1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own very little, especially not CSI NY. **

**Author: Lily Moonlight**

**Notes: I haven't posted much of my own writing recently, so I'm a bit nervous about this. This came about because of a request **_**Blue Shadowdancer**_** made way back last August for a story about Mac losing something. It was going to be a oneshot, then it grew to a five part story :D Thanks to **_**Ballettmaus**_** for her help, and to **_**Blue Shadowdancer**_** and**_** Sarramaks**_** for reading and commenting on early drafts. Thanks also to **_**cmaddict, Brinchen86, fractured-fairytale06**_** and **_**Forest Angel**_** for discussion, and to _aislara_ who was happy for me to use this title (her current story is called 'Finding Home'). I hope you enjoy this!**

Finding the Future

Chapter One

As she stood in the mild air of a spring day, feeling the breath of the Windy City lifting her curls, Stella realised that her partner's absence was becoming a matter of concern. She frowned at her watch and glanced in the direction he had disappeared. Seeing no sign of him, she sighed and let her mind wander back over the last few days, and her impulsive offer to accompany Mac to the city of his birth.

Entering his office six days ago, she had seen immediately his fatigue, and something else, evident in his crumpled posture and the heaviness of his eyes. Knowing he had gone home reasonably early the previous night, it had worried her. After watching him pick up a paperweight off his desk, stare at it then put it down, she had asked him what was wrong. He had, following only a brief pause, told her about the death of an old school friend, Stephen, in a car accident and how he had been invited to attend his funeral.

His hand had grasped the paperweight again and the lines around his eyes had deepened. That he was affected more than he was saying was clear to her, and glimpsing a fracture in his usually stoic exterior had made her determined to mend it. With instinctive compassion, and a rush of sympathy running through her, she had covered his hand with hers.

"_I'll go with you."_

Her words had blurted out without a moment of hesitation. Following that, their gazes had met and held. Silent moments had passed between them; moments of questions and answers. And then, slowly, he had nodded. The grooves on his face softened, and she had given him a slight smile as she curled her fingers round his. What the smile had hidden though was a rush of nerves at the implications of what she had just done, and what he had just done in accepting her offer. Though he would not admit it, the loss of his friend was a blow that had unsteadied him. But he had let her see something of the effect, and as her hand held his, anchoring him, she felt the force of something new between them shake them both; shake them from their usual positions relative to each other; moving them even closer together than they had become in recent months.

When she had left his office, lacing her fingers together anxiously as she walked away down the corridor, thoughts swirling in her mind, she had glanced back through the window and seen him watching her. Standing sideways to his desk, one hand on the surface he had sought her gaze. He found it, and their eyes had joined for a moment.

She had known then she had made the right decision.

Arrangements had been made more easily than she expected and they had arrived in Chicago the morning of the funeral. There had been time for them to collect the rental car, check in hastily at the hotel, and then they had driven to the funeral home. Throughout the service, she had watched Mac carefully; keeping at his side, remaining aware of the changing nuances of his expression. Although to the rest of the world he presented an unaffected face, she knew differently and was able to see with a glance that he was carrying a heavy load of sadness. Memories of the greatest loss he had suffered added to that also. She had realised too that it would not have taken much to crack his facade and spill the emotions inside. More than once, her hand had strayed to his, her fingertips brushing the back of his hand, tracing the lines of veins and ligaments. Those times, his gaze had not wavered from the front of the church, but he had moved a little closer to her.

After the service, they had walked silently together out of the church and to the wake. There, he had relaxed a little more, and had introduced her to his friend's family, and to other friends and acquaintances. After mingling for an hour, Mac and she had made a mutual decision to leave. She was not sorry to do so; she could see her partner was not either. Some time in peaceful and unrestrained companionship was what their unspoken communication agreed on.

Except, moments after leaving, their two had become three when Archie Brice, another of Mac's friends, had decided to run after them and leave with them. Despite the fact that he had downed more than a few bottles of beer, or perhaps because of that, he had attached himself to their sides.

Quite literally in the case of herself, Stella thought with a sudden shudder at the memory of straying hands.

Loquacious with drink, Archie had seemed unable to stop stories pouring forth of his, Stephen's, and Mac's exploits as children. This had amused Stella, and irritated Mac. And then had been told the story that had caught his attention, along with Stella's curiosity; the story of the military tags that had belonged to Stephen, been entrusted to Mac, and then lost by him at the site of a disused factory they had used as a hang-out when they were just turned teenagers....

