New York State of Mind

ATTENTION: If anybody knows for sure what the make of Mac’s guitar in “Stuck On You” is, please let me know! I’m saying it’s an Ibanez, but only because I couldn’t get a good look at the maker’s name and I couldn’t find anything else with a picture that matched the headstock. It could also be a Fernandes or an Overwater (and in fact, I think I have a picture of Gary Sinise playing an Overwater PSD Plus). I do have shots of him playing a couple of different Fenders, but the one in the episode is the one I’m focused on. I asked my dad the guitar nut, and he said, “Well, the body matches a Fender…” *facepalm* While the bodies may match, anybody that can mistake that headstock for a Fender, I am ashamed to be related to. Especially since my dad loves to play the guitar and owns several. Then again, my dad’s more for the acoustic.

God, this one was hard to get out. The actors in my mind stonewalled, because they know what’s coming and they don’t want to go through it—and I can’t say that I blame them. I ended up having to change around my plotline to give them the impetus to get moving and keep the story going.

This chapter is going to be pretty miserable for Mac and Danny. However, I swear that I will make it up to you, and to them. And I will admit, it’s a little on the short side, especially considering what I’ve put out lately. I promise, Chapter 6 will be worth the wait in many ways.

And I deeply apologize if I got wrong any of the events that transpired in the episode “Consequences.” I can’t remember exactly how it went down, and the Season 3 Boxed Set won’t be released until October. Special thanks to Melissa for using her wonderful broadband connection to find and watch this episode for me, so I could get Mac and Danny’s whole ‘misery’ ball rolling again.

Note: Waltz #1: Nunley’s Carousel is an instrumental piece by Billy Joel. Listening to it does remind you of riding a carousel. It’s simple and enjoyable, and a good listen if you like piano music.

Small spoiler warning: Season 2 “Stuck on You” and Season 3 “Not What It Looks Like” and “People with Money”
HUGE spoiler warning: Season 3 “Consequences”

This chapter’s warnings: M/M, oral, anal, soloM, alcoholism, a little fluff that’s followed by massive angst

This chapter’s pairings: Mac/Danny, Flack/Danny

I've been livin' for the moment but I just can't have my way
And I'm afraid to go to sleep 'cause tomorrow is today
People tell me ‘life is sweeter’ but I don't hear what they say
Nothing comes to change my life, so tomorrow is today

Billy Joel – "Tomorrow Is Today"

FOUR MONTHS LATER
Mac’s apartment

Danny woke up, cold. Furrowing his brows in confusion, he glanced over at Mac’s side of the bed. Empty. He glanced at the clock, noticed that it was too early for the Marine to be awake, and he didn’t hear the toilet or the shower.

He heard something else, though. Sliding out of bed, Danny followed the odd noises until he recognized the sound as an acoustic guitar. He slid on his jeans before he padded down the hall, peering around the corner to the living room.

Mac had put on a pair of loose drawstring gym pants and was perched on the arm of the couch, sitting sideways to Danny’s point of view. He had his acoustic guitar in his lap, and was picking the chords softly and nodding with the beat. Listening, Danny was eventually able to recognize Beethoven’s Für Elise. For reasons incomprehensible to Danny, Mac was inordinately fond of classical music—and even the opera—in addition to jazz and the blues.

Danny thought for a moment. Für Elise was a love song.

Mac couldn’t…he couldn’t be thinking of me, could he?

“Danny?” Mac had glanced over, noticing him.

“Oh, hey,” Danny said sheepishly. “I got cold.”

Mac gave a little smile; he could never get out of bed, for any reason, without Danny waking up from being cold. From a scientific standpoint, it was probably because Danny seemed to think that Mac was the only cover the Italian would need, and often piled all the bedsheets on Mac’s side. From the emotional standpoint… Danny was sleeping over a lot more often lately, and even in his sleep he seemed to follow Mac around the room.

Claire had done the same thing.

It was this thought that caused Mac’s calloused fingertips to find the chords subconsciously, his other hand picking the strings, keeping the song going. The way Mac was looking at him, Danny didn’t think the Marine was doing it on purpose.

And if Danny was to ask, Mac wasn’t sure who he was playing the song for. Claire, or Danny.

Mac seemed to snap out of it, laying his palm over the strings to silence them. He stared hard at his hands for a moment, looking for all the world like he was about to start questioning their motives.

“Hey, Mac?”

Mac glanced over; Danny had curled up in the recliner, watching him. “Play somethin’ else, would ya?”

Mac cocked his head, thinking. Then he smiled. “Ben played this the other night.” Ben was the pianist in Mac’s little after-work band.

As Danny listened, Mac began to play a little waltz. It started off slow and almost jerky, to Danny’s surprise, but it slowly sped up, giving him the feeling that he was dancing in slow circles. Danny gave up analyzing it and just allowed himself to get lost within the music that made him feel like he was standing and turning in a circle while staring at the sky. It was amazing, the effect that Mac’s music had on him. Not just anybody’s music, but Mac’s.

Mac was actually a rather good guitarist. He played bass with his music buddies, but he was also gifted with talent for the acoustic. Rarely did Mac spend a lot of money on himself, but his guitars were the exception, and he owned several good-quality instruments. Mac’s favorite bass was an Ibanez. Right now, though, he was playing his Martin. He should go on tour or somethin’. He’s good.

Danny’s eyes flicked to the Marine’s face, where Mac watched him with an unexpected, ecstatic smile. It was one of Mac’s little oddities, that he got the biggest smile on his face every time he played the guitar for an appreciative audience.

For now, Danny was content to just sit there and watch and listen to Mac play. When the Marine had finished the song, Danny spoke up. “That was great, Mac. And I know what it was remindin’ me of.”

“Oh?” Mac tilted his head.

Danny gave a sheepish little smile. “Yeah, reminds me of my mama puttin’ me on a carousel at Coney Island when I was a kid.”

Mac smiled broadly. “It’s perfect, then. Ben forgot to tell me who wrote it, but I think he called it Nunley’s Carousel.”

Danny tilted his head; it fit. “Hey, you comin’ back to bed tonight, Mac?” he asked as he stood.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Mac acknowledged, standing to put his guitar up.

As the Marine bent over, putting the guitar in its case, Danny got a sudden idea and slipped back into the bedroom.

When Mac arrived at his bed, he stopped in his tracks at the sight before him: Danny, gloriously naked, lying on his side with one hand stroking his erect cock and the other thrusting lube-slick fingers into his ass. The Marine couldn’t stop the groan that escaped his lips as Danny fixed his half-lidded eyes on him, licking his lips as he stroked himself inside and out, and Mac’s legs twitched when the Italian found his own prostate and massaged it, stiffening on the bed and giving a loud, throaty moan.

That did it, and Mac immediately dropped his pants and climbed nimbly onto the bed. Danny barely had time to roll onto his back and spread his arms to welcome Mac home before the Marine lay down on top of his lover, capturing his lips and thrusting his tongue into that waiting mouth, claiming the wet heat.

