Thank you to everyone who has read(/is reading), reviewed and/or favourited. MEANS SO MUCH.

This is where we jump the preverbial shark... x

The cab pulled up outside the Taylor residence, the white house looming at the corner of a quiet cul-de-sac.

Looking through the window, Stella noted a few familiar faces, unfortunately realising she only knew them from various funerals. With a deep breath and lips in a tight line, she grabbed her bag from the seat and paid the driver, slamming the door behind her.

She opened the wrought iron gate, her heels wobbly on the gravel path as she walked to the open red door. "Knock knock," she called, smiling into the crowd of faces. There wasn't the usual 'funeral' air about the congregation. There were smiles and some laughing, more like a family get-together than the mourning of a passed relative. Of course, there was still the element of sombre about them, but she decided Lily was still working her magic, even from beyond the grave. She was always the first to speak and the last to sit, never letting anyone fade into a corner.

The faces turned towards her, before one man walked from the other side of the room to greet her. "Stella, it's good to see you."

"You too, Sal," she smiled warmly, shaking the cousin's hand and kissing his cheek. "I'm sorry about your Aunt."

"Yeah, me too." His eyes dropped, the sadness he felt almost palpable. "Mac's upstairs."

"How's he doin'?"

"'Fine'," he quoted, with Stella as an echo. "You're spending too much time with my little cuz, Stella."

She laughed, pointing to the top of the stairs. He nodded, "First door on the left."

"I'll see you later, Sal." She took to the stairs, watching as Mac grew before her eyes in the pictures adorning the wall; his eyes the constant on his changing face and physique.

The door to the first room was closed, she knocked, opening it slightly. "Mac?"

He was sat on the bed, his back hunched as elbows leant on his knees. "Hi," he muttered, looking up to her with what looked like an amount of relief.

"Hi," she smiled as he stood to meet her. She gave him a hug, asking, "How we doing?"

"I'm fine."

Stella nodded, already sick of hearing that lie. His black suit made him look even paler as he steeled his nerves and looked straight at her with watery eyes. She looked around the room, sensing he wasn't up to the Mom-based questions, "So this is the place, huh? Where all the magic happened?"

He snorted, "Not quite."

She looked around, dragging a finger across the selection of books on a shelf. Aristotle to Steinbeck, Stoker to Verne. "Have you changed at all?"

"I like to think so. Your flight okay?"

"Nothing special." She smirked at the dark tie around his neck, gently tugging on it. "I thought I'd gotten rid of these…"

"Hey, Aunt Tracy!" A voice called from the doorway. The gentleman had his face turned to the stairs, but his eyes firmly set on Mac with a smirk adorning his handsome features. "Mac has a girl in his room!"

"Grow up, Jimmy!" A faint voice replied.

"We're ready to go," Jimmy laughed, disappearing.

"See why I moved to New York?" Mac muttered with an eye roll.

Stella laughed, leading to the door. She spun back to him, a hand on the frame, "You ready for this?"

He sighed heavily, "No."

Xx

The hearse pulled up at the gates Stella had arrived at just moments before, a row of town cars right behind. The family moved outside onto the street, a peaceful silence enveloping them as they stared at the dark wood coffin. Mac made his way to the front of the crowd, a deep sigh escaping as he looked towards the cars.

"Are you Mac Taylor, sir?" the funeral director asked in hushed British tones. He reminded Stella of someone out of Oliver!, with his pinstripe trousers and long black tails.

Mac couldn't find his voice, just managing to nod as his eyes stared at the coffin. "If you'd like to follow me, please." The director guided Mac to the first town car, opening the door as he asked, "There is room for six in each car, who would you like to ride with you?"

Mac looked behind him as Sal organised the crowd between the vehicles. The cousin gestured to various people and to the second car, telling Stella to follow Mac into the first. "He's gonna need you," he whispered.

Stella nodded and slid into the seat next to him, taking his hand in hers as they waited for the hearse to pull away. Part of him wanted to speed up the procession, to make the day be over before he could blink, but every time he opened his eyes again, the word 'Mom' is white flowers stared back at him from the front car.

Memories played out behind his eyes. The military fanfare at his Father's funeral; Aiden's four brothers acting as pallbearers; the empty coffin for Claire. He opened the window, thankful for the slight cool breeze as a wave of heated nausea passed over him. Stella squeezed his hand.