"_Which is still there, yeah, kind of hard to believe, almost as hard to believe as Mac the man losing stuff, but they still haven't gotten around to knocking that old place down. Still all there... Hey, you know what? We should go there, right now, the three of us, it'd be great to see the old place again,"_ Archie had said enthusiastically, poking Mac in the chest with his beer bottle, whilst his eyes blinked and shone like flickering candle flames as he urged him to take a trip to the site, to try and find the missing tags. He had added that it would be just like old times, apart from Stella (or Sally as he insisted on calling her) being there, but she could _tag_ along with them. He had laughed long and loud at his own joke. Mac had remained poker-faced.

Stella, staying out of the matter for a time, had watched with interest, looking between the two men and observing their differences. Archie, on the one hand, was disheveled and unsteady; his tie half-undone, his jacket crumpled and splashed with beer and his hair looking like a field of wind-blown wheat. In contrast, Mac was groomed, neat and soberly attired in black. Looking at his smartly-dressed best, Stella had thought, indulging in a moment of possibly inappropriate admiration of her partner.

She had pushed it aside though, and continued to listen. Whilst Archie made his attempts at persuasion, Mac's face had closed over, trying to hide the annoyance at being forced into what was an almost impossible mission to find the long missing tags, but Archie, oblivious to this, continued to gush out an alcoholic river of arguments as to why they should go. Finally, Stella had spoken up in favour of the expedition, intrigued by the prospect and wanting to resolve the matter, and reluctantly, Mac had agreed.

During the drive to the site, Archie, who had enough bottles on his person to make his pockets clank, had related yet more stories of their youth between swigs of beer and leers at Stella from the back seat. At one point, a hand had crept round to the front where she was sitting and landed on her leg. She had removed it quickly after having fired a glare at its owner, who simply winked at her. Having known they were almost at their destination, Stella had gritted her teeth and tried to shift over as much as possible away from Archie's wandering fingers.

After they had left the car and walked over to the perimeter fence, Archie had announced he could walk no further until he had rested. It led to a few minutes more argument between him and Mac, the outcome being that her partner had agreed to go and seek a way into the factory. Something she suspected he had done just to silence his friend.

However, that had been fifteen minutes ago and he was still out of sight whilst she stood guard over his friend. Stella ground her heel into the dust of the path in irritation. Regretting, and wondering at, the fact that she had volunteered to stand guard, and even come here in the first place. This had been a bad idea, she decided re-folding her arms; a _really_ bad idea. Not least because Mac seemed to have abandoned her. It had seemed much more fun when trying to persuade him. Although, she had not actually thought he would agree. Now she was beginning to regret her eagerness to come out here...

Her thoughts were interrupted by Archie who had until that point been occupied with his beer. "Soooo..." He grinned and leaned a little further towards her, giving her a conspiratorial wink. "You and Mac, eh? Gonna tell me what the score is?"

As he poked her in the side, she dodged out of his reach, resisting the temptation to slap his hand away from her person. His eyes glittered with alcohol, and his gaze trailed up and down her body as a grin spread across his face.

Stella rolled her eyes and scowled. "There is no _score_," sarcasm oozed from her words. At least she hoped it did. "Mac and I are just colleagues, and friends...."

And everything else they were, which was not something she could put into words, certainly not words for Mac's extremely drunk former school friend.

Archie staggered and took another step closer to her. Stella stepped back. "Well, if you say so, Sally..." he drawled, fluttering his eyelashes at her.

"I do say so," she snapped. "And it's _Stella_."

In response, he slapped his forehead, beer sloshing out of the bottle. "Oh sure, sure. Geez, I'm sorry, _Sally_."

Releasing a sigh heaved up from the depths of her lungs that could almost have been a groan, Stella folded her arms even more tightly across her chest, wishing that she had worn something with a turtle-neck. Despite the fact she was not wearing a particularly low-cut shirt, Archie's eyes seemed to be drawn to her neckline, his gaze almost pouring down it, and attempts to draw her blazer closer around her to prevent him doing so were proving futile.

The beer bottle distracted Archie's attention for a moment so Stella turned again to look in the direction Mac had disappeared. Was it only fifteen minutes ago? She checked her watch and confirmed it, although it felt like one of the longest fifteen minutes she had ever spent. There was still no sign of him, and she cursed him inwardly in a Babel of languages. A little sneaky thought, however, reminded her that she had agreed to stay with Archie.

But that didn't mean Mac was allowed to be taking this much time.

A moment later she was startled out of her wishing misfortune on Mac, though not fatal misfortune (at least not until she had the chance to inflict it upon him herself) by Archie's chin pressing on her shoulder.

"You want some?" he turned his chin towards her, his lips almost brushing her cheek, and she recoiled at the beer soaked breath assailing her nostrils as he swung the bottle in front of her face.

