was his last anchor to reality, his last beacon to remain sane, his hope to survive and escape this chaotic world he had sunk into.

"I'm not," she soothed with a soft voice. Carefully, she crawled up to the bed. She lifted the covers and leaned against his back on the left side of the bed. Immediately, he curled up against her, looking for a reassuring presence. His wet pants rubbed against the sheet while his body sank further into her open arms. Her throat tightened at the gesture of trust and need for comfort coming from Mac. It meant a lot coming from a man who had built so many barriers around him. But in a way, it scared her. It meant he had to feel really down to act like that. Careful not to graze his wounds, she wrapped her arms around his trembling chest.

"I'm right here," she murmured, her fingers gently brushing his wet hair. His body slightly trembled inside her arms. "I'm right here," she repeated as she tightened her hold around him, her chin coming to rest on the top of his head.

Slowly, she felt his shivering fading away and he finally relaxed in her arms. After a while, reassured by his breathing even, sleep finally claimed her.

But like in her worst nightmare, her sleep was short lived as she woke up with a start. She peered through the darkness around her, before realizing that she was home, in her own bed. Then, the faint sobs coming from the man in her arms drew back her attention as painful moans suddenly escaped his throat.

Mac arched in pain, his whole body covered in cold sweat. "I'm not...givin' you...anythin'," he slurred painfully, trembling again.

She closed her eyes, preparing herself for a new wave of tremors. And then, it came, his voice muffled by his moans and his body arching under a tearing, invisible pain. She tightened her hold around him, feeling his body radiating heat again. Her heart pounded in her chest as he let escape a tearing sob and tried hopelessly to bury his head in the pillow. He brought his knees to his chest to brace himself from whatever force was coming at him in his dream.

"Mac?" she called gently, hoping to have more luck this time, and to free him from his nightmare.

"Lieut' 'nt..." he moaned. "Taylor...mat...matricule number...ah...508...ah...334...ow...OJ," he blurted out in agony. "All you...get from me." A new, painful moan escaped his lips before he stiffened in her arms.

Torture. The word exploded in her mind at the dark realization of what his nightmare was about. But when? She wondered in fear. Lieutenant? It had to be when he was in the Marines. Slowly, she lowered her head, and her lips brushed his ear. She could feel his beating heart hammering in his chest in rhythm of his laborious breath "You're in New York, Mac," she whispered softly. Her hand gently stroked his side. Cold sweat greeted her fingers as she softly caressed his skin. He shivered lightly under her touch. "You're home and safe." She continued and finally was graced by his beating heart slowing down a little.

"...safe...?" he mumbled, between rasping breath.

"Yes, Mac. You're with me, Stella? You remember."

She waited anxiously, and then his tense body relaxed again, his breathing easing. Her hand delicately caressed his sweating chest, and her warm breath brushed his clammy neck. She shifted to get as close as she could to his shivering body, and felt with relieve as his back pressed against her, in need of her reassuring warmth.

"Stell," he muffled as his legs stretched a bit, releasing his curled up position. His cold feet met hers and she froze suddenly. The act was just too familiar not to provoke anything from her core.

She tightened her hold around him, pressing his body against her, and took a deep breath. "It was a nightmare, Mac. Just a nightmare."

"...felt... so real," his hurt voice let out.

Burning tears welled down her cheeks as she nestled her forehead in the crook of his shoulder. "Just a nightmare, Mac. Wasn't real," she lied. Oh God. What pain had he endured there to have it resurfaced so painfully now? She tightened her hold around him, she couldn't let him go now, not with what she had just learned. Her friend was in much more need of comfort than she had thought. Buried inside his soul was more pain than the loss of his wife. Somewhere in his life he had been tortured and he was still wearing the stigmas from it. Damn it! Why he had never told her? Why did he have to keep everything inside? He couldn't keep it inside and think he would keep it buried forever! She shivered herself as he shifted in her arms, turning to face her. She couldn't see if his eyes were open or not as the city lights were coming from behind him. But she knew his face was inches from her as she felt his warm breath caressing her cheek.

"...thought I was alone again..." his tired lips let escape, before his head sunk back against her shoulder. He shivered at the painful thought before his mind drifted back to a world of darkness.

Her arms softly snaked around his bare chest and she felt chills run down her spine. But this time it wasn't due to pain. No. It was her skin feeling sparkles on the tip of her fingers every time they came in contact with his sweaty skin. She closed her eyes and rolled on her back, pulling him with her. He offered no resistance and soon his upper body lay limply over her.

"You're never alone, Mac," she whispered. Gently, her left hand nestled around his neck, her fingers playing with the small, wet hair covering his nape. "I'm here, now," she whispered into his ear. "I'm here now."

