A million apologies for the tardiness of the chapter. It's even later than I had imagined, unfortunately. So is life.
Only one more chapter after this one. Thank you so so much for sticking with it, I've really enjoyed writing it and loved even more that you're enjoying reading it.
As always, thank you for reading/alerting/favouriting. Hope you enjoy the longest chapter to date! xx
There was a storm brewing, there was no doubt. The pastel yellow curtains billowed out into the dark room before being sucked back and out the open window. Stella let a smile play across her lips as the damp and musky smell of oncoming thunder and rain filled the room with the next float of the swinging curtains.
She threw her covers off and padded over to the window. Try as she might, sleep was not happening this night. She looked up to the moon, it smirking high above the swirling grey clouds; he was loving this as much as she was.
Instant memories of childhood flashed before her, eliciting another smile. Suzie climbing into her bunk at St. Basil's and pulling the duvet over their heads as they giggled by flashlight, counting Mississippi's between lightning and thunder, then silencing whenever Sister Russell's shoes squeaked through the halls.
She swatted the still surging curtain from her face as the rain began to fall. She crossed her arms on the ledge and leant over, listening to the thunder rumble in the distance.
Her thoughts ran over the day, once again. What was she going to do with him?
She remembered the falsetto of his heart beat beneath her hand, it beating a hyper rhythm, her own heart gaining similar pace the longer it took him to relax. It had been a long time since he'd had an attack, longer since one that bad. Coupled with his behaviour to Adam and the way he spoke to her in his office… he was teetering on the edge.
A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and her bedroom, breaking her from her reverie as her eyes shot for a look at the bolt.
The rain was pelting down now, the sky angry and tumultuous. She opened the window further, the cool breeze raising goose-pimples over her arms. She ignored a shiver that ran through her body as she watched the raindrops slide down the glass pane, connecting and quickening before splashing onto the ledge, her arms dotting with the water.
She sighed deeply, the breath hitting her arm and sending the splashes rolling. Why had she bitten? Why couldn't she keep her temper in check for once and not argue with him? She imagined what he was doing now, wondering if he was watching the storm; wondering if he was crouched under a CD player blasting out Black Sabbath to block his mind from reminding him of deaths. Like before. Something, he once explained, he had learnt in the Marines.
Another flash of lightning.
Another clap of thunder.
She tilted her head to the sound. Something was off with the last clap. She stilled, listening. There was a knock at the door. She spun to the clock, it was after 2am. Mac, she decided. She threw a robe over her NYPD tee and sweat pants and meandered to the door, casting a glance to the bag by the door - where her handgun was - in case. She peered through the peep-hole, seeing Mac on the other side. She studied him for a second - a hand raking through his short hair, collar left open, suit jacket soaked and dripping from his shoulders; he looked like hell. And he was looking right at her.
"Hi," he said as she opened the door, stood in its path.
"Hi," she repeated, standing to the side. His head bowed as he stepped past her. He turned back to face her, his back arched, eyes sunken and dark. "You look like hell," she announced, as he dug his hands in his pockets.
He didn't say anything. She sighed gently at the broken image before her. She passed him in to the bathroom, her fingers brushing against his arm, asking "How did you get here?"
"Walked," he replied, taking the towel from her as she returned.
"That's 15 blocks!" she said, moving into the kitchen, putting the kettle on.
"Needed to clear my head," he said in a monotone, fatigued voice, rubbing the towel over his hair and down his rain soaked face.
"You couldn't do that in a cab?" a light mocking tone to her voice.
He managed a smile, it not quite reaching his eyes. Her smile faded back to worry.
She spooned cocoa powder into the cups, stirring as she added the water and milk. She guided him to the couch, setting the cups on the table and helping him peel the wet blazer from his arms. She smiled as they sat down, pointing to the wet triangle down his front, the white shirt going transparent to the vest below. He swiped at the patch, as if to brush the wetness away.
Stella settled into the overstuffed cushion, the cup clasped between both hands and waited.
Mac leant forwards, barely on the seat, elbows digging into his thighs. His fingers fidgeted between his legs; twisting, splicing, picking. He lifted them up, raking them through his shorn hair, down his pale face. His heel tapped against the floor, his knee shaking. Not a word left his lips. Occasionally he looked like he knew where to start, but the sounds died before escaping. He stared at the steam flittering from the mug before him, a deep, heavy sigh dissipating the tendrils.