Closing her eyes in a pained fashion, she shrugged him off. "No, I don't," she said forcefully, riled by his invasion of her space. But his thoughts seemed to be taking another direction as he remained standing far too close to her, swaying a little as if blown by a breeze.

"Hey, you know, last time we talked, me and Mac... well not talked exactly, more like a meail... email... sorta' thing, kind of the same but not, you know... well, anyhow, Mac, the man..."

Stella managed, with a deft sidestep, to extricate herself from the hand that was creeping like a vine round her waist.

"So, yeah," he continued unperturbed, his eyes roving over her. "Me and Mac, real close you know, real close friends when we were kids... you two close? You look pretty close, 'specially the way he kinda... y'know, _looks_ at you..." He waggled his fingers at her and let his voice trail tantalisingly away before he took another swig.

She screwed her face up in despair and felt her shoulders sag. Archie's judgements on her relationship with Mac bothered her. She remembered Flack's looks and comments about their trip to Chicago, and how following her informing the team about it, she had observed Danny murmuring something to Lindsay, who had shut him up with a shove to his ribs and a glare; Lindsay clearly had more sense of discretion than her husband. Stella also suspected that Mr Messer and his buddy Flack had been having their own conversations about Mac and her, in all senses of the phrase. When the tall detective had heard they were going to Chicago together, it had caused a suggestively raised eyebrow. Stella had answered his questions with only scant information, refusing to tell him any more than he needed to know. Obviously dissatisfied, he had dropped a few cryptic references to Greece. Stella had ignored them. He had then thrown them knowing glances over the next couple of crime scenes they had worked. She had ignored them as well.

But just how much did their colleagues gossip about them? And what did they say? Normally she would not be troubled by idle talk, but it was a worry that had begun to niggle at her recently, and Archie's comments were causing it to flare up again now.

Trying to quell her concerns for the time being, she looked again in the direction her partner had vanished. If something had happened to Mac and she had to return to New York and report that she had managed to lose the head of the crime lab in Chicago... The discussions that would provoke would be interesting indeed, Stella thought with no small amount of irony.

And there was still no sign of him of him; just the dusty path and the tattered chain-link fence that bordered the old factory site. Releasing another impatient sigh, she squinted into the low sun, the sky a glare of yellow light above the just-visible city skyline.

Archie was raising his bottle to her as she turned back to him with a frown. "You're a fine woman, Sally, a damn fine woman... Mac's real lucky to have... have you with him... just hope he 'preciates... appreciates you..." he heaved a bathetic sigh and Stella winced: he was about to become a morose drunk, and she was apprehensive about what other pronouncements he might have on her and Mac. "Yes ma'am, a lucky man... guess I'd count myself lucky to have a woman half as fine as you... but seeing as there's no woman in my life, fine or otherwise, then maybe I just don't have any luck at all..." His face crumpled and a suspicion of a sob dropped from his lips. "I'm not a man who likes his drink neither, hate beer, you know, can't stand it. Real nasty stuff, wouldn't normally touch it...." He took another swig from the bottle and smacked his lips. Stella raised her eyebrows in disbelief, but he didn't seem to notice. "But, you know, today just kind of... kind of all got to me with Stephen, and since I got no one to listen to me, no girl... Not like Mac, 'cause you know, he's got you and all..."

Torn between sympathy and exasperation, ignoring his last comment for the time being, Stella dithered over her actions. But when she heard a sniffle, sympathy won out and she gave Archie's shoulder a hesitant pat as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Hey, listen, honestly, you're a nice guy! Really, and I'm sure there's a woman out there for you..."

Archie turned water-logged eyes to her, the grape-red of them rivalling the colour of his nose. "You think so?" he asked hopefully, the bottle clutched in both hands in front of him.

"I _know_ so," Stella said with a determined smile. "Trust me."

After all, there were a lot of women in the world, some of whom weren't too choosy.

But he shook his head violently, causing more beer to slosh out of the bottle. "No, no, no, I know my faults... got plenny... plenty of 'em... s'fine, fine, don't need sympathy or pity, Sally, got too many faults to find a woman," he slurred.

Before she could stop herself, Stella found her arm around his shoulders. "Hey, I'm sure it's not that bad..."

And regretted her actions a moment later when he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her chest as his shoulders heaved with misery.

"S'not fair," he sobbed. "Got no one... no one who loves me... all alone... last girlfriend left me, lost her to another guy."

Stella sighed; that information did not surprise her in the slightest. But she patted his back whilst at the same time trying to maneuver him from pressing himself any further into her bosom.