A few turns in the road and they were outside the quaint Church, friends and family lining the street as they exited the cars. Mac recognised most of them, but the unfamiliar faces just reminded him of how much time he spent away from his mother. Sal shook hands and kissed the unknowns as he hugged his relatives. Stella stepped into the line, watching as Mac moved to the hearse, its back doors open. He reached out a hand to the shined wood as Sal and the other pallbearers moved into position.

They carried the weight at waist height up the few steps before raising it to their shoulders for the aisle. An unseen organ began as the congregation filed into the Church, Mac staring at the red carpet below his feet, not looking towards any faces.

They set the coffin onto the base and sat in a pew, Mac sliding up to Stella.

Holding his head high and proud, the service began.

Xx

The wake was held in the function room at the local hotel where Stella was staying, the family finding it easier to use their in-house caterers than cook their own buffet. The bar was also a pulling point.

Stella had been whisked away by Sal to meet various Taylor's as they entered the room, Mac smiling as he watched her meet-and-greet. She would keep scanning the room to find him, seeing him at the bar or at a table chatting, while her diversionary and escapist tactics kept failing her. .

"-was a lovely woman," a voice continued. "Loved that son of hers. Never saw him much, but that didn't matter to Lily."

Stella smiled, trying to remember if she was talking to Great Aunt Ida, or neighbour Ada…

"Did you ever meet her?"

"Oh yes, a number of times. We would talk on the phone occasionally too, when she couldn't get hold of Mac. Unfortunately, I only really saw her at funerals."

The woman nodded, her greyed hair bobbing as she did. "I was just saying to Ada," (This has gotta be Ida, Stella decided), "I was just saying the last time we saw Mac was at Boyd's funeral. Was you there, dear?"

"I was."

"Lovely ceremony, that. Lovely. Of course, for my Jimmy's funeral-"

"-I'm sorry, Aunt Ida, can I steal Stella?" Sal interrupted, leaning down to the table.

"-oh! Well, if you must. It's been lovely speaking with you, Stella," Ida smiled.

"You too, Ida. I'll come and find you later, hopefully," Stella said, rising to her feet. Sal lead her over to the bar as she whispered, "Thank you!"

"I thought you might need rescuing. Aunt Ida's 'lovely', but she can talk for Chicago," he laughed, thrusting a white wine into her hand. She laughed as she took a sip. "Plus, I haven't had a chance to talk to you myself yet. How are you keeping?"

"I'm good, Sal. You? You're looking good. "

"I'm not bad, I'll be better when tomorrow's here," he said, gulping from his bottle.

Stella nodded. "Did you see Lily a lot?" She asked, her eyes scanning the room for Mac, seeing him sat a glass-laden table talking to some cousins.

"You knew Lily. She had all the family 'round every Sunday, come rain or shine. She really pulled out the stops when Mac was in town."

"I think he's beginning to regret staying away so much."

"You have to stop him doing that. He already did that guilt trip when Uncle Boyd died. His life isn't here anymore, Aunt Lily knew that. Not to say she wouldn't have like see him more, but she understood."

Stella nodded, setting her glass down on the bar.

"To be honest, I think she would have preferred to see Grandkids instead of Mac."

Stella laughed, "Yeah, she told me that once or twice."

Sal gestured towards her with his bottle.

"Oh, no, not with me. She would phone me and ask if he was getting out to meet any 'nice ladies'."

"That sounds about right," Sal laughed. "So you and he…?"

"No, erm, we're close, but not that close."

"You know, after Claire died, we, er… we thought we were going to get a phone call to say he'd died too."

Stella nodded solemnly. "Takotsubo cardiomyopathy."

"…what now?" Sal laughed, his once military physique jiggling.

"Broken Heart Syndrome," she muttered, looking over his shoulder to find Mac looking into his glass, oblivious to discussion around him

Sal nodded, his eyes cast to the bottle in his hand, "We really thought…" with a breath, he perked himself up again, "But somehow you brought him through that."

"Only just," she gave a humourless laugh.

"He's taking this hard, Stella. I'm worried about him."

She lay a hand on his arm, "I know. But… if we can get him past Claire's death, we can help him through this one, okay?"