Stella gave a quiet frustrated sigh as he reached out to his arm, gently tugging on it. He resisted at first, before giving in and sliding down, his head hitting her lap.
He'd never let her do that before. The amount of times she had wanted to have him just give in and let himself be, well, mothered by her, but he had always kept a certain amount of distance. As happy as she was that he was letting her stroke his temples and swirl the hair behind his ear around her finger, it hurt her that he had hit a new 'low' in his grief.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "You didn't deserve that this morning."
"No," she agreed, with a smile. She would have forgiven him without the apology.
His shoulders hunched in a short soundless chuckle. His next breath ended in a long sigh, much like the one before but with an element of contentedness as he closed his eyes to the ministrations she was performing around his ears. "I'm not sleeping. I know that's not an excuse, but… it's the best I've got. I can't turn off. Names, words, memories, it's constantly going through my head. If I close my eyes, I see faces and replays and it's all louder and…"
"Shh…" she soothed, feeling him tense beneath her. The forgotten thunder storm still raged behind them, the lightening reflected through the television set in the corner. She drew circles on his temple until she noticed his breathing had evened out, his chest rising in a slow and steady pattern.
She smiled. He was sleeping. He was hardly in a comfortable position, she noted, one leg curled while the other lay straight and over the other side dangling in mid-air, but he was resting at least. She set her cup down on the table to her side, continuing to draw shapes on his skin until she too fell asleep.
Xx
Mac groaned against his will as he tried to sit upright, waking Stella in the process. "You okay?" she croaked, her neck slowly and painfully turning to look at him.
"Back's gone," he groaned again, his hands pressing deeply into the small of his back, arching it backwards.
"Not surprised," she smirked, noting a return of colour to his cheeks. She looked over to the wall clock, squinting through the sleep that filmed her eyes for the time. "It's only four. At least the thunder's stopped," she massaged her cricked neck. "Come on, let's go to bed."
Mac stripped to vest and boxers as Stella closed the window, pulling the curtains closed as yet another groan escaped him as his aching back molded to the mattress.
"Better?" she asked with a smirk, getting a nod in return as his eyes closed to the subtle cracking of his spine.
She climbed in next to him, settling into the crook of his neck, her hand splayed across his chest. She sighed contentedly as she watched her hand rise and fall from his calmed breaths, stealing a look at his face.
He was staring at the dark sky, no hint of morning sun due for hours yet. He could feel her eyes on him and turned to face her with a crooked half-smile. She rested her chin on her hand, stroking a finger down his temple. "What you thinking?"
He sighed heavily. "I'm thinking of going back to Chicago for a bit. See the family."
"That's a great idea, Mac. Really," she smiled, happy he was giving in to his emotions and letting himself grieve.
"Yeah. I think I need it. Just…be with Mom's things," he looked back out to the window.
Stella gazed at his face in the street light, at the fine lines that had gained mates in the recent years. Even the recent weeks, it almost seemed. She watched as his eyes twitched, scenes playing out before them for the single viewer. She stroked her fingers down his cheek, breaking him from his reverie. "What?"
"Just… just thinking of my Dad. He told me in no uncertain terms that Claire and I were to move out here. Not sure how happy Mom was about the decision. I always felt bad leaving her to care for Dad on her own. He was so stubborn that he couldn't accept that he was dying. He hated being so incapable, dependant. Then, after he died, Claire and I were still in New York and she was in that big house on her own."
"She was hardly on her own, Mac. Granted, her baby boy wasn't around, but her nephews and nieces were there. And from what I hear, Sal's kids became her grandkids. She lived a happy life, Mac. She was surrounded by family, and the highlight of her life was you. Her baby boy making the country safer as a Marine, then as a cop. You have no reason to feel an ounce of guilt, and I can just imagine what she'd be saying to you if she knew you were."
He smiled wistfully, many examples coming to mind. "Yeah, I know," he sighed heavily, tucking a fallen curl behind her ear.
"So, you leave tomorrow?"