"My life sucks," Archie snivelled, refusing to be maneuvered, and Stella groaned again. Managing to turn her head and look over her shoulder, she saw there was still no sign of Mac coming to her rescue.

Great. She had to wonder at how long it was taking one of the finest criminal investigators to find a way into an abandoned factory.

Grasping Archie by the shoulders, removing him from her person and giving him a small shake, she spoke firmly. "Look, seriously, you have a great life, from what Mac's told me about you."

A small white lie wouldn't harm, she decided: what Mac had actually said on their way to Chicago was that Archie was a man who had drifted through life and had very little luck with women, something Stella was witnessing first hand, and beginning to understand. He wasn't a bad guy, but she had not come all this way with to be hit on by and give counsel to an overly curious and inebriated man.

She had come here for Mac.

Finally, she managed to untangle Archie's arms from around her before his hands could slide any lower than her hips, and then replacing her hands on his shoulders, holding him at a distance, Stella came to a decision. "Okay, here's a thought. Why don't you stay here and finish your beer, while I go and find Mac? You got a cellphone?"

He shook his head, looking up at her mournfully. "Last girlfriend took it, said she, you know, hadn't got one, don't b'lieve... believe her though. 'Cause _you_ wouldn't do that, would you? Taking a guy's phone, geez... You know, she took verything... everthing... everything. _Man_..." His bottle shook in his hand, chinking against his teeth as he took another sip, and then he fixed her with a bleary stare. "Can't bl'ieve a girl would do that to her boyfriend... You'd never do that to Mac though, would you?"

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she realised what he was implying. "Mac is _not_ my boyfriend, okay?"

Although Archie wouldn't be the first person who had jumped to that conclusion, others had not been quite so persistent about it.

Hope shone in his eyes. "So you're single? Looking for a good man to keep you? A man like..."

"_No!_" she bit his sentence off, horror filling her at the thought. "Absolutely not!"

Maybe she shouldn't have been quite so vehement in denying a relationship with Mac...

Archie's head drooped and his hand fell to his side, beer splattering from the bottle onto the ground. "Guess not," he mumbled. "Should've realised, got no chance... not with you. 'Specially not with you and Mac being so, you know, _close_..." he looked slyly at her out of the corner of his eye, and Stella narrowed her eyes at him. "Know you're trying to deny that you're his girlfriend, but I can tell..." Tapping his nose and dipping his head, a wide grin split his face and his cheerful mood returned suddenly. He leaned closer and tripped over his feet, grabbing onto her waist to steady himself. "You can tell me, Sally, s'fine, good at keeping shecrets... strecrets... things you're not s'posed to tell..." he snickered, dropping his eyelid in an elongated wink. "You and Mac..."

"There is no me and Mac, and it's _Stella!_" she hissed. Frustration and annoyance vied for dominance as she prised his hands away from her. If Mac had been present, embarrassment would also have been in there.

"Sure," he hiccupped and giggled, adding in a stage-whisper, "_I won't tell anyone_..." Then he staggered forward again, clutching at empty air as she stepped out of his way. After taking another sip from his bottle, he frowned at it in puzzlement, shook it upside down, and then when a single drop fell from it, tossed it aside and drew another one, along with a bottle opener, out the depths of his jacket.

It was time to abandon him. Dipping into her pocket, she withdrew her phone and looked at it wistfully. Being rather fond of it she handed it to him after a brief hesitation. "I'm going to find Mac. Use this in an emergency, and don't drop it. If we're not back in an hour, call someone, preferably 911." As she said the last words, she realised the probable uselessness of them, considering his state of sobriety. However, it made her feel a tiny bit better.

"Gotcha," Archie gave her a tremulous thumbs-up as he plumped down to the ground, his legs stretched out in front of him. His head wobbled a little as he continued to speak, tapping the bottle on the ground to emphasise his words. "Watch your step in that old place, don't let Mac the man go leading you into trouble." He gave her another wink and slurped his beer. Then setting the bottle carefully down on the ground and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a look of serious concentration descended on his face. "'Cause, you know something, _Stella,_ I may be drunk as a skunk, but I can still recognise two people in love when I see it... Don't let him go lealing... leaning... _leading_ you 'stray..." Then he keeled over sideways, a smile plastered across his face.

Stella blinked. Her forehead wrinkled in consternation before she crouched beside him and gave him a cautious prod. He mumbled something but didn't stir or open his eyes, so she straightened up, shrugged slightly and spun on her heel. He was safe enough where he was. And besides, she thought, if getting into trouble with Mac was the alternative to staying here to be mauled and questioned on subjects she did not want to be questioned on, she would choose trouble every time.