Then, his body became still in her arms. She could feel his racing heart echoing through his chest. Slowly, her hand pressed over his back and she bit her lips, feeling a new surge of warmth invading her core as he was pressed against her. Oh God, she muttered, trying to remember that Mac needed her, cool and able to think, not getting on edge and delighting of him being in her arms, though it was the perfect truth. She had craved for years to feel his warm and strong body pressed against her. And now that it was happening, he needed her mind focused, he needed her comfort. She sighed inwardly, praying for his pain to go away, and she tightened her hold. His arms around her tightened too, and again her heart skipped in her chest. But beneath her fingers his skin was pulsing madly as if he was afraid of falling asleep again.

"You can sleep, I'm right here."

"Not tired," he muffled, his face sinking deeper into the crook of her shoulder, in search of the soft, reassuring contact of her body. "I'm good," he added. He blinked, trying to shave off the sleep pulling him into the hungry darkness. He didn't want to sleep anymore. He just wanted to lie there, in the arms of this woman who really seemed to be more than his partner. As long as he would stay like that and he wouldn't sleep, then he would be all right. He opened his eyes and stared at the small mirror reflecting the gleaming light of the street through the curtain. He didn't want to go back there. With a short breath, he glared at the night, praying for the day to arrive soon.

Then, as the numbness left him, he felt her soft hands gently caressing his back, sending shivers down his spine, but those weren't from fear this time. His heart rate slowed down, lulled by her soft strokes. And since they had come back after the explosion, he was finally able to focus his mind on where he was. That was then that he realized that he hadn't dreamed of Stella. She was really holding him, reassuring him and comforting him in bed; she was real. He wondered what had happened from the moment they had come back from the explosion to now. Honestly, things were all melted in a blur in his mind. He could remember something about water and maybe her talking about getting him in a bath, and then drowning, and... His stomach heaved in pain as the vivid, painful memory came back with full force. He closed his eyes while painful tremors traveled through his weary body. He muffled a groan and buried his face in her shoulder again as the memory was back, and with it the awful, wrenching pain coursing through his body.

He remembered now, the day they had broken his leg to make a point, hindering any escape from him. His arms covered Stella's as he sank further into her warm embrace, trying desperately to escape his painful past gnawing at his soul. They were four to hold him that day; four to pin him down to the battered, spoiled soil; four plus one. He could still see the face of the fifth soldier, probably their boss, his dark smile plastered on his face. Mac took a long breath, his mind sickeningly giving him each detail of his torture. He shut firmly his eyes, but the images remained. Right after his back had hit the ground the blows had come, raining to his chest and face at first and then to his legs. He clenched his jaw, feeling the pain hitting him again as if he was back there.

They had used an iron bar, whacking it to his leg left until the bone broke in a sick sound like a piece of dried wood. He tightened his hold around Stella, as beads of sweat ran down his hair and to his neck. He hissed a painful breathing and shivered. After his leg had been broken, he had thought they would leave him alone to deal with his pain, but then it had only been the beginning of his silent agony. They had tied his hands behind his back. Turned on his back, his body crushing his hands, he had been helpless as they had twisted his leg to see how long he could scream before passing out. It had lasted for hours, until finally his mind, lost in a world of pain had enough and it had shut down on its own. He trembled uncontrollably against Stella, trying to erase those painful moments that cluthed madly at his soul.

She couldn't sleep. Mac was trembling in her arms, and she was sure that if he hadn't been fighting sleep, he would have moaned in pain in his slumber. But his will was back at the helm and he was doing his best to appear strong, though she appreciated that he had let her help him. His warm, irregular breath grazed her neck, and she stroked his back, in hopes it would ease his breathing. He shivered again in her arms and she pulled his trembling body even closer. She felt him react almost immediately, his hands weakly pressing her sides, and his face snuggling deeper under her chin. His damp hair brushed her skin and she too shivered but from the love she had for him instantly soaring inside. He needed her, he needed to feel loved and not alone. Tightening her hold around him, she laid a soft kiss on his cheek, intending to make sure he knew he was loved here and now.

"I'm here, Mac... I'm here." Her lips tight, her eyes shaved slowly the ceiling poorly lighted by the light coming from the street. Tonight they would not rest. She doubted that he would be able to sleep after all this. His stress was getting stronger and she was powerless to help him. But now at least he had accepted her to get closer, and maybe from a closer position she would be able to help him. At least, she was hoping for it.

...TBC

A/N: Well, as I said before it's okay to cry. I just hope you're not too sad. This was a tough chapter for Mac and I hope it worked out fine with you guys. I must say it was necessary with this story, and considering Mac's trauma, nightmares and his past had to play a big part in it. Next part will see Mac and Stella's relationship evolve from this point. Again, feel free to let me know what you thought of this.

Have a great weekend.

Eternal Flame coming up this weekend