"Yeah. I'll find an afternoon flight, I wanna come into work in the morning."
"Mac-"
"To apologise. To Adam and Danny."
"…Natalie and Flack and…" She smirked as his eyes closed, the full impact of his actions hitting him.
"I might need an evening flight…"
She laughed, tucking her head back into his neck. "What about when you get back?"
He breathed deeply, "Take it slow, see what happens."
"…and us?"
"That's what I was talking about. We couldn't just go back to being friends, Stella, it's changed too much. And honestly, I don't think I'd want it to. You've been amazing these last few weeks, there for me through everything whether I deserved it or not. I don't want to lose this, so it's up to you now."
She sighed lightly, her fingers running over the tramlines of his ribbed vest. "I don't want to lose this either."
Xx
"Hey, where've you been?" Nat asked, falling into step with Stella in the busy halls.
"I'm sorry I'm late, we had a blackout last night, threw my alarm clock out of whack."
"We?" she asked with squinted eyes.
"…my building," she said, pulling files from under Nat's arm and quickly flicking through the pages. She'd received a worried call from her colleague and raced out the door, leaving Mac in her bed. She decided that was on a need to know basis.
"Oh, okay, it was a bad storm. Anyway, I've spoken to Flack about the Griffiths case, he reckons they have a lead on him and he's gonna check it out later on. As for the Doozey case," she rifled through the pages in Stella's hand, "Sid has some updates for you. Asked you to go see him."
"On my way. Thanks, Nat." She turned on her heel to head for the bank of elevators, only for Natalie to call her back.
"Hey, you heard from Mac? How is he?"
"He's doing better. Coming in later. Not to work," she clarified, seeing Nat's demeanour change, "he wants to apologise to everyone, so be expecting a visit. So Natalie? Be nice."
"I'm always nice!"
"Mmhmm…" Her pursed lips morphed to a smirk as Nat pulled her tongue out. She slipped her hand into the closing elevator doors and hit for the morgue.
Her morning raced into the afternoon after revelations from Sid blew the new case wide open. She locked herself away in the labs attending to the evidence and data, checking her phone often. He hadn't called. He said he would once he landed in O'Hare around three-ish. It was nearing four and nothing. Something was wrong, she knew it.
She snapped off her latex gloves and packed the evidence away in the boxes, storing them in the cupboards. She thumbed in his speed-dial and listened as the 'call could not be completed' again, her heart slamming against her rib cage as she hung her lab coat on the hook. Mac would have called by now, or at least let her know he was safe. According to Adam he left before noon, giving him plenty of time to get to the airport and make his flight. No, something was up.
"Stella," Danny called, weaving through the halls. "You heard any more from Flack?"
"Flack? No. Why?" she stuffed her cell in her jeans pocket.
"The Griffiths case. The hostages?" he prompted, folding his arms across his chest as he bounced on his toes.
"Hostages?"
"You… don't know? Flack tracked the lowlife down to a brownstone in Brooklyn, but things turned sour once the uni's showed with sirens. Griffiths' locked himself in one of the apartments with a family, it's all kicking off from what I heard."
"Oh God…" she muttered under her breath. "Mac…"
"Mac? I thought Mac was goin' Chicago."
"He is. Or was, I haven't heard from him," she pulled her phone out of her pocket, "Where in Brooklyn?"
Stella floored the CSI vehicle to the address Danny relayed, trying to call Mac's phone to get some answers as to why she was breaking the speeding limit. The lack of replies made her throw the rule book out the window and slam the pedal to the floor.
She screeched to a stop at the barricade, the uniforms parting as she ran through them with her badge at eye level. "Flack!" she called, trotting up to the man in charge.
"Stel? What are you doing here?" he spun to her, arms still clasped across his chest, radio in hand.
"What's happening?"
"Griffiths got released this morning thanks to Daddy's lawyer. Went home, tweaked a bit and came here for a drug buy, taking some hostages for fun. We're in the process of negotiating."
"How many?" she looked to the seemingly normal building – fire escapes, flower boxes – her lips in a tight line as she expected the worst. "Hostages. How many?"
"Three, as far as we can tell. It's still the early stages." He watched her bouncing on her heels."Stella, what is it?"