Mac gave an aroused growl as he nipped at Danny’s windpipe, the Italian mewling and writhing. “Why do I let you do this to me?” Mac rumbled, his hands all over Danny’s body, feeling him, memorizing him, owning him.

“’Cause… ‘cause… aw, fuck me, Mac!”

“Be glad to,” Mac murmured into the younger man’s neck.

Suddenly Danny pulled back. “Not like this,” he insisted, and Mac cocked his head. Danny responded by encouraging the Marine to roll onto his back and then Danny straddled the broad hips, grinding Mac’s dick against his ass. “I want ya like this, Mac,” he moaned.

Mac nodded slowly. “I could go for this,” he replied in that throaty tone as Danny reached for the condoms and the lube in the nightstand. Danny slid back on his knees, engulfing the Marine’s length and getting him even harder than before, though how that was possible Mac wasn’t sure. All he was aware of was Danny’s hands and Danny’s lips, and the condom on his dick, and the lube, and then Danny was kneeling over his midsection and aiming, and Mac gave a loud growl as the head of his dick popped past Danny’s sphincter.

“Fuck, Mac,” Danny whimpered as he sank fully down. “Fuck, man, I—“ he started, and suddenly stopped himself from saying the words. Fuck, man, I love you.

Mac didn’t appear to notice, grasping Danny’s ass and spreading the cheeks apart, holding the Italian a few inches off Mac’s midsection, aiding the smooth rise and fall of his own hips that plunged him into that welcome heat. As usual, Danny was so tight, so hot, and as Mac impaled Danny as far as he could, he couldn’t help the marveled whisper that he and Danny fit so well, it was amazing.

Danny’s perfect ass gripped him as the Italian rose and fell on his cock, his hand stroking himself, a look of sheer sexual bliss on his face. It took Mac a while to realize that Danny was quietly moaning his name with every fall of his hips, his eyes closed, his mind somewhere in the clouds. Mac gripped that ass and thrust a little harder, fucking the younger man’s mind out of him, replacing it with himself.

It surprised the hell out of Mac when he felt his orgasm rising even though Danny hadn’t come yet. He clenched those firm, perfect ass cheeks with his broad hands and growled as he bucked his hips, thrusting harder, deeper, and then he was snarling Danny’s name as he buried himself and he came, hard. Danny clamped down on him with something almost like surprise, milking his cock, and then Danny was coming around him, crying Mac’s name and shooting his seed all over the Marine’s broad chest, peristaltic contractions sending Mac spinning farther into erotic ecstasy.

Danny leaned down to kiss Mac with the Marine still buried in him, and the feeling of his lips dancing across Mac’s was light and sweet, tender and loving. “That was great, Mac,” he panted.

Mac nodded, his brain still foggy. “Can’t remember the last time I came first,” he muttered.

“Neither can I,” Danny agreed, finally releasing Mac with a sigh before sinking down beside him. The older man took the time to peel off his condom and drop it in the small wastebasket beside his bed.

Mac smiled tenderly at the Italian snuggled up next to him. Even though they were the same height, the differences in build made Danny seem so much smaller than Mac and he couldn’t help wrapping an arm around Danny’s waist, his other hand running caressing fingers over the younger man’s shoulders.

“Mm, Jesus,” Danny whispered, clinging to the Marine and nuzzling the thick neck. “Mac, I love—“

Mac went rigid.

Danny thought frantically. “I love layin’ here like this,” he covered.

Mac allowed himself to run his hands down Danny’s back, appreciating him, but much of the caressing motion had disappeared. Danny knew that Mac had become suddenly, immensely uncomfortable, and the Italian had a feeling that he’d blown everything.

Danny laid a hand across Mac’s stomach. “G’night, Mac,” he whispered, pretending to drop off to sleep.

Mac was quiet for a long time. “Good night, Danny.”

It took a while for Mac to fall asleep, but he woke at his usual time. What surprised him was that Danny was already awake.

Either that, or he was fondling Mac in his sleep. The older man lay there, amazed that the Italian was not only coherent before Mac was but also that Danny was apparently ready for another round, and the Marine couldn’t help a chuckle. “Do you ever get tired?”

Danny nuzzled Mac’s shoulder. “Of you? Never.”

A lazy smile crossed Mac’s face, before it was shadowed by the implications of that statement and what Danny had almost said during the night. Mac forced a chuckle. “I’m amazed that I still find time to sleep,” he said wryly, starting to climb out of bed.

He was stopped by Danny slithering on top of him. “Mornin’,” Danny murmured, stealing a quick kiss as he lay between Mac’s legs and positioned his arms carefully on the Marine’s ribcage to prop his chin in his hands.

Mac blinked. “Good morning, Danny.” He was more accustomed to Danny’s sometimes aggressive signs of affection than he should be, Mac realized. And last night, had Danny really been about to say what Mac thought he’d been about to say?

Can I love another man? Mac wondered as he stared into those crystal blue eyes. Can I love Danny?

They remained perfectly civil (and sometimes a little antagonistic) at work, but at home… it was all kisses and hugs and frantic sex and quiet cuddles. Mac wasn’t much of the cuddling type, but Danny was like a cat: anywhere he could drape himself and still get petted, he was happy.

And it wasn’t always at Mac’s apartment. Every now and then, Mac slept over at Danny’s. It was maybe once or twice a week that both men slept in their own beds, and Danny always hated those nights because he had trouble sleeping alone. Mac did, too, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Hey, you gonna go runnin’, eh?” Danny asked him, cutting through his thoughts.

Mac blinked a few times. “Yeah. I was just thinking.”

Danny crossed his arms on Mac’s chest and rested his chin on his wrists. “Yeah? ‘Bout what?”

Mac gave a self-amused snort. “You.”

A dazzling smile spread across Danny’s handsome face, the kind of smile that made Mac’s heart stir though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. Danny leaned closer, still giving that radiant look. “What about me, eh?”

Mac chuckled and folded his hands behind his head, staring back into those incredible blue eyes and that incredible smile. “When you’re like this. It’s amazing, that you can be comfortable anywhere.”

Danny shrugged modestly. “Hey, I don’t need much. Just somebody comfy to lay on, ya know?”

Mac’s mouth twitched. “I don’t recall ever being called ‘comfy.’ In fact, I remember you complaining a few weeks ago about how I was all sharp corners and hard surfaces.”

“You can be comfy when you wanna be,” Danny argued. “B’sides, all them sharp corners and hard surfaces? Hot as fuck.” The compliment was spoiled when Danny’s face split into a massive yawn.

“You know, I thought that was an act,” Mac said dryly. Danny made a sleepy grumble and rested his head on Mac’s chest, and the Marine found himself stroking the dirty-blond hair. “I still can’t believe you were awake before I was.”

Danny shrugged, fighting the urge to just melt into Mac’s touch. “I didn’t sleep,” he mumbled into the warm, hard ribcage below him.

Mac blinked. “You didn’t? Why?”