"I'm the oldest now, of this generation I mean," he corrected with furrowed brows, "So I feel somehow…responsible. Mac's always been a stand-up guy, he'd always be the first there if something happened. But over his forty five years a lot has happened and I've watched as it got slower and slower for him to bounce back from it, you know? I just…"

"Hey," she warned, pulling him into a hug, "He'll be fine. I promise."

He nodded against her shoulder before pulling back, "People will start talking…" he laughed.

She smiled, grabbing her glass from the bar and taking a sip. She looked around the room, "Speaking of Mac, I think I might check in, see how he's doing."

Sal nodded, "Thanks, Stella."

She squeezed his arm as she passed, scanning the crowd. She went over to the table where she'd seen him last, stepping aside as a waitress cleared the glasses, "Hi, you seen Mac?"

"He was here a minute ago…" came a reply. She stood tall again, trying to see over the strong crowd. She grabbed someone as they walked past, asking the same question and getting the same answer. She didn't like this, something was wrong. He wouldn't have just disappeared without letting anyone know, even if it was just say he was getting some air. She shouldn't have left him alone so long…

She thought about asking Sal, but he looked so worried about his little cousin that she didn't want to add to his burden. Placing her drink on the bar, she set about scanning the hotel.

She was beginning to panic now, not finding him in any of the quiet lounges or bars. Just a little, but still panic nonetheless. She thought back to when she'd seen Mac like this before, it had been eight years and it worried her what eight years of maturity on old emotions could entail. She called his name as she quickly walked through the halls, telling herself he'd just gone for a modicum of peace and that she was just over-reacting as usual.

Part of her was glad that he was possibly finally excepting that he wasn't 'fine' and was embracing his emotions; a larger part of her was anxious about such acceptance.

She passed through a door that lead to a corridor with windows showing the darkened garden area. She checked her watch, not believing how late the hour had become.

Finally, she saw him sat on the fountain. She stood at the door for a minute, a hand bracing the frame, just watching him. As she approached, she saw the large glass of scotch - at least three fingers - dangling from his hand. The clicking of her heels and the rushing water from the feature were the only sound as she took a seat next to him. He had his back to her, facing away.

Stella took the glass from him and put it on the other side of her, putting her hand in its place. She intertwined their fingers and held on tight, covering them with her other hand.

Slowly, he spun around to look at her. She almost felt relief as she took in his rough features. He wasn't sleeping again, that much was evident. The dark purple bags that cushioned his sad eyes looked shades darker in the dim moonlight. She felt relief in that the tough 'cope with anything' façade he kept had dropped to show his true emotions. Her heart was breaking for him.

She brought a hand to his cheek, the pads of her fingers stroking over the stubble before gently guiding his head to her shoulder.

A million memories of similar times flashed before her. It had only been in the past few that she had managed to bring him back to full functionality after Claire's death; this time was going to need different measures. He wasn't only mourning his Mom, but anyone and everyone he had ever lost, it seemed. With his military and his CSI career, that was a lot of lost souls he was shouldering the blame for. "You're going to be fine," she whispered. "We'll get through this." She leant down against his head, her eyes closing.

They stayed like that for a while, Mac relaxing in ways he had only ever been on the other side of - he was usually the shoulder to Stella's cheek, not the other way around. He sighed heavily, "Everyone's gone now."

He sensed her tensing slightly as she wanted to say 'You still have me'.

"I mean my family. My parents, my wife…" He reached around her for the whisky glass, taking a large gulp as he stood up.

Her mouth fell open as she watched him. She hadn't seen him drink in a long time. He'd been carrying a drink all day, but she hadn't actually seen him take a sip. Now she seemed to be able smell booze all around him. She tried to think of the last time she'd seen him drink, estimating it was around Claire's death. "Mac…"

"Hmm?" he looked at her, his top lip still glistening.

"You don't drink…"

He looked to his hand, the auburn liquid swilling as glassed tipped slightly. "I didn't drink because I had a problem. I didn't drink because I didn't want to. Now, I want to."

"Please, Mac," she crossed to him, hoping he'd give her the glass. It wasn't that he had a problem with alcohol, he was right, but any other day he wouldn't have drunk, so why now? She hadn't seen him like this in a long time and it was beginning to worry her.

He spun back to her, slowly reaching behind her to put the glass back on the fountain. He was bent near her stomach, but as the glass touched the stone he slowly straightened up, barely inches from her. She looked into his eyes and hardly recognised the shade of green staring back at her.