Especially with Mac.

She strode off down the path. Finding Mac was now her focus. Finding him and demanding to know why he had abandoned her for more than twenty minutes, as a quick check of her watch confirmed. Any other thoughts about her relationship with him could be considered later. A determined look set on her face; she had questions to ask and he had answers to give.

**Please review and tell me what you think! I'd love to know. Next chapter posted at the weekend, and I'll update 'Old West' again on Friday. Thanks, Lily x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own very little, especially not CSI NY. **

**Author: Lily Moonlight**

**Notes: Thank you very much for reviews, alerts and favourites! I'm really glad you're enjoying this so far :D Thanks to **_**Ballettmaus**_** for her help, and to **_**Blue Shadowdancer**_** and**_** Sarramaks**_** for reading and commenting on early drafts. Thanks also to **_**cmaddict **_**and**_** Brinchen86 **_**for discussion. **

Finding the Future: Chapter Two

Stella's footsteps quickened as a thin breeze cut through her blazer. She pulled it closer round her, realising ruefully that Chicago hadn't received its nickname for nothing. It took a minute of walking before she found the man she was looking for standing staring at a section of fencing, lost in a frown of thought. She smiled: her target was in sight. So absorbed was he in his contemplation, he didn't notice her until she pinched his elbow and made him startle.

"Hey, did you forget about me?" Folding her arms, she gave him a look of mock-severity, any real annoyance evaporating at the sight of him and the knowledge he was all right.

He had the grace to look a little sheepish. "I lost track of time," he offered in apology. "Everything okay?" Then he looked around and his forehead puckered in puzzlement. "Where's Archie?"

Stella grinned crookedly. "Left him looking after his beer and sleeping off its effects. Seemed happy to do that. We were running out of conversation anyhow."

Mac gave her an intensive look. "Was he behaving himself?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," she shrugged, not wanting to detail their conversation, or the fact of Archie trying to handle her, though she had a feeling Mac could take a good guess.

He raised his eyebrows and she continued, hoping to reassure him teasingly. "It's fine, though I was beginning to wonder if you were going to abandon me to his tender mercies for the rest of the afternoon..." Then seeing his frown, she added, "Really, it's fine. He was just a little over-enthusiastic, and his jacket was two bottles of beer lighter than when you left."

Mac looked at her in amusement, but with just a hint of something else. "Was he trying to hit on you?"

Stella hesitated, experiencing a tingle through her at the suggestion of protectiveness and even possessiveness that his question had betrayed. Then she smirked, attempting to hide her feelings. "As I said, nothing I couldn't handle. Anyhow," she continued, pointing at the fence that had so captivated his attention, "what are you doing? Surely you're not still trying to find a way in?"

"It's proving more difficult than I thought." Mac gave the base of the fence a kick, raising a small cloud of dust. "Gates round that way are padlocked and barbed wire's been wrapped round them."

"So no way in that way, huh?" Stella said, glancing about her and along the yards of chain-link fencing. Then meeting his eyes, she gave him a searching look, realising he had been doing more than simply finding a way in. "You really want to go in there and hunt for those tags?"

Mac returned her look steadily. "It's worth a try to see if I can find them. And you seemed pretty keen yourself earlier. I was outnumbered, if I remember right."

They stared at each other for a moment until Stella ducked her head slightly in acknowledgement, biting her lip and unable to deny it. "Okay, fine. So _we_ need to search out another way in." He nodded once, having heeded her point, and she gave him a quick smile. "We'll find a way in, we're detectives, Mac."

He grinned. "That we are, and good ones too."

"How did you used to get in when you were kids?"

"Through the gate," he replied, adding wryly, "It didn't have the added decoration of barbed wire thirty something years ago."

"There's got to be another way in." Stella frowned and shook her hair away from her shoulders as she glanced about. "Anyhow, I didn't come all this way to stand looking at a fence."

Mac eyed her keenly, his lips curved into a smile. "You didn't? So what do you have in mind?"

Her hands placed on her hips, she contemplated the yards of fencing stretching in either direction, the anticipation of a problem to solve taking hold of her. "Okay..." she began. "The gate's a no-go, so we have to think unconventionally."

"Out of the box," Mac said.

"Or over the fence," she grinned, her gaze sliding towards him. But she became serious again an instant later, pursing her lips as she moved over to the fence and gripped the metal links with her fingers, pulling them slightly to test the tensile strength. Rocking back a little on her heels, she considered their options.

As she turned to Mac, she saw him giving her a questioning look.