Danny shrugged again. “I was thinkin’ hard ‘bout somethin’, but I guess I shouldn’t’a been worryin’, eh?”

Mac’s hand stilled, moving to Danny’s shoulder. “Danny,” he murmured, and he waited until the Italian was looking at him. “I know what you were going to say last night, and it caught me by surprise. I… I don’t know about it, I just don’t. Part of me wants to agree with you, and part of me remembers… her.”

Her. Danny knew who Mac was referring to, and he kept his face perfectly still.

Mac went on. “What I do know is that this, right here… I like. I could get used to it, I think. Just… give me some more time, okay?”

Danny gave a feline smile as he stretched and yawned again, then pressed another gentle kiss to Mac’s lips. “Take all the time ya need, big guy. I’ll let you say it first, aright?”

Mac felt an invisible weight leave his shoulders. “Thanks, Danny,” he whispered.

Danny lay there for a few more minutes, basking in the muscular warmth beneath him, before he finally rolled onto his side and released the Marine. “Grab your shower, Mac. I’ll get the coffee runnin’.”

SEVERAL HOURS LATER

“It was so weird, Mac,” Stella murmured. The two were walking down the street, on their way to grab a quick hot dog from a corner vendor. “He was watching me, like he… like he wanted something from me. He was stalking me.”

Mac rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. “So what happened?”

Stella gave a nervous sigh, allowing the touch to ease her worries a little. Mac had always been a good friend to her, and she’d never once asked for anything more than that. For starters, he was such a closed-off guy, and secondly, he was her friend. There was just something about him, though, that made her feel safe.

“Stel?”

Her head popped up, unaware that she’d even been staring into the ground. God, this kid had her frazzled, whoever he was. “Sorry, Mac,” she muttered, giving a quick shake of her head. “I pointed him out to Danny, and when the kid saw that, he ran.”

The corners of Mac’s mouth quirked. “Danny didn’t catch him.” It wasn’t a question.

Stella grunted in frustration. “No, he jumped onto a bus.”

“Well, did you get a good look at him?” They were approaching the hot dog vendor, and Mac reached around his left hip to grab his wallet. He kept it on the left side so that he didn’t show his gun and scare the pedestrians every time he needed to pay for something.

Stella glanced briefly at the sky, her eyes flitting around the street without really seeing anything as she sorted the brief flashes of her stalker’s face. “White male, early twenties, about 5’5”, 5’6”, yellow hoodie…”

Mac glanced at her. “Anything else?”

Stella wasn’t looking at him. She was staring into the crowd. “Yellow hoodie,” she murmured absently. Mac followed her gaze, and his sharp eyes locked onto a young man fitting the description of Stella’s stalker, leaning against a lamppost. To say that the boy was nervous was an understatement; he couldn’t have been more obvious had he been sitting on a park bench, staring at Stella through a newspaper with eyeholes cut out. “That’s him, Mac.”

Mac fixed the young man in his gaze, studying his features in a split-second, memorizing the face. The kid’s gaze flicked from Stella to Mac, and he froze. He knew he’d been made, and he turned and bolted. Mac sprang into motion, weaving through the crowd with surprising agility.

This stalker may have been able to outrun Danny, but he was no match for an ex-infantryman like Mac.

The Marine ate up the distance between them in smooth, long strides, knowing that his physical build and his pace would wear him out much more slowly than the rabbit-like darting of his quarry. Desperately the kid dashed across the street, nearly getting clobbered by a taxi, but the split-second hesitation was enough for Mac to get right on his heels.

The boy made his last fatal mistake and leapt into the path of a bicyclist on the sidewalk, nearly causing the man to wreck. The kid stumbled, and that was enough for Mac to seize hold of the kid’s hoodie and whirl him to face the Marine as he slammed the young man up against a nearby wall.

The kid was young, breathless, and a bit scared. “Who are you?” Mac growled. “Why are you following her?”

‘Her’ came jogging up a few seconds later, slightly winded from the chase. The kid looked straight at Stella. “Are you Claire Conrad?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Mac’s grip slackened, incredulous. “Claire Conrad Taylor?” he asked slowly.

The kid gave a hesitant nod.

Mac backed off, his hands now hanging loosely at his sides. Quietly he gazed at the young man. “She was my wife.”

I don't care to know the hour
'Cause it's passing anyway
I don't have to see tomorrow
'Cause I saw it yesterday

So I listen for an answer but the feeling seems to stay
And what's the use of always dreaming if tomorrow is today?

Billy Joel – "Tomorrow Is Today"

A FEW HOURS LATER

“Hey, Mac,” Danny greeted as he unlocked the door of the Marine’s apartment. He and Mac had exchanged duplicates of their keys a few weeks ago, which had enabled Danny to have some nice surprises waiting for his lover whenever Mac finally was persuaded to leave the lab. Today, though, he was surprised to see that Mac was already home.

Danny’s brows furrowed; Mac was just sitting on the couch, staring at the TV even though the unit wasn’t even on. “Mac?”

The Marine finally glanced over. “Hey, Danny,” he said blandly.

Danny could hear the alarm bells ringing in his head as he stepped over to the older man, laying his jacket over the back of the couch and sinking down next to the muscular body, and Mac allowed the Italian to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

Danny knew this cagey behavior; he’d last seen it when he’d wandered into the living room and found Mac clutching a beach ball in the middle of the night, several months ago. Danny knew that something had happened today, and that something had brought up some old memories that left the Marine sitting at home, alone, suffering in silence.

“Hey, Mac, you okay?” Danny asked cautiously.

Mac leaned back into his couch with a heavy sigh. “I met someone today. He… he and I have something in common.”

Danny cocked his head and sat next to Mac, one hand on the Marine’s knee. “Yeah? Anythin’ you wanna talk about?”

Mac just stared at the hand on his leg. “He’s Claire’s son,” he murmured. He felt the hand flinch. “She had him before I met her, and gave him up for adoption. She was pretty young at the time. And now that he’s 18, he went looking for her.”

Feeling oddly possessive without knowing why, Danny scooted closer to Mac and laid an arm over his shoulder. “Keep goin’.”

Mac did not relax into the embrace, as the Italian had hoped. Instead, he seemed to get even more tense. “His name is Reed. Reed Garrett. I had a cup of coffee with him, and I asked him if he wanted to talk. He said he didn’t, because I wasn’t the one he was looking for.”

Danny felt his heart snag at the Marine’s pent-up sorrow and did his best to rub the older man’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. What else could he say?

And then, selfishly, he began to feel dread. Claire’s son appearing… what sort of memories would this dredge up for Mac? And would it close the Marine’s heart off from Danny again? There was something distinctly wrong, in the Italian’s eyes, about having to compete with a dead woman.

Mac’s face took on the look that it normally did when he was doing some long, hard thinking. Finally he spoke, quietly. “I get the feeling sometimes that I’m not doing the right thing. That I’m dishonoring her memory.”

A cold knot began to form in Danny’s stomach. “Whaddaya mean?” he asked cautiously, hoping that his voice cracking wasn’t quite as audible to Mac as it was to him.

