End of Previous Chapter:

Mac smiled and gently took the keys from her hand, shifting forwards to open the door. His mind trailed back to Jo for just a moment longer. Thinking that, if not for her and that damned social networking page she and Lindsay had set up for him, he wouldn't be standing here, right now, on the brink of an entirely new phase of his life. Yet he'd never thought to thank her. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. He had a lot of things he probably needed to talk to her about. That she deserved to have him talk to her about. And quite honestly, her role in his reconnecting with Christine was probably the least of them. But he definitely owed her a call. Or rather a conversation. In person.

His attention trailed back over to Christine, smiling up at him as he held open the door for her to pass through. But certainly not now, he thought. Another time. It had already been months. Another day or two to sit down with her? It wouldn't be too late...

Chapter 3

Mac sat on the edge of the bed staring at his phone, willing the battery indicator to register just enough power for the device to spring back to life. He berated himself internally for having forgotten to plug it in to the charger last night before he and Christine climbed into bed together. He supposed he could allow himself that one small lapse in his usually meticulous habits, particularly in light of everything that had happened yesterday, both professionally and personally. He'd not only been exhausted upon retiring last night, but rather giddy as well. Thankfully, he hadn't been on call. But for Christ's sake, he was the head of the Crime Lab. He should be reachable at all times, on shift, on call, or just…if needed. He shook his head, still annoyed with himself, wondering idly if he'd ever bothered to give Dispatch Christine's home number, on the off chance they ever really needed to reach him and he wasn't responding through any other means.

Hearing the sudden, harsh drone of the hair dryer turning on, he glanced up at the closed bathroom door where Christine had disappeared earlier to shower. She'd seemed slightly perplexed this morning upon waking to find him up, fully showered and just tucking his shirt into his jeans. But she'd said nothing. He'd never been one for sleeping in. She wasn't usually the type either, so when she hadn't woken up by 7:00, he'd just assumed she was worn out and decided to let her sleep. In retrospect, he realized perhaps he should have stayed in bed as well. With her. If she'd been awake, he certainly would have. But he'd felt as if he were wasting time just lying there while she dozed. He sighed. He really was trying his best at the whole intimate relationship thing. Harder than he ever had during the past 12 years. Unfortunately, he didn't always do the right thing. He often let his instincts, borne of so many years of being more or less alone, kick in without a second thought. But he was always sincere. And thankfully, Christine had been relatively patient with him. Well, most of the time.

His phone finally beeped to life and he snatched it up within an instant. Only one missed call. From Jo. His brow furrowed. The call was tagged at nearly 2 a.m. She hadn't tried him a second time. But then, he wasn't certain whether that was a good sign or bad. A quick glance at his watch and he decided it wasn't too terribly early to give her a call, despite the fact he knew she was off today as well. He pressed her name on the screen and waited as it rang, hoping he hadn't missed something urgent.

-/-/-/-/-

Jo slowly opened the mailbox. And found a phone. She frowned. Where was that Goddamn gun? She knew it was here somewhere. In one of these mailboxes. But all she could find were phones. Inside every single box. Every single time she opened a door. Another phone. Ringing. Interminably. She began opening them more and more quickly. Her hands suddenly flying across the bank of boxes. The doors flying open one after another, cracking against the wall, slamming into each other. Only to reveal more phones. Of all shapes and sizes. All ringing with the same ring tone… but no gun.

Jo gasped loudly and her eyes suddenly flew open. Then wrenched shut again in reaction to the blindingly brilliant light shining directly into them. She managed to barely creak open one eyelid and glance down briefly to see herself, fully clothed, lying curled up on her couch, flooded in sunlight from the wide open blinds, an empty glass clutched in her right hand, tilted at an odd angle and barely propped against her stomach. A soft groan emanated from between her dry lips. She reached out her hand, aiming to set down the glass on the coffee table but missing by several inches. It dropped to the rug instead with a soft thud that echoed inside her skull like a bass drum.

Wincing slightly, her hand scrabbled over the surface of the table in search of her phone, her eyes closed again now, unable to tolerate any longer the stark light flooding her living room. Finally locating her phone, she risked a quick, squinting glance that told her it was 8 a.m. and it was Mac calling her. Damn. She wasn't on call today. Another furtive glance at the bottle of scotch next to her phone told her she was in no condition to be called into work right now. But then the pounding in her head, the roiling of her stomach, the spinning of the room around her could have told her that without even bothering to open her eyes.