"Way I see it," she said thoughtfully, dropping her sunglasses over her eyes to avoid the dazzle of the sun as she gazed at the top of the fence, "the only way is up." She turned back to him with a smile. Mac raised his eyebrow and folded his arms, clearly eager to see what she was about to do.

She grasped the wire. Then tightening her grip after a final glance at him, she flexed her fingers and set her foot firmly on the links of the fence, relieved to find that the pointed toe of her boot was a neat fit into the hexagons. She tested her weight and then feeling a flash of adrenaline at what she was about to do, she raised her other foot and let the fence take all her weight.

It held.

Stella released her breath, wiggled another toe hold a little higher and reached up closer to the top of the fence. Another few reaches and she was half-way up, realising suddenly just how high it was. For a moment it seemed to stretch above her, a gigantic web of wire, with her hanging there helplessly. She drew her breath in sharply.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Mac asked, a morsel of anxiety present in his voice. To her relief, it broke the illusion.

She breathed out. "Of course I do!"

Glancing down at him, Stella saw he was standing just beneath her with his arms raised. To catch her, she realised with an inner smile, and a sudden vision which she dismissed almost instantly of her landing gracefully in his arms.

It was almost enough to make her want to fall.

However, it did not take long before she was grasping the top of the fence with both hands and looking down again at Mac, who seemed to be further away than she expected. The frown was still on his face as he watched her. For a moment, as she was kicking her right foot free from the links, she felt an unpleasant prickle of fear all the way to her fingertips. But she kept her gaze fixed to Mac's as she heaved herself up and sat uncomfortably astride the fence whilst she calmed her breaths.

"Just take it steady," Mac said, a cleft deepening between his eyes. "There's no rush." He was still holding his arms out.

"But if I slipped you'd catch me, right?" Stella couldn't resist asking.

Though Mac's gaze remained steady, there was a glint of something in his eyes, and she wondered if he had experienced the same image she had done moments before. "Of course," he replied.

It made her feel a little warmer inside, and she flashed him a smile before bracing her arms and swinging her right leg over the top bar. Hanging for a moment by her fingertips, she looked down the gap between her body and the fence before she let herself drop. The landing was a little harder, and more painful, than expected and knocked a curse out of her as she threw one arm out behind her to balance herself – falling on her backside in front of Mac was not something she wanted to happen. Her wrist jarred a little with the impact, but not enough to trouble her.

"Impressive," he said with a raised eyebrow, pressing closer to the fence as she stood up.

"Thanks." She beamed at him as she got to her feet, happy to be safe on solid ground. "Your turn now."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that." A faint grimace crossed his face as he took a step back from the fence and appeared to size it up.

"Come on, Mac," she said encouragingly, removing her sunglasses to meet his gaze. "Surely you did all this kind of stuff in the marines, and I know Flack's not the only one who's had to jump a few fences in pursuit of suspects."

Mac stared at her as his fingers curled round the links. "You're younger than me," he said finally.

"I'm wearing heels," she countered, turning her foot to show him and tilting her head on one side. "That hardly gives me an advantage."

"Never ceases to amaze me what a woman can do in unsuitable shoes." There was just a murmur of sarcasm in his voice.

"I guess I'm just an amazing kind of woman," Stella smirked.

"I've never thought anything less," Mac said, and all sarcasm had vanished from him.

It silenced Stella as wonderings rushed through her mind. Mac said nothing further though and she watched him thoughtfully as he shrugged out of his jacket and discarded it at the bottom of the fence, before placing his foot on the wire. As he climbed, she recovered herself and slipped her sunglasses back over her eyes, to be able to admire with a measure of discretion.

As he caught his breath at the top of the fence, she moved forward and held her palms out in front of her, smiling sweetly up at him. "If you fall, I'll catch _you_."

His only response was a look of scepticism which she lifted her shoulders at. As he swung himself over, Stella lowered her arms and stepped back. Matching her strategy, he hung for a moment before dropping to the ground. His landing was a little wobblier than hers and she suppressed a smile as she grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet.

"Thanks." Mac dusted himself down and then turned to survey the buildings, shielding his eyes with his hand.

"So what now?" Stella asked, the reality of what they were doing occurring to her, along with a little unease. "We continue trespassing on private property?"

"It's long abandoned," he shrugged. "I don't think anyone's going to mind."

"Did no one ever come around when you used to hang out here?"

An expression of discomfort moved across his face and then vanished. "On one occasion, but we didn't get caught."

Lifting her sunglasses, Stella pierced him with a look. "You got any friends in the Chicago PD just in case? They might be more kindly disposed to us if you're acquainted with some of them, or if you flash your credentials round if we get arrested..."

