I can see his chest almost imperceptibly rising and falling, but that doesn't stop panic overriding common sense, and my fingers are feeling for a pulse on his neck. His eyelids open slowly, slowly. He blinks, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again.

"Mac?" I ask. I have no idea what's going on, no idea whether I should be leaving him to wake up slowly, or whether I should be seriously worried. I'm leaning more towards seriously worried.

He groans, and I decide to take this as an encouraging sign. "Mac?" Repeating his name is all I can think to say.

"Stell." The word is barely audible.

"Are you alright?" It may be a stupid question, but once again I can't think of anything else.

"Yeah. Yeah. Tired."

"Just tired? Mac, you look dreadful!" I can hear the shrill, panicked edge to my voice.

"Tired. Sorry…" His eyes are closing again. I shake his arm, fumbling in my pocket for my phone without looking. I don't know what's happening here. I'm scared.

"Mac. Mac. Stay awake. Please." I find the right button on the speed dial and hold it down, pressing the cold plastic hard against my ear, hear the tinny ringing through the speaker. "Come on, come on," I'm muttering, and it probably applies to Mac too.

Finally there's the click of connection. "Hawkes."

"It's Stella." My words are tumbling out of my mouth, almost tripping over themselves in their haste to be heard. "Where are you?"

"In the garage, just got into my car. You ok?"

"Can you get back up here? Please," I tack on as an afterthought.

"Coming." He hangs up. I wait. I shake Mac's arm. I keep saying his name. I check for his pulse again, pointlessly. I look at his desk, looking for something, anything, to explain this. How long does it take to get up from the garage? I pick up my phone again and force myself to put it down again.

I'm suddenly, unreasonably angry. This shouldn't be happening. He needs to wake up. On impulse, knowing I'll regret it, I slap his face, using more force than I should.

"Oww…" he mutters, and I do it again, caring more about getting a response from him than about hurting his feelings.

"Can you hear me?"

His eyes open again, wider than they did before, and I think that I have never seen a better sight. "Stella…"

"Stay with me, ok? Stay here."

"Yeah. Stell. What…"

I crouch beside him and squeeze his hand gently. "Don't worry. It's going to be fine, ok?"

"Mmm…" He lifts his head a little, and I reach up and support him, standing, so that my arm reaches around his shoulders, his head in the crook of my elbow. I'm still holding his hand. I'm not letting go of him.

At last I hear what my ears have been straining for – the single sharp ding of the elevator. Hawkes walks out and sees me. He starts running, and I wonder how he knows that something's this wrong, because he can't see Mac from there. My face must have told him. Flack once said that I had a terrible poker face.

Hawkes shoves open the glass door and takes the scene inside the office in at a glance. This is when I'm eternally thankful to whatever gods are listening that Hawkes has been trained as a doctor, and one who'll check on the patient before asking superfluous questions. He doesn't bother asking Mac if he's ok – I'm sure it's extremely obvious that he's not – and instead is going quickly through the basic checklist of heart rate, temperature, pupil dilation.

"What happened?" he asks as he's doing this. I'm not sure who the question is addressed to, but I'm the only one who's going to answer.

"I don't know," I say, and my voice sounds strangely jerky. "I don't know. I don't know what's happening. I just… I just came in here to wake him up, and he won't wake up, he won't wake up properly. I didn't know what to do. I don't know."

"Sit down," he says, but I shake my head stubbornly. Can't leave Mac.

"God," I say faintly. "I should have done something before. I should have noticed. I should've… God, I don't know, I should've done something."

"Not… not your fault…" comes a shaky whisper, and I almost cry with relief because Mac's finally focusing properly on what's going on, even if it's obviously a struggle.

"Mac?" Hawkes's voice is firmly authoritative, and I'm only too happy to silently hand control of this surreal situation over to him. "Are you with us?"

"Yeah. Umm, I think so."

"That's good. How are you feeling?"

"I…I don't know. Don't feel awake. Head… My head hurts." He's forcing the words out and he's blinking too often and having to jerk his eyelids open again each time. "Stell?"

"It's ok. I'm here. It's going to be ok." I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes my hand back, but with only a fraction of the pressure.

Hawkes hooks a chair with his foot and pulls it towards him, sitting so that he's on a level with Mac. "What happened, do you know?"

"No. Don't know. Sorry."

"Don't worry, it's ok. Now, have you taken any medication today? Prescription or otherwise?"

Fleetingly, and with a flash of guilt, I think back to not so many minutes ago, jokingly talking about drugging him. Misplaced humour if there ever was any.

He shakes his head slightly. "No."

"Alcohol?"

I'm struck with the sudden hysterical urge to laugh. Mac Taylor, drinking on the job? Yeah, that'd be the day.

"No."

"Any head trauma?"

"No."

"What have you had to eat and drink today?"

"Coffee. Water. A sandwich. Umm, it had salad in."

"Right. Did everything come from the break room?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure? You didn't get anything from a street vendor on the way in?"

"He didn't go home last night," I interject on his behalf.

"Mac," Hawkes says sternly, "That's not a good idea. You need to stop staying here overnight."

"You sound like Stella," Mac groans and Hawkes and I glace at each other, eyes meeting, and we can each see our own relief echoed there. If he's making jokes, that's surely a good sign.

"Ok, I'll drop it for now, but I'll make sure Stella gives you a proper lecture some other time." Hawkes's tone turns serious again. "I need to know what you remember."

"Umm… I was working. Paperwork. Stella came in. She told me to go home." I roll my eyes, but he can't see me and continues. "I don't know. I don't remember if I finished or not. I just remember feeling so heavy, tired. Then Stella shouting at me. That's it. Sorry."

Hawkes looks at me and raises his eyebrows. "Did you shout at him?"

"Well, yes. Sort of. When I was trying to get him to wake up."

Mac chuckles slightly. With his free hand he grabs the edge of his desk and pulls himself up so that he's sitting upright. I finally let go of his hand and push down the lever on his seat to prevent the back from tilting again. He rubs his eyes.

"Feeling better?" I ask.

"Yeah, a lot." He sounds better too. His voice is stronger now and he doesn't look quite so deathly pale anymore.

Hawkes stands. "If you don't mind, Mac, I'm going to take a blood sample from you and run it through tox. There's defiantly something in your system. We need to find out what it is."

"Ok," Mac agrees, and starts getting up. Hawkes and I simultaneously put our hands on his shoulders and force him back down into the chair.

"Don't get up; you'll probably just fall down again. I'll get a syringe and bring it back here. Stella, keep an eye on him!"

"Got it," I say, giving him a mock salute. Amazing how quickly the mood has recovered. Hawkes leaves, heading down the hall, and I seize the opportunity to sit in his vacated chair. Mac's rubbing his eyes again.

"Hey," I say quietly. "Are you ok?"

"I'll be fine in a minute," he reassures me. "I just…" He stops.

"What?" I ask, seeing him tense.

"Did you touch anything on my desk?" His tone is urgent.

"No, I don't think so. Is something missing?"

"Yes, the file. The one I was working on. It's not here."

Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing! Next update'll be sometime on Tuesday. Blue x