She finally fumbled the phone to her ear and somehow managed to accept the call before her voicemail picked up. "'ello?" Her voice wasn't working and she tried to clear her throat. "Da…," her voice failed completely. She tried again to enunciate the words, with minimal success. Her throat was so parched she thought she might choke any second. "Da…ville.

Mac hesitated. She'd clearly been asleep. Her voice sounded raspy, her nose stuffy, as if she were ill. "Jo? It's Mac. Did I wake you?"

She brought her free hand up to massage her throbbing forehead for a moment. "Uhm, possibly." She wrinkled her face. Her voice sounded like the croaking of a half drowned frog, and no matter how many times she cleared her throat, she couldn't seem to manage to make it work.

He smiled lightly, imagining her trying in vain to wake herself up, but it quickly turned to a frown. Half asleep or not, she still didn't sound right. "Are you ok? Do you have a cold?"

She cleared her throat yet again. But it wasn't really making a difference. "No. Just...it's nothing. I'm fine. Just…stayed up too late watching tv." She coughed. Once. Twice. Then continued. "Is something the matter?"

Mac furrowed his brow. "No…," he hesitated a moment. "Uhm, you called me last night. But I guess…I didn't hear the call. I'd meant to call you earlier Jo, but...I…something came up and then my phone died and….well, I just wanted to make sure everything was ok. With you. Are you ok?"

A wave of mild panic rushed through her as an image suddenly pushed its way to the forefront of her memory. An image of her, lying on the couch last night, at least four too many scotches past midnight, debating quite vocally with herself the pros and cons of telephoning her boss at such an hour. And not just to clear her conscience about the shooting, although that was certainly a prominent topic. She was pretty sure some thoughts of a purely personal nature may have been voiced at some point during her drunken soliloquy. Her free hand rose up and covered her face, as if that gesture might make it all just…go away. Disappear, not just from her own memory, but from reality as well. As if it had never, ever happened.

But unfortunately, it had. And now she had to deal with the fact that, in a moment of inebriated soul-searching, she'd nearly managed to call Mac and clue him in to the embarrassing fact of her evening's intemperance. And while he hadn't actually answered - Thank the Lord – she had nonetheless failed to avoid leaving any evidence. So now his curiosity would be piqued as to why on earth she had been calling him in the middle of the night. She took a deep breath. "Oh... Mac, I'm sorry. That call was…actually…an accident. My finger slipped. I pressed the wrong button. I really thought I'd managed to end it before it went through to you. I'm so sorry if I disturbed you. Me and my clumsy thumbs."

He wanted to smile at her joking tone, but he couldn't help but think it wasn't really genuine. He wondered in passing whom she would have been trying to call in the middle of the night, but decided it was probably none of his business. "Jo, don't apologize. I didn't even hear it. But when I saw it this morning…well…I was worried. About you. You're ok though?"

She hesitated, not exactly certain how to answer that without being caught in an obvious lie. She knew he could tell she was doing poorly just from the sound of her voice. But while she debated what to say, Mac seemed to forget he'd even asked her a question and he continued on a few moments later.

"Listen. Jo. There's something I wanted to tell you. Do... Are you…Would you want to...meet for coffee or brunch or…something this morning. I, uh, I just thought maybe we could talk."

Jo hesitated, one eyebrow insisting on arching upwards despite her desire to keep her eyes open as narrowly as possible. Now this was certainly unexpected. They hadn't gone out for months. In fact, they'd hardly talked for months unless it was case-related. And she could probably count on one hand the times that they'd joked with each other ever since he'd told her to stay out of his personal business. Yet here he was asking her out to 'talk'.

She pondered how to respond. Last night she would likely have jumped at the opportunity, without a passing thought. Out of desperation if nothing else. But now, that longing for his company, that oppressive need to talk about the shooting, that she'd felt so strongly last night, had become subsumed by her usual fierce streak of independence. If she were to so easily acquiesce to his nonchalant request to join him for coffee to 'talk', it would seem as if she was, in fact, acquiescing to the manner in which he treated her so...cheaply over the past few months. If Mac Taylor wanted to make up for the past few months of treating her like nothing more than a second-class employee, well, he was going to have to try a little harder. Her brow furrowed in frustration, verging on anger.