"Which would do what exactly?" he asked with his lips quirking.

"Oh, I don't know, give us a reduced sentence?" Stella said, her voice stretching sarcastically.

He sent her an amused look before he began walking towards the disarray of buildings.

Shaking her head, she hurried to catch him up. He gave her a sideways grin, and though she tried to remain severe, she was unable to, and her face relaxed in good humour. It was undeniable; there was something gratifying about a little harmless illicit activity. Also, she had to admit, she was attracted to the romance of a missing item that they might be able to find after more than thirty years. Mac too seemed enlivened at the prospect, and for that she was glad. It made climbing that fence worth it, and if needs be, for him, she would climb any number of fences.

Their footsteps soon settled into a natural synchronicity as they continued walking side by side across the ground and sparse vegetation blasted by the wind. She became caught up for a moment in watching how the wind pressed his black shirt against his chest, outlining and sculpting the shape of his figure, and observed him discreetly. Their arms brushed as they walked, and as the wind increased, she was glad of the near-contact. The gusts brushed frigid fingers through her clothes, and trembled against her skin. Failing to squash a shiver, she wrapped her blazer round her again, but Mac had already turned towards her with concern in his eyes. "Are you cold?"

"Just thinking that it's probably a whole lot warmer back home," she said with a shudder. "Less windy..." she gave Mac a resigned look, anticipating a smart comment in return. "I know, you don't need to remind me, we're in the Windy City which is named for a very good reason. And yes, I know, I'm probably the thousandth person to say that, but that doesn't mean it's not true..." she squinted at him. "Please tell me to shut up, Mac."

He remained serious and a little thoughtful. "You'd rather be in New York than Chicago?"

"I haven't seen enough of Chicago to answer that fairly," she said and hesitated before answering honestly, as she knew she could, "But yes, I guess I'd prefer to be in New York."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he said, and a small smile appeared on his face.

"You did, huh?" she asked him with an arched eyebrow.

"I know how much you love the city," he replied. "It's your home."

"It's your home too, Mac," she said slowly, wondering where his thoughts were going.

His eyes met hers and she was reassured by what she saw in them. "Yes it is." They walked a few more steps before he continued. "You know, my Dad used to say whenever he was on leave that home is where your heart is. I guess I've come to understand what he really meant over the years."

A hush tingled like static electricity around them.

Mac's smile grew a little shyer and he slowed his walk, hers similarly reducing in pace to match, though her heart was racing. "I appreciate you coming out here with me." His voice fell quietly amongst the breeze that stirred the leaves and detritus on the ground around them into spirals.

"Any time, Mac," Stella said softly, and the warmth of his smile was a breath of heat through her, enough to repel any amount of icy winds.

They continued in a comfortable silence until they reached the first of the buildings; a large, concrete rectangle. Uninspiring in the extreme, Stella thought as they stood and regarded it. Its surface appeared to have had chunks nibbled out of it by giant teeth, and the paintwork along the windowsills had been flayed away by the sun. It stood silent and grim, slumped and abandoned. What disheartened her was that no way in was immediately apparent: the door was covered with a metal grille daubed with graffiti and the strip of windows was more than fifteen feet above the ground. It was not looking promising and she pushed her sunglasses back onto the top of her head with a glower at the structure. It seemed their mission had become impossible.

Mac, as she turned to look at him, was standing with his thumbs hooked in his pockets, and his mouth pursed. She contemplated him for a moment, biting her bottom lip before asking, "Know any secret ways in?" There was the hint of a challenge in her voice. But no answer was forthcoming so she took a step closer. "Mac?"

His gaze moved away from the building and settled on her. "I remember a few. They might still be around. You up for finding them?"

A grin crinkled her eyes. "I'm always up for finding things."

She slipped her arm through his, feeling it to be the right thing to do in the circumstances. If Mac was surprised at her actions he was not displeased, as the sparkle in his eyes showed. Giving his arm a squeeze, she smiled and dared to be a little more flirtatious. "Come on then, share your secrets with me," she said, adding with a memory of one of Archie's admonitions. "As long as you're not leading me into trouble..."

His lifted eyebrows matched hers. "Trouble? I'm not familiar with that."

She snorted as he began to lead her round the side of the building. "Sure you're not..." It struck her then that Mac seemed willing to take a risk with her, and that did not displease her.  
They arrived at a narrow passageway between the main building and the smaller one next to it; a dark and uninviting thoroughfare. Mac, nevertheless, after unhooking his arm from her and giving it a short weighing-up glance, turned sideways and started to edge crab-like along it. With a brief shake of her head, and a sigh of mourning for her new blazer, Stella followed him.