He touched her cheek, gently. Intimately.

Something wasn't right.

"Mac-"

Before she could finish her sentence, he lowered his lips to hers quickly. She was too shocked to respond at first, not fully realising the situation until his hand fell to its familiar station at the small of her back, only this time it was pulling her body flush against his.

She brought her palms up flat on his chest and tried to push him off, but his hand on her cheek went to her neck and kept her fastened to his lips.

She thought about bringing her knee up between his legs, incapacitating him in the most efficient way, but he was in enough pain that she didn't want to add physical pain as well. This was still Mac, after all, just a different version to the Mac she spent her days with.

By the time this thought had processed, he had trapped her bottom lip between his and stilled, waiting for her response (waiting for a knee to the groin).

She heard herself give an involuntary moan when he stopped, - where had that come from? - and in that split second, something changed within her. Her next actions were like someone else was performing them, like her consciousness was a couple of seconds behind her body.

She flicked her tongue over his top lip, still able to taste the whisky from before. Sliding her hands up his chest, she entwined her fingers over his shoulders and tilted her head, restarting the kiss.

Knowing he had permission now, Mac gave it every fibre of passion he could muster, sliding his tongue over her lips as she had done.

His hand left her cheek and roamed down her body to join his other on her back, only this time going slightly lower.

Stella moaned again, igniting a fire in his abdomen that travelled through his body.

Before she knew what had happened, Stella was side-stepping to regain her footing as Mac ripped himself away from her.

He was sat back down on the stone ledge of the fountain. He held his head in his hands, face pointing to the ground.

Stella blinked, running a finger over her tingling lips. She sighed as she looked around to Mac, berating herself for giving in when she registered what he was doing.

"Come on," she whispered, raking a hand over his hair as she squatted in front of him. "You need to sleep."

He nodded, "Doesn't mean I'll get it."

"We gotta try," her hand rested on his knee. She breathed deeply, asking quietly, "Like old times?"

His head nudged up, his thankful, apologetic, fatigue-ridden eyes staring into hers as he gave the slightest nod.

Xx

With a deep breath, Stella's eyes fought open. She swiped at them with a heavy paw, seeing Mac's hunched back slowly come into focus. He was sat on the edge of the bed with his hands holding his head, mirroring his earlier stance. "Mac?" her voice croaked. "What time is it?"

"Just after four," he said, looking over his shoulder. 'Like old times' had meant Stella lying next to him, hoping against hope that her presence would give him some kind of comfort to allow sleep to come. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't wake me," she smiled lightly, blinking her eyes to shift the sleep-induced film that covered them. The bedroom was dark except for the aura of streetlights around the window, and the currently blurred red display on the alarm clock.

"No, for…my behaviour before. Yesterday. It was…unacceptable. Jesus, I can't believe I did that to you." He shook his head, his mind still on the wrong side of sobriety, not quite hit hangover.

"Oh God, Mac. I didn't exactly throw you off." She climbed over the duvet next to him, placing her hands on his shoulders as she suddenly wakened fully. "You're not going to carry that on these, okay? Speaking of shoulders… Jesus, Mac." The muscles were solid beneath her touch, knotted more than she had ever felt them to be before.

She began to press her fingers into the white vest he wore, her thumbs moving in deep circles across his collar. She was happy when his head dropped down, allowing her ministrations more room to manoeuvre. A small moan escaped his lips as she hit a particularly sore spot under his shoulder blades.

Part of her was very aware of how intimate the scene was, especially as she felt another moan vibrate through his body. Her mind raced away from her, rationality screaming of his vulnerability, of it being Mac beneath her touch, and lastly of Aaron. Yet, another part of her, the part that had a seemingly endless glass of wine just a few hours ago, kept reminding her of how her body responded to that kiss in the courtyard. Where sounds escaped that she had no control over, where it was purely instinctual.

She tried to refocus her mind, looking to the window to the thin shafts of moonlight filtering between the curtains. But his rough, thick skin beneath her fingers kept her slamming back to the reality of the situation and to the increasing heartbeat seeming to originate in her ears.

She let go - had to - and sat back on her heels. Mac turned around, staring at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking. He extended an arm, cupping her chin and bringing her closer to him.

He kissed her hard and passionately.

Ignoring the screaming in her head and going with the screaming of every heated fibre of her body, she gave in and melted against him.