"I think Mac's in there."
"What? I thought he'd gone back to Chicago?"
"I can't get hold of him. He was supposed to phone me when he landed two hours ago. The plane got there but he wasn't on it according the airline."
"And that means he's in there?" he thumbed to the unnervingly quiet building. "He could have just missed it, Stel. He's probably on the later flight right now."
"No, he'd have told me. Trust me, something's wrong." Her hard eyes bore into his, jaw s firmly, her voice breaking just a slight.
"Okay," he nodded, touching a hand to her arm. He brought the radio to his mouth and began barking orders into it of the latest developments. "I repeat, possible officer involved."
Stella stood to the side, pulling up Nat's number on her phone as she bounced on her toes. "Nat? How's the trace on Mac's cell coming?"
"I'm not getting anything current, but I can tell you it last pinged around Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. Where are you?"
"Bensonhurst, Brooklyn." She clicked off, her nails tapping a rhythm on the shell as she scanned the suddenly expanding crowd of officers responding the possible 10-13.
Suddenly, an almighty crack rang above the radio chatter. Instantly recognizing the sounds of gunfire, Stella ducked and ran for cover behind one of the lined up police cars, her head spinning over the unfolding melee.
"Officer down! We got an officer down! Get EMT over here!" Flack shouted from two cars away, his face contorted with equal measures fear and anger. "Now!"
Stella ran over to him, dropping to the floor by the injured officer, noting the blood pumping from his bicep. She pulled her sweater from her shoulders and wrapped it tightly around the wound, "You're okay," she soothed, trying to keep the young officer still as shock and disbelief had him fidgeting. "Hey, hey, you're okay."
"EMT's stuck in traffic," someone shouted to Flack.
"Go," Stella told him, pushing him away. She turned her attention back to her patient, helping him sit up against a patrol car. "What's your name, kid?"
"Serrano," he breathed, his face tight with pain as he pressed at his arm. "Ollie Serrano."
"Ollie, I'm Stella. I got you, okay? Medic's are on their way, be here any second. I'm just gonna take a look okay?" she stepped over him to the side of the injured limb. He nodded through gritted teeth as she peeled her blood-soaked sweater from around the open wound, watching it ooze dark red. "Okay," she breathed, covering it again and pressing firmly. "Okay, it's not as bad as it looks. Just think about all those nurses who'll be fawning over you for the next few days, eh?"
He managed a chuckle through tightly set jaw. "Don't think my wife'll like that as much."
She smiled, running a hand over his sweaty cheek as he slammed his head back against the car. An ambulance siren pierced through the elevated voices and panic that was setting in. "Speaking of the cavalry…"
Ollie swung his head to see the bus negotiate itself through the crowd, fellow officers moving precariously parked vehicles out the way.
It pulled to a stop just after them, two hi-vis jackets jumping out the front seats and running towards the injured party. "Stella?"
She looked up to find Aaron looking down at her with wide and worried eyes.
"Are you okay?" he crouched next to her, hands clasping her face.
"I'm fine," she promised with a small smile. "I'm fine, this is his," she lifted her bloodied hands up.
He closed his eyes in relief, leaving a lingering kiss to her forehead.
"Aaron?" his colleague asked, opening out his bag of supplies and pulling out gauze and scissors. "You with us?"
"Yeah, sorry," he pulled away, pulling latex gloves over his fingers. "There's a bottle of water in the front, go wash your hands off," he told Stella.
She nodded a thanks and turned back to Ollie. "You're in good hands, Serrano. I'll come see how you're doing later."
He uttered "Thank you," through gritted teeth.
"How is he?" Flack asked, trotting up and opening the ambulance door for her.
"He'll be okay," she gestured to the water bottle in the cup holder. "He'll need surgery to get the bullet, but not too much damage from what I could see." She told him as Flack poured the water over her wringing and rubbing hands, a pool of red liquid forming at their feet.
"Good. I got SWAT on the facing buildings; they're not seeing Mac and can't get a clean shot on Griffiths. I'm going in, you're welcome to join."
"I'm there."
She ran over to her truck and pulled her Kevlar jacket over her body, stuffing another magazine into her pocket. "Ready?" Flack asked, checking the chamber of his gun and slotting it back into its holster.