The Marine wouldn’t look at him. “By being with another man. By being with you.”

“Mac, I…”

“What am I supposed to tell Reed, if he ever wants to see me again?” Mac asked suddenly. “That his mother is dead, but now I’ve moved on and I’m sleeping with a man? With my subordinate?”

Danny resisted the urge to clutch desperately at the older man’s shoulders. “Ya don’t have to tell ‘im anything, Mac,” he reasoned. He remembered Horatio’s words to him. “Ya like what ya like, and that’s all there is to it.”

“It’s still wrong,” Mac insisted quietly. “If only for the reason that I’m your boss, Danny.”

“Hey, you’ve done me no favors that you didn’t do for anybody else, Mac,” Danny countered. “Ya even took me off the promotion grid for a while, remember? You’ve been treatin’ me just like everybody else. As far as the rest o’ the lab knows, I ain’t one of your favorites.”

Mac gave a world-weary sigh, as though he was making the hardest decision of his life, a decision that Danny desperately didn’t want him to have to make. “Danny, I think I need a break.”

Danny tried hard to keep his heart out of his throat. “A break from what?”

“From you. From us. I just need some time to think.” Mac still wouldn’t look at him, but just stared at the wall, his face as expressionless as a statue.

Danny shrank away from the Marine, one desperate hand still clinging to Mac’s shoulder. “So this is it, huh?”

Mac nodded. “For now,” he agreed dispassionately. “I’m not saying that it’s over, and I’m not saying that it isn’t. And don’t blame yourself for anything. The problem isn’t you, it’s me.”

It’s always been you, Danny wanted to growl, but he didn’t want to do anything to upset the Marine even more. “So what now? I just go home and pretend that we ain’t been sleepin’ together for th’ last nine-odd months?”

Finally, a reaction: Mac’s eyebrows flicked. “Has it really been that long?”

Danny nodded, feeling like his stomach had sank about three feet. “Nine months since we first hooked up.”

Mac’s face may as well have been carved from granite. “And you remember the conditions of that first night, don’t you? That this is sex, nothing more.”

Danny was startled to realize that his free hand was clenched into a fist, shaking. “Nothin’ more? What about the time that Horatio came up here, and you guys went and did that thing, and then everything was all right again? What the hell happened to that?”

Mac’s eyebrows came together slightly. “That was something that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

Danny stood, looking like he’d been punched in the stomach. He wanted to say something, anything, a lot of things, but no sound would come out of his mouth.

Mac finally turned to look at him, his eyes as cold and detached as when he studied a corpse. “Go home, Danny. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” There was nothing left for Danny to do but get his jacket and leave, blinking back the tears as he left Mac’s apartment without a backward glance.

Mac sat on the couch for a long time, staring at the closed door. Part of him was satisfied, as though everything was at it should be. Part of him wanted to be angry, to scream and throw things. It was the largest part of him, however, that wanted to weep.

What have I done?

What you should have done from the beginning. It wasn’t right and you know it.

It felt right. It felt good.

You’re his boss! And he’s a man, like you! And think about Claire!

Mac grumbled and banished his thoughts, standing and heading to the bathroom to prepare for bed. Now was not the time to think he was hearing voices, even if they were right. He brushed his teeth and flicked off the lights and headed for the bedroom.

He stripped down to his shorts and climbed into bed, turning off the light. It was far too quiet in here, and he was surprised at how cold he was. That was stupid; he’d slept alone long before Danny came along and he’d never been too cold to sleep. Right now, however, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something was missing from the pillow next to him.

Mac had just started dozing when a memory flitted across his consciousness, a memory of a warm body next to his and a hand that ghosted across his hip before reaching for his cock.

His eyes popped wide open, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t tell if that hand was Danny’s or Claire’s, and that bothered him. He rolled onto his other side, facing away from his empty bed. He tried to go to sleep again but the vision insisted that he remember being slowly fondled awake.

Danny’s hand, this morning. Despite Mac’s inner growl at the memory, it refused to leave him alone. He wanted to deny it, to banish it so he could go to sleep, but he couldn’t.

It was with a resigned sigh that Mac’s hand traveled down to his own length, which had hardened almost against his will. He stroked himself through the fabric, remembering the delicious feel of Danny’s lips around his cock. He bit back a moan as he finally freed his erection from the confines of his shorts, leaning up to grab some lube from the nightstand before laying on his back, slicking up his cock and running his hand along it, teasing, tormenting.

He closed his eyes and bit his lip, remembering the feel of Danny’s tight, hot, perfect ass wrapped around his dick last night. He remembered the look of pure, utter ecstasy on the Italian’s face as he rode Mac, their flesh slapping together, their chests heaving. He remembered thrusting his cock into Danny one last time, growling his name, filling his condom with his essence, and Mac remembered the wild moan when Danny had come around him, remembered the painfully tight grip that the younger man had clenched him with during his own glorious climax.

Mac gave another growl as he felt his orgasm rising there and then, his hand moving along his length in frantic strokes, and then he was coming, his cock sputtering the thick white globs that rained down on his taut pectorals like lazy shotgun pellets. He lay there, catching his breath, as the visions continued.

He remembered Danny curled up next to him, sated, and start to say those three little words. The Italian hadn’t finished his sentence that morning, but in Mac’s mind now, he did.

“I love ya, Mac.”

And then Mac remembered Claire.

It was with a sound like a wounded animal, full of anguish and frustration, that Mac rolled onto his side. For once, Mac ignored the mess as he tried to shut his mind down and fall asleep.

His bed was cold.
He was awake for a long time.

Still I'm waiting for the morning, but it feels so far away
And you don't need the love I'm giving, so tomorrow is today

Billy Joel – "Tomorrow Is Today"

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Flack’s head popped up at the pounding on his door. It was late, and he’d been just about to go to bed. He pulled himself from the couch, scratching his chest absently through his old NYPD T-shirt and wiping his Doritos fingers on his sweatpants.

He pulled the door open, and was surprised to see who was on the other side. “Messer, the hell are you doin’ here?”

Danny seemed ‘off’ to Flack. He wasn’t his usual scrappy self. No, the Italian was calm, focused, and about as energetic as, well, as Mac usually was. “Mind if I come in?” Danny asked quietly. He entered without waiting for a reply, and Flack’s gaze flicked from the Italian to his door as though checking to see that there weren’t any dents.

As Danny moved across the room to take Flack’s spot on the couch, Flack frowned. Danny’s movements were jerky, wooden, with none of the usual energy. His eyes were cold and dead, a slightly haunted look at the edges.

It was like… Danny’s soul had died.

Flack sat next to Danny, feeling his rather insensitive dick begin to wake up at the Italian’s proximity. True to their word, Mac and Danny had indeed kept their promise to the detective and had invited him over from time to time, giving him sweaty nights that he would never forget.