Mac was all too aware of the silence on the other end of the line. It was rendering him more and more uncomfortable by the minute as he imagined what excuse Jo would likely come up with to avoid talking with him. He cleared his throat out of nervousness, wishing that perhaps he'd not even called her in the first place this morning.

Jo scowled. She knew he would be uncomfortable at her failure to respond. Which was fine with her. But she also knew that the longer she debated, the less of an impact whatever she eventually said would have. Yet she couldn't seem to figure out what to say to make this any harder for him. Damn that scotch. She just wasn't herself this morning. She squinted her eyes hard and shook her head a moment, trying to dispel the family of cotton balls that had clearly taken up residence in her brain overnight. She had a royal headache already and she hadn't even stood up yet. She sighed, more loudly than she'd intended, frustrated at her inability to come up with some trite way to torture him for his aloof demeanor over the past several months. She bit her lip. Then frowned slightly. Then shook her head as her shoulders sagged. In the end, maybe she'd just face him in person. After all, that was probably more her usual style. She didn't need to hide at the other end of a phone line in order to confront him about his recent behavior towards her.

At this point, Mac was certain she was going to say no. And he began trying to think of how he might push her to reschedule, before he lost his nerve and just put it off for another few months. His efforts were interrupted when Jo suddenly spoke.

"Umm. Sure Mac. We could meet somewhere. I don't have any plans. Actually, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about too." She took a deep breath as her stomach churned alarmingly. Too much hard liquor and no dinner. Lord, she was quite the mess this morning. Thank God Mac had merely called and not stopped by.

Mac was so surprised at her response that for a moment, he was rendered speechless.

"Mac? Are you still there?" Jo shifted slightly on the couch, feeling worse by the minute and wanting nothing more than to end this call. Now.

He coughed. "Yea. I'm here. Why don't I meet you somewhere close to your place? I'm guessing you're not ready yet. I can catch the subway and be there in say 30-40 minutes? How about that little café a couple blocks from your place - the Cajun one we went to about a year ago? We could just have coffee or if you haven't eaten…"

The thought of eating anything - especially anything remotely spicy for brunch - nearly made Jo gag and she cut him off sharply. Her voice rushed over the words. "Fine. Thirty minutes. Cecile's on Hudson." And she hung up.

Mac stared at the phone for a moment, pondering her abrupt termination of the call. Perhaps she was worried she wouldn't have enough time to get ready. Although something told him she wasn't well. He lay the phone back on the night table with a sigh, wondering what was wrong with her. He should have checked in with her last might. Hearing the bathroom door open, he looked up and smiled as Christine entered, wrapped up in a towel. He pushed his concern for Jo to the wayside, at least for now, as Christine came over, sat down next to him and drew him into an embrace.

-/-/-/-/-

After tossing her phone onto the coffee table with a rather unwelcome thump, Jo leaned back to lie perfectly still on the couch for a few moments. She shouldn't have drunk so much. She knew it. Had known it - even as she was doing so last night. She'd done it merely because she knew she could. She wasn't on shift. She wasn't on call. And even if some emergency arose and they were short staffed, she was relegated to 24 hours of desk duty anyway. Department policy following an officer involved shooting. Even despite her rapid clearance by IAB. She couldn't work in the field if she'd begged. So much for work.

Family? A small smile tugged at her mouth as she thought of sweet Ellie. Who wasn't just across town on a sleepover. She was halfway across the state, safe under the watchful eye of her soccer coach, parent chaperones and teammates, trying their best to keep up their winning streak and get into the state playoffs. And Tyler - not one to pop in on a regular basis anyway, he had flown down to D.C. with Russ for the weekend. She was free and clear of any obligation whatsoever to anyone or anything. No work. No family. A rare several hours in which she was completely unaccountable.