"Ready." She followed him through the barricade and trotted with ducked heads and quick feet to the doors of the building. With a rapid look around the corner, Flack led the way to the apartment where Griffiths was holding the hostages.
They approached quietly, killing the noise from their radios. Flack had already warned SWAT to keep an eye on him for a signal should the face-to-face negotiating not work. With a deep soothing breath and look to Stella, he called out to the closed door to the side of him. "Charlie Griffiths! Detective Don Flack. I'm coming in, okay?"
"No! No, stay where you are!" came a reply with shuffling feet and muffled sobs.
"I'm just going to open the door," Flack said, moving an arm to the door handle, turning it easily and pushing it open. He spun around the corner, gun aimed at Griffiths. "Hi, Charlie."
"I told you to stay where you were!" the junkie shouted, arm tightening around the neck of his hostage; a young girl of sixteen if that.
"I want to chat, Charlie. Can't do that through a door, now can we?"
"I don't want to chat, pig. I just want everyone to disappear and to go home."
"Okay, I can help you with that. I can. But first, we have to let the girl go."
"No way, man. Insurance."
Flack stepped closer, casting a quick glance to a petrified woman in the corner, and Mac Taylor covering her. "Mac. You okay?"
"I'm fine, Flack."
"Good. That's good, Charlie. No one's hurt."
"Up here. What about down there?"
"Well, I got one officer with a bullet in his arm, so not so good."
Griffiths looked happy for himself.
"But it's up here that I'm more worried about. How about we let the girl go. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"A-Ana."
"Hi, Ana. I want you to stay calm, alright? You're doing a great job. Just keep watching my partner, okay?"
Stella came into view.
"What? What's she doing here? How many more are there?" Griffiths panicked, pressing the barrel of the gun harder into Ana's temple, eliciting a sob from the frightened girl and her mother near Mac.
"No more up here. Just me and Stella," Flack said, more for Mac's benefit. "So, how about it Charlie? You gonna let Ana go?"
"No way, man. Like I said, insurance."
"What do you need insurance for?"
"What do I- How about shooting that friend of yours, eh? And him?" he pointed to Mac with the gun, before pressing it back to Ana's head. "That enough for ya?"
"I don't think anything is enough for putting a gun to a kid's head, Charlie. Why don't you give me the gun? Give me the gun and we'll all walk out of here together." Flack edged closer, crossing one foot over the other and walked to the side, making Griffiths mirror his actions. "Keep watching Stella, Ana."
"Never gonna happen, pig," Griffiths spat.
"I was hoping I wasn't gonna have to do this, Charlie. I was hoping we could settle this amicably."
Griffiths gun spun to be pointed at Flack, but in that instant Flack jumped back out of the way with an arm in the arm in the air. Stella reached out and grabbed Ana from Griffiths grasp as he fell to the floor with a dull thud, blood spurting up the wall.
Stella held a sobbing Ana tightly to her chest as Flack crouched to the body of Charlie Griffiths, pulling the gun from his dead fingers.
"Ana!" a frantic voice screamed as the other woman in the room pulled the young girl from Stella, wrapping her arms around her and kissing every inch of her face.
Flack heaved a sigh as he took in the sight of Griffiths' spinal column spattered up the wall, a gaping hole where his face used to be. SWAT had been right on target, aiming for the top lip – taking that out meant no reflex reaction to the trigger of the gun. Instant death with minimal fall out.
"Stella," Mac breathed, as he wrapped an arm around her waist.
"Oh thank God," she uttered, pulling him in tight. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. He got me in the CSI garage, knocked me out before I could do anything."
"I knew it. I knew something was wrong," she pulled back, cupping his face. She sighed heavily, a maternal 'What am I going to do with you?' look across her features as she looked into his grateful green eyes.
"I'm gonna get Ana to EMT," Flack said, pulling them from their reverie. "Glad you're okay, Mac."
"Thank you, Don," he smiled, letting go of Stella to tightly shake his hand. "You did a good job."
Flack just nodded, the shadow of another notch on his gun etched across his dark expression.
"Come on, we'll get you looked at too," Stella smiled, following Flack and Ana and her other from the apartment.