This time, though… it was just Danny, and it wasn’t at Mac’s apartment. “Messer, what’s goin’ on?” Flack asked again, sensing that something wasn’t quite right and wishing his dick would behave so he could think. “Where’s Mac?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Danny said suddenly. “I just want ya to fuck my goddamn brains out. Can ya do that? Please?”

Flack blinked; Danny never said ‘please’ to him, and Mac had always been around for their little get-togethers. Something was wrong. “I guess,” he agreed slowly. He felt his libido give an almost triumphant cackle as his cock surged in his sweatpants.

“You ain’t gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, are ya?” Flack asked as he slid his shirt over his head.

“Nope.” That was the only answer Danny gave as he slid off his own clothing, then sat on the couch just as dispassionately as before. Flack furrowed his brows at Danny’s sullen attitude, then thought of something guaranteed to bring the Italian out of his funk. He placed a hand on his own dick, stroking it, and waited until Danny finally glanced over at him.

“Ya wanna suck on it?” Flack asked coyly.

To his surprise, Danny shook his head. “Sorry, pal, not in the mood. I just wanna get fucked, eh?”

Flack showed his disappointment. He’d been looking forward to Danny’s lips around his cock, but he didn’t want to push it. Danny was in a weird enough mood as was. And so Flack stroked himself to full hardness while Danny prepared his own entrance, and then Danny lay on his back on the couch while Flack crawled between his knees and slid inside.

Inwardly, Danny was just as disappointed. While Flack did have nearly an inch over Mac’s length, he had nowhere near the Marine’s girth, and Danny was used to Mac’s beer can of a dick pistoning in and out of him. Oh, Danny moaned and writhed, of course; the last thing he wanted was for Flack to think he was a boring fuck. He lay there with his legs around Flack’s waist and moaned and stroked himself and tried not to think of Mac.

Flack’s face was pure ecstasy. Mac and Danny had introduced him to the pleasures of fucking another man, and the Italian was a damn good lay. Danny was so friggin’ tight, he must do his Kiegels. And so Flack thrust hard into that hot ass, his hips slapping against the Italian as Danny’s legs squeezed him tighter, Danny’s hand a blur on his own dick, and for the second time in 24 hours, Danny felt his partner coming first.

Flack stiffened and let out a long, rolling groan as he came, filling his condom, and then it was almost with a resigned sigh that Danny came around Flack, moaning and avoiding saying any names. It was too painful.

It was over just like that. Flack sagged back and peeled off his condom, standing to find a place to throw it away and to clean himself off, while Danny just lay there and idly wiped the semen off his belly with a finger, licking the slim digits and trying not to think of Mac’s tongue.

It hadn’t worked. Danny had been fucked, and he was still thinking of the Marine. At least he could think straight now, and he knew exactly what his next step should be.

Flack came back from getting cleaned up, just in time to see Danny finish getting dressed. At Flack’s dumbfounded look, Danny just gave a quiet shrug. “Thanks for the fuck, Flack. See ya tomarra.”

And then he was gone, leaving Don Flack to stare at his closed door, still naked and still wondering what the hell is going on?

Danny stumbled into his apartment and tossed his jacket in the general direction of some furniture. A low growl rumbled up through his throat, and Danny curled his lips in a snarl as he walked into his living room and slammed a fist into his couch. And another one. And again. Danny had been a fair street-brawler when he was younger, and he knew how to box. His right arm, the one that had nearly gotten him into the Major Leagues as a pitcher before giving out, pounded into the already-battered cushions over and over, Danny gritting his teeth and growling in rage and grief.

He was weeping, he was cursing, he was pounding the fabric with everything he had, wanting to hit Mac and to kiss Mac, wishing he could tell Claire to get lost. He wanted to die, to get drunk, to go back to Flack’s and get his brains fucked out again. He just wanted to shut down, to hide in his bedroom and never think again.

Finally his shoulder started to complain and Danny stood, his arms shaking, his chest heaving, sweat and tears mingling to drip from his chin. Mindlessly he shuffled toward the kitchen and to the promise of alcoholic stupor, but staggered before he could leave the living room. He slapped a hand against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

His anger spent, Danny turned and sagged against the wall. He tilted his head back and slid to the floor, plopping down and covering his head with his hands.

A quiet whine made him lift his head, and he looked over to his beat-up recliner to see The Mook staring at him, head tilted. Danny sighed and slapped his thigh, and the wire-haired little mutt bounced to the floor and trotted over to him. “Hey, pal,” Danny murmured as the part-terrier, part-God-only-knew sat in his lap and ran a comforting tongue over his cheek, cleaning up the tears that Danny hadn’t even realized he was still shedding.

Danny had found the dog just a little over a month ago and brought it back to his place. Mac loved dogs and this of course had made the Marine want to drop by Danny’s more often—much to the Italian’s delight—but Mac had insisted on a vet visit just in case. Other than a minor case of fleas, the animal had been given a clean bill of health, and had taken to Danny’s apartment like a kid to Central Park.

The Mook, as Danny had taken to calling his new friend, was slim and wiry and tough and street-smart and—as Sheldon had remarked—a four-legged version of Danny. The Italian had scoffed at the idea, but upon hearing the remark Mac had laughed harder than Danny had ever heard him laugh before.

The thought gave Danny another stab of pain deep in his chest, and he gave a shuddering sigh as he lifted The Mook off his lap and onto the floor, climbing clumsily to his feet. “Thanks, pal,” he told the dog, “but what I need right now is a lotta booze, aright?”

Danny shuffled into the kitchen and grabbed three beers out of his fridge, and his thoughts briefly flew to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He had aspirin. He had razor blades. And he most definitely had alcohol.

Dangerous thoughts careened throughout his skull as he chugged and walked, managing to land on the couch. He downed a beer without even thinking about it and started on the second one when another idea popped into his head. As though his hand had a mind of its own, Danny reached for the cell phone still on his belt, flipping it open and scrolling through his list of saved numbers until a particular one was highlighted.

“Might as well say goodbye to somebody that cares, ya know?” Danny grumbled, lifting the phone to his ear.

Oh my, I'm goin' to the river
Gonna take a ride and the Lord will deliver me
Make my bed, I'm gonna lie in it
If you don't come, I'm sure gonna die in it

Too late, too much givin'
I've seen a lot of life and I'm damn sick of livin' it
I keep hopin' that you will pass my way

And someday if your dreams are leavin' you
I'll still believe in you

Billy Joel – "Tomorrow Is Today"

The phone trilled in Danny’s ear. He chugged the rest of his second beer, his leg twitching, the third beer mocking him with its unopened top, the Italian trying like hell to hold back the tears that threatened to spill even as his heart felt like it’d been ripped out of his chest. The Mook was curled up next to him with his head on Danny’s thigh, staring up at his benefactor—Danny didn’t really consider himself to be the dog’s master—with canine concern and intelligence. Danny gave a sad smile and scratched behind The Mook’s ears.

Finally the line crackled. “Caine residence,” came a sleep-clogged voice.

Danny took a shuddering breath. “Tim,” he started, and trailed off as the tears broke free again.