And look how she'd chosen to spend it. She shook her head without thinking and grimaced as the pounding increased tenfold inside her brain and the room began to spin wildly. Gripping the couch cushion, she sat up ever so slowly, glancing carefully at her watch. If she was going to be anywhere near on time to meet Mac, she'd need to start moving. Taking a deep breath, she stood slowly, one hand on the couch arm for balance, the other shielding her eyes from the damnable sunlight streaming through the window. She walked slowly, resolutely, towards the hallway and the bathroom halfway down it. If she could just make it there. And into the shower. Everything would be all right.

-/-/-/-/-

Christine pulled back slowly from their kiss, the smile in her eyes nearly brighter than the one that graced her mouth. She placed her hand on Mac's knee, patting him gently. She nodded to his phone.

"Were you on the phone? I thought I heard you talking to someone." She removed her hand and stood, walking into the large closet and grabbing the clothes she'd already laid out.

He nodded absently. "Jo. We're meeting for coffee. Or brunch. I'm not sure actually." He frowned realizing they'd never really set an exact plan for this morning's get together.

Christine paused, her pullover poised in mid-air above her head, that sort of goofy, quizzical expression on her face that he'd come to find so endearing. "You're not sure?" She laughed slightly as she resumed pulling her sweater over her head.

Mac seemed lost in thought so she continued, not really having expected any sort of response in any case. "How is Jo anyway? I don't think I've seen her the past few months, and you hardly mention her."

"She's…," he paused, suddenly unsure of how to respond. Come to think if it, he had absolutely no idea how she was. Mac cleared his throat. "I'm not really sure. She was involved in a shooting yesterday evening."

He paused, slightly startled, as he heard Christine's gasp, saw her hand rise up instinctively to cover her mouth. "Oh!" She exclaimed. "Is she ok?"

Mac shook his head, then switched it to a nod. "She's not hurt. But I… didn't really get a chance to talk to her. That's part of the reason I wanted to meet up with her this morning."

Christine nodded, concern written across her face. "Well, of course. Tell her 'hi' for me, ok? I hope everything's all right."

Mac smiled and nodded, his attention fully back to Christine for the moment. He stood up and approached her, reaching out his hands to smooth out the static electricity in her hair from the friction of her sweater. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "You're sure you're busy all day? No chance of escape?" He asked quietly as he stepped back slightly to watch as she pulled on her trousers.

She smiled sadly but didn't meet his gaze, her attention distracted by the closure on her pants. "Oh, Mac, I'm so sorry. How often do you actually have a weekend day completely off, and here I've got this whole catering thing, right up until the dinner rush tonight. I'm gonna be slammed all day. And Tracy's not feeling great – she won't be that much of a help." She finished buttoning her waistband and, finally looking up, she reached out to gently caress his cheek. "Spend some time with Jo, why don't you? She could probably benefit from a friendly ear after last night."

Mac's brow furrowed, not entirely certain Jo was particularly looking forward to confiding anything in his ear, but he nodded anyway. Christine took a step back to grab a scarf and her purse, not noting the hesitancy in Mac's expression. "Hey Mac. Does Jo have a boyfriend?"

Mac frowned a moment. His memory trailed to Agent Conover for just an instant, but then he'd neither heard nor seen anything of him since he and Jo's quick trip to San Francisco several months back. He was certain there'd been something between those two, but it was just a hunch. They'd been nothing but professional around him. "No, not…that I know of. Why?" He smiled oddly. "You have some one in mind?"

She laughed lightly, then shook her head slowly, her brow crinkling. "No. She's a hard one, she is. I don't think I know anyone that would quite match her. I only asked because I was thinking maybe we should invite her to dinner one night. It'd be fun. And I was just curious if she might bring someone."

Mac gave her a half smile. "That's…nice of you, Christine."

She paused, a contemplative look about her. "Well, I guess we could ask her over and just see what happens." Before Mac could comment, she glanced down at her watch and groaned. "Oh. I'm running late already. I need to get outta here." She took a step forward, then paused just at his side, reaching out to place her hands on his shoulders. "I love you Mac Taylor. So very much." She smiled up at him. "Now. You…have fun today. Enjoy yourself. Go cheer up Jo. Do something fun together. And find out if she has someone special in her life." She placed a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth and stepped past him, leaving Mac in the closet, a look of mild dread on his face.

A/N: A huge thanks to those who have read and especially reviewed. I've had the flu and just haven't had the energy to thank everyone personally. But I really do appreciate all the kind words.