“Who the…” Tim Speedle started, and then he must have paused to flick on the nightstand lamp and check the callerID. “Danny? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” the Italian moaned, his sinuses damming up.

“Danny, what the hell’s wrong? Are you crying?”

Danny just sobbed harder, holding his face in one hand while the other held the phone to his ear. “Tim, it’s about Mac. He… he says he don’t want me around no more.”

Speed was rendered speechless, but not for long. There was the sound of the older man clearing his throat and taking a breath, and then the Italian learned a few new words as his Miami friend swore graphically for a full minute.

Apparently Horatio had been sleeping next to him, because Danny heard the vague sounds of the redhead’s voice somewhere nearby. Speed held the phone away from his ear, explaining to his lover in short sentences why he’d been swearing. There was a rustling noise, and Danny realized that the phone had changed hands.

“Danny, it’s Horatio,” the familiar voice growled, concerned. “Tell us what happened.”

“Tell us everything,” Speed added, hovering next to his lover and listening hard.

And Danny did. He told the Miami pair about his screw-up that morning with the ‘three little words,’ and the appearance of Claire’s son, and Mac’s typical, stone-faced reaction to the whole thing.

Speed’s voice got fainter as he moved away from the phone, turning the air blue again.

“Who’s he cussin’ at?” Danny wondered through a stuffy nose.

Horatio was no more thrilled than his lover, but at least he held his tongue. “At Mac. Believe us, Danny, you have done nothing wrong. It’s not your fault, and there is no reason for you to feel responsible for this.”

“How am I not responsible?” Danny retorted, his hand diving between the couch cushions in the vain hope that he could find something to blow his nose on. “I mean, I’m the one that’s been makin’ ‘im feel like that. I can’t believe I said that to ‘im…”

“Danny, listen,” Speed snapped. “It’s not you, and it’s never been you. Mac’s just afraid of his own feelings.”

“And he’s still not over Claire,” Horatio added. The trio went silent for a moment, thinking. “Danny, Speed, I think it’s time we invited Mac down to spend a few more vacation days with us.”

Speed agreed wholeheartedly.

“Don’t say anythin’ to Mac, please,” Danny begged. “’Bout me callin’ you. I don’t wanna make it worse.”

“Danny,” Horatio chided gently, “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you asked for my help with this?”

Danny gave an embarrassing snort, wiping his nose on his sleeve because his search for a tissue had come up dry. “Yeah. Mac said that that shouldn’t’a happened in the first place. He said it’s always been about the sex, and nothin’ else.”

Tim’s voice blustered. “H, I thought you said that it worked!”

“It did,” Danny cut in. “He’s been a helluva a lot nicer in the sack, and at work and at home, but he still…” And Danny broke off again, drowning in fresh tears.

Horatio finished for him. “He still won’t love you,” he growled morosely. Tim started cussing again, but Horatio interrupted him calmly. “No, Speed, you’re not going to kill him. I need your help to fix this.”

Danny blinked. “Whaddaya mean by that? You’re not… plannin’ somethin’, are ya?”

He heard Speed’s voice give an unexpected cackle. “Planning stuff like this is what I do best, Danny. It might take us some time to get it together, but I think we can pull it off.”

“In the meantime,” Horatio continued, “Here’s what I need you to do. I need you to trust us that we’ll do everything we can to help you, all right? I need you to avoid alcohol, and to promise that you won’t hurt yourself in any way. Can you do that?”

Danny was silent.

“Promise, Danny,” Speed growled, “or we’re staying right here in Miami.”

Danny sighed. “Promise,” he muttered, eyeing the drink in front of him. “Hey, I got a beer gettin’ hot right in front of me. Can I have it?”

“Do you work tomorrow?” Speed asked logically.

Danny grunted. “Yeah.”

Horatio muttered something to Speed, who muttered back, and the redhead finally agreed. “Fine, but no more than two beers a night. I need you to stay strong, Danny, all right? I need you to keep yourself together until we can get up to New York.”

“And knock some sense into Mac’s thick skull,” Speed added, his voice a dangerous rumble.

“Mac has plenty of sense,” Horatio argued calmly, playing the devil’s advocate. “It’s like you said, Speed, he’s afraid of his own feelings.”

“What feelings?” Danny growled, popping open the third beer and downing a fourth of it.

“Jesus, Danny, slow down!” Speed said firmly, having heard the sounds. “I promise that when we get up there, if you still want to, I’ll take you out and let you get stinking drunk.”

“If this don’t work, eh?” Danny muttered.

“It will work,” Speed insisted. “This method, well… let’s just say, it’s worked before.”

There was a momentary silence. “Speed,” Horatio started, “You’re not planning another one of those, are you?”

“You’re damn skippy I am,” Speed retorted.

“Plannin' what?” wondered the Italian, interrupting the Miami pair.

Horatio gave a long-suffering sigh. “The same thing he did to convince me to love him. We weren’t always dating, Danny. In the beginning, it was like you and Mac: nothing beyond sex. However, Speed can be rather… persuasive, when he puts his mind to it.”

“Never doubt Mr. Deeps,” Speed growled. “I think it’ll work, H. I doubt we can get Mac to be the sub, though.”

“Well, I’ll do it,” Horatio offered quickly—too quickly, to Danny’s ears.

“Of course you will,” Speed said in a patronizing tone. “Oh, all right. Saves me the trouble of finding a stunt bottom.”

Danny was lost. “The hell are you two talking about?”

Abruptly the lovers started laughing. “Danny,” Speed started casually, “Do you mind if we take Mac clubbing with us?”

Danny blinked. “Clubbin’? You mean, to that place where you and H… do that weird shit?”

“It’s not weird shit, it’s kinky shit,” Speed corrected. “And yes.”

Danny blinked. “Whaddaya need my say-so for? Not like I got anythin’ to do with ‘im now.”

“Stop it, right now,” Horatio snarled unexpectedly. “In my mind, you and Mac are simply having a fight, and you are still together. Just believe it, Danny.”

Danny thought hard. Me and Mac ain’t over. We’re just havin’ a fight. “Can I believe it?” he whispered.

“You can,” Horatio growled reassuringly. “You’re having a fight, and you’re sleeping apart for a while. That’s all.”

A tiny shred of hope began to blossom within Danny’s mind. “Just a fight,” he muttered. “It’ll all work out.”

“Good man,” Horatio praised.

“I don’t wanna do this if he don’t want it,” Danny said suddenly, startling both himself and the Miami men. “If he don’t… don’t love me, then I don’t wanna… guilt ‘im, ya know?”

“Danny,” Horatio said patiently. “You can believe me when I say that Mac does love you. And that’s what scares him. And he remembers Claire.”

Danny spat the name is though it was a curse. “She’s been dead for more’n five years now, and he still acts like he don’t wanna offend her,” he grunted.

“Exactly,” Speed cut in. “He still hasn’t gotten over her, and that’s one thing we’re gonna try to help with. It’s not healthy.”

“Mac’s a smart man,” Horatio added. “And he’s a brave man, to a point. He’s never run from a battle that needed to be fought, I’m sure, but he can’t fight his emotions. To that end, he’s simply closed himself away from everything.”

“Not everybody can be like you, H,” Speed said softly. “To this day, I have no idea how you do it. How you deal with pain like you do.”

Danny could almost see the redhead duck his head and give a hesitant smile. “Pain,” Horatio began quietly. “Pain keeps us honest. The guilt keeps us sharp, fills us with the urge to make sure that we never have to feel that guilt again. The more you focus on the pain of others, the less you’re bogged down by your own regrets.”

“Wish I could do that,” Danny mumbled, taking another swig of his beer.

“You and me both,” Speed concurred.

Horatio gave a faint, slightly embarrassed snort. “It’s not something that can be taught. We all have to find our own methods for dealing with hardship.” He paused. “And the bottom of a bottle is not the best place to start looking.”

Danny grumbled and set the beer down. “Makes me feel better, for a little while,” he groused.

“No, it just makes you forget about it for a little while,” Speed argued. “And when you wake up in the morning, not only will it still hurt, but you’ll have a hangover. Just… just trust us, okay, Danny? As soon as we can get up there, we will.”

Danny gave a hesitant sigh, scratching the back of his neck. “Just hurry,” he whispered. “I don’t know how long I can live like this.”

“Live as long as you have to,” Horatio said in a firm, comforting tone. “This won’t kill you unless you let it.”

Danny had to nod at that. “You’re right.” He sagged back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Thanks, guys. For tryin’, at least.”

“Fuck trying,” Speed growled.

“Wait until we succeed,” Horatio finished.

Danny gave a mirthless laugh. “Anyway, thanks. I’m goin’ ta bed. Here’s hopin’ I can sleep.”

“Call me in the morning,” Speed insisted. “Call us every morning and every night.”

Danny felt the barest hint of relief in his shoulders; at least somebody cared. “Aright, I will. Talk to ya tomarra.”

I don't care to know the hour
'Cause it's passing anyway
I don't have to see tomorrow
'Cause I saw it yesterday

Though I'm living and I'm singing and although my hands still play
Soon enough it will all be over 'cause tomorrow is today

Billy Joel – "Tomorrow Is Today"

ONE WEEK LATER

Danny was in hell.

An entire week had gone by since Mac had left him. Danny had spent nearly every night at Flack’s, coming home only to tend to The Mook and his apartment. It hadn’t taken Flack long to figure out what was up, and he hadn’t wanted to take advantage of it, but Flack was really worried about Danny. Whatever he could do to help the guy stay afloat, he’d do. It was just a happy coincidence that Danny was begging for sex.

It had also been a huge mistake for Flack to let it slip that Mac was sleeping with the new coroner, Peyton Driscoll. A woman.

This had made Danny almost sick. He knew Mac was bisexual. Hell, he himself was bi! And so Danny had swallowed his nerves, blinked back his tears, and asked Lindsey if she wanted to go out sometime. Just to show everybody that he liked girls, too.

He bombed.

Lindsey had later told him that his first attempt to pick her up was more pathetic than “a dying calf in a hailstorm,” to use her words.

That was the one night he’d slept at home this week, with The Mook curled up next to him on his pillow and licking away his tears every time he tossed and turned. Such a good little mutt; honestly, Danny didn’t know what he’d do without the little guy.

If sleeping alone was hell, then going to work was truly something straight from the heart of the Abyss. Mac was terse, speaking to Danny only when he had to, looking at Danny only when he couldn’t avoid it, and generally just maintaining a three-foot barrier of personal space between them. Danny could see the pain on the Marine’s face, and to think that he—Danny—had been the cause of it filled the Italian with even deeper self-loathing.

More and more lately his thoughts had returned to the beer and the medicine cabinet, but Horatio and Speed’s words kept him afloat. Just give ‘em time, Danny told himself for the billionth time. They’ll get here. They can fix it.

Can’t they?

Danny tried not to dwell on that too much as he went about his job. Somehow he found the ability to concentrate on his tasks, as though by losing himself in his work, he could forget all about the man that was currently standing in his office, going over some files.

Speaking of files, Danny had a stack of his own that he’d been needing to give the Marine for a couple of days now, but he hadn’t found the nerve to face him. Today, though, he was determined to make the effort. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and marched to the glassed-in booth at the top of the stairs.

Mac was standing in his office, his back to the doorway when Danny entered. “Got some files for ya, Mac.”

Mac didn’t look at him. In fact, the Marine seemed to turn his face so that Danny couldn’t even see a hint of his profile. “Just lay them on the desk,” he said quietly.

Danny tried to keep the hurt look off his face. The entire week had been like this: Mac turned his back to Danny whenever he could, as though he couldn’t stand the sight of him. Danny couldn’t take it; he was possessed by the sudden urge to just touch Mac, to feel the Marine’s reassuring musculature under his hand. “Mac…” Danny reached out a hesitant hand, gently laying it on the older man’s shoulder, and Mac went rigid.

“Don’t touch me,” Mac growled.

“Mac, c’mon, look at me,” Danny pleaded. “For God’s sake, why won’t ya look at me?”

“Don’t touch me, Danny,” Mac repeated, his arms stiff.

“Mac, why—“

Suddenly Mac spun, casually shrugging off Danny’s hand as Mac’s other came to cup Danny behind the head and Mac dove down and smashed his lips against the younger man, and it was all Danny could do to not collapse.

Danny gave a moan as adrenaline, lust, love, and shock all poured through his veins, and he clutched Mac desperately and opened his mouth wide, begging for the tongue that Mac thrust into his waiting mouth. His brain started to tingle from lack of oxygen, but Danny didn’t care. This was Mac kissing him, and nothing else in the world mattered. It was hot and nasty and beautiful and he could feel his cock stirring, and all he wanted was for Mac to never stop, to hold him forever and never let go.

Just as suddenly, Mac broke apart and stared into Danny’s eyes, his face a mask of lust, anger, and hurt. Then he spun and all but shoved the Italian away. With deliberate effort, Mac grasped the edge of the desk with both hands, his knuckles white and shaking.

“I said, don’t touch me,” Mac said again, the strain in his voice evident. “Please, just… just don’t.”

Danny could only stare at the broad shoulders, his mouth wide, his face flushed, his eyes glistening. Finally the Italian swallowed, bent to pick up the files he’d dropped, placed them on the desk beside the Marine, and left the office without another word, staring at the floor and nearly walking into at least three different techs on the way back to the trace lab.

Out of sight, Sheldon Hawkes and Stella Bonasera watched with calm and unbiased eyes. “You see that?” Sheldon murmured. Oblivious to their scrutiny, Mac shook his head slightly as if to clear it, then walked around the desk to sit in it. He stared at the files for a few seconds before picking them up and leafing through them.

Stella nodded. “Poor Danny. This is killing him.”

“Poor both of them,” Sheldon corrected. “Mac’s really tearing himself up, and I can’t figure out why. It’s obvious that they’re crazy about each other.”

Stella sighed. “You don’t know Mac like I do. He’s afraid he’s going to get hurt again, and believe it or not, he’s still not over his wife. And she died on 9/11.”

Sheldon blinked. “I agree that everyone needs a rational grieving period, but that’s… has it always taken him this long to get over a loss?”

“It takes him a while,” Stella admitted, “but never this long. Claire was his first wife, and I have never seen two people more perfect for each other.”

“Ouch,” Sheldon winced. “He’s just never said goodbye to her.”

Stella gave a heavy sigh. “No, he hasn’t. And it’s causing more problems than he wants to admit. Matter of fact, he may not even realize that it is causing problems.”

Sheldon scratched the back of his head. “Think we should say anything?”

“After seeing that?” Stella gave the pathologist a Look. “He’ll be lucky if I don’t shoot him. This has gone on long enough.”

Hawkes held up his hands defensively. “Far be it from me to stand in front of an angry best friend. I’ll be right behind you.”

Stella made as though to roll up her sleeves. “He’s paranoid when it comes to the reputation of the lab,” she grumbled as she began moving in Mac’s direction. “And you have to admit, a shift supervisor sleeping with a male subordinate isn’t going to look good if it goes public.”

“But it’s better than the alternative, especially for Danny’s sake,” Sheldon affirmed, and she nodded as they arrived at the top of the short flight of steps.

“Mac,” Stella announced briskly, striding into the Marine’s office with Sheldon close behind her.

“We need to talk,” Hawkes said firmly, closing the door.

Looking up from the paperwork on his desk, Mac lifted an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

Mac’s closest friend for several years stalked to the desk, her arms crossed. “Yes, there is: you.” She stood there, her arms crossed, eying the Marine like she usually eyed an uncooperative bacteria culture. Sheldon just stood in the corner, his arms also crossed and watching calmly.

Mac blinked. “How am I a problem?”

Stella stepped forward and slammed her hands down on the desk. “Mac, you’re single-handedly tearing the lab apart! Peyton can’t walk, Lindsey can’t think, Danny can’t even look at you, Flack won’t talk to anyone, and I’m sick of it!”

Mac was stunned. He knew that Stella was prone to occasional bouts of shouting, but very rarely did she shout at him. “What are you saying?” Mac asked with sky-high eyebrows, leaning back in his seat.

Sheldon glowered at him, finally speaking. “We know about you and Claire. We know about you and Peyton. We also know about you and Danny.” He took a breath, cutting Mac off before the startled Marine could protest. “And last of all, we know that you need to get your priorities straight, to find closure from your wife, and to pull your head out of your bowels and fix things!”

Mac could feel the anger rising even as he glanced incredulously at Stella. “And how should I fix things, exactly?”

Stella answered as she tossed her hands in the air. “That’s up to you, Mac. But you need to do it and do it soon, before this whole mess starts to interfere with our work.”

Mac ducked his head. “I left Danny because I didn’t want it to interfere with work.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Mac,” Stella said with a dangerous quiet, resting her hands on her hips. “You left him because people are starting to talk, and because he started getting too close.”

Mac could feel his hands vibrating, from anger and from shock, from self-loathing and not a little paranoia. “How would you know?” he growled.

Stella walked around the desk and turned Mac’s chair to face her, putting her hands on his shoulders and getting right in his face. “Mac, we’ve been friends for a long time. I know you. I know what scares you.”

Mac flicked a glance at Sheldon, who stood there impassively, before turning back to the woman that filled his field of vision. “And what, exactly, scares me?” he asked sarcastically.

Her face tightened. “You’re afraid of losing someone. You’re afraid to let yourself get hurt again, after what happened to Claire.”

Something happened to Mac’s face that Stella hadn’t seen since half a year after the Twin Towers fell: a tic, just under her boss’s left eye. “Do you have to drag Claire into this?” Mac rumbled.

“With all due respect, Mac,” Sheldon started as Stella released the Marine’s shoulders, “Claire is the biggest part of the problem.”

The tic grew more pronounced as Mac’s face tightened.

Stella saw it. “Mac, believe me, we’re not saying anything against Claire. I gave you your space after she died, remember? I was thrilled when you finally went out on another date. When you started seeing Danny, well, I’ll admit that it was a little weird but I think it was for the best.”

Mac blinked, the anger disappearing from his face. “You think it was for the best?” he repeated, not quite sure that he’d heard her right.

Hawkes sighed. “Mac, we think you and Danny fit well together, and so far you’ve been able to keep it from interfering with the job. And as long as it doesn’t interfere, we won’t say anything.”

“Which is why we’re talking now,” Stella continued. “Mac, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Danny, but I’m sure that that kid from last week is probably what started it.”

Sheldon saw Mac’s face. “More like the straw that broke the camel’s back,” the pathologist ventured, and Mac gave a slow nod. “Mac, what worries me the most is the way Danny’s been acting. I think he might try to hurt himself.”

Mac’s brows furrowed, the tic still going, and the Marine rubbed at it absently. “Danny wouldn’t hurt himself. He’s not suicidal.”

“Well, he wasn’t before you dumped him!” Stella snapped, slapping her hands on her thighs for emphasis.

Mac’s gaze flicked between his two friends, weighing their words. Finally, “I’ll make sure that he makes an appointment with the department psychologist.”

Hawkes gave a definite growl. “Mac, the one that needs a psychologist is you!”

Mac reared his head back, the tic suddenly disappearing.

Stella gave a frustrated sigh. “He still doesn’t get it,” she muttered to Sheldon. “I can’t understand how a man that smart can be so…” her voice trailed off, unable to think of a suitable epithet.

“Dense?” Sheldon finished wryly, and Stella made a sarcastic ‘thank you!’ gesture. Hawkes turned back to Mac. “At least take a few days off, Mac. Think, relax, sort things out.”

“Please?” Stella asked, in that edgy voice she used only when she was two steps away from slapping the Marine in the face.

Mac sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

Sheldon and Stella gave identical sighs. “Well, we tried,” Hawkes muttered.

Stella turned on her heel and yanked the door open. “Next time, I’m trying with a sledgehammer,” she growled loud enough for Mac to hear as she left the office, Sheldon close behind her.

Mac stared after them even when they were out of his sight. “I could use a vacation,” he finally grumbled. He needed to get away from all this for a while. Get away from Danny, and work, and Reed, and memories of Claire. But mostly, he needed to get away from Danny.

He knew exactly where he would go, too: Miami. Horatio would no doubt try to change Mac’s mind, but Mac sternly resolved to not let that happen again. Far, far too much was wrong with Mac seeing Danny, and he needed to just get away and think.

Lying on a beach sounded nice.
He picked up his phone and called Horatio.

THE STORY IS CONTINUED in “Keeping The Faith” chapter 6, “Everybody Loves You Now,” in the CSI:Miami section. It’s not necessary to the storyline that you do read “Everybody Loves You Now,” but I figured you’d like to know what Horatio and Speed plan to do to Mac this time.