Slender as she was, it was a tight fit. The bricks scraped her clothes and more than a few grazes were inflicted on her hands, but she pressed on. A few steps ahead of her, her partner also seemed to be finding it uncomfortable as she turned her head in the confined space to look at him.

"You breathing in, Mac?" she asked less than innocently. A mumble answered her and she chuckled to herself.

They continued in silence, Stella finding her amusement to be soon suffocated. She was beginning to feel more than uncomfortable herself: the bricks were covered in mildew and smelled damp and sepulchral, and soon claustrophobia began to creep over her skin, inveigle its way into her. It was not something that usually troubled her, and she was annoyed with herself, but there was something about the thinness of the space they were in that unnerved her. Being surrounded by towering walls was making her breathing quicken. It was suddenly not hard to imagine them closing in on her, pressing into her skin, crushing her slowly and painfully, and she felt her heart begin to ricochet against her ribs...

"Stella!" Mac's voice jolted her out of the stifling panic and she realised that whilst she had almost come to a halt, he was standing in the open again, back-lit by the late afternoon light. He extended a hand to her, but she pulled herself the rest of the distance hastily. "You okay?" he asked, studying her with care as she scrambled into the open air.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she breathed and managed a quick smile. "Thanks."

He reached out and straightened the lapel of her blazer, his fingers skimming her bare neck. Even though his hand returned quickly to his side, the feel of his skin against hers remained and her heart refused to return to its usual sedate pace straight away. But they had a mission to accomplish, and even if it was a mission of the heart, she needed to keep her own in check. Smoothing her clothes down, and looking in resignation at the marks and abrasions on them, she walked further into the courtyard they had emerged into, inhaling the cool air and glad to be in an unconfined space. The ground bloomed with fragments of glass and wood that scrunched underfoot. Looming above them, the back of the building was almost identical to the front, complete with a door also blocked with a sheet of metal. At the sight of it, Mac stopped short and his face creased in annoyance.

Stella stepped over to him. "There a problem?" Clearly there was.

"This wasn't here..."

"...thirty something years ago?" she finished. "I guess a few people have been here since."

He jerked his head, his frustration very apparent. "Should have realised."

She laid her hand on his shoulder, leaving it there as she felt the tension of his muscles. "What exactly was this place?" As well as wanting to distract him, she was genuinely curious. There was no outward indication of the site's past role and she had not thought to ask before now.

"Canning factory," Mac replied, looking around him restlessly. "Place shut down when we started high school, owners just seemed to up and leave, so it was the perfect place for us when we were kids."

"I'm sure," Stella smiled, imagining as she gazed at him, Mac as a teenager scaling gates and squeezing through gaps, laughing with friends. Before the care of years had settled on him. A wistful sigh breathed out of her as she pressed his shoulder and let her hand drop. They stood and a breeze stirred her curls. The sun was low over the building, a melting mass of gold, and it glowed across them, defining Mac's features as it lit his face. She stared, losing herself in the sight, breathing deeply of the moment; of the sun gilding them, the gentle touch of the wind in the courtyard, the evening scent of the air. At that moment, she realised, there was nowhere else she would rather be.

Mac turned and met her gaze and she dropped her eyes briefly, self-consciousness overcoming her, before she smiled at him. "I guess we need to find our own secret way in."

He grinned suddenly, his face lightening at the prospect. "Sounds a good plan."

This time she took the lead, picking her way over the flotsam scattered ground, round the far end of the building where the wall turned corners in almost a zig-zag composition. But around the second corner, a welcome sight met their eyes - a ground floor window covered with a piece of boarding. The board had crinkled and warped over the time and looked not too difficult to remove. Stella eyed it with thoughtful interest.

"What do you think?"

Mac slanted his gaze at it, his head at an angle. "Looks promising..." Then he returned his gaze to her. "What do _you_ think?"

"I was expecting something a little more adventurous than a ground floor window. After climbing that fence, this is hardly a challenge." Stella said tilting him a mischievous smile.

It provoked a grin. "Disappointed, Stella? Would you have preferred a third or fourth floor window?"

"Sure, why not?" she said with a glint in her eyes. "I could have stood on your shoulders then climbed in with you waiting below. "

"Ready to catch you again of course."

"If you insist," she smirked.

"Well I wouldn't want you plummeting to the ground and breaking your neck," Mac said, his smile becoming a little less than teasing. "I couldn't afford to lose you... my best CSI."

They looked at each other, and she wondered if she should infer anything from his pause, before she broke the moment with a smile and nudged his arm. "This'll do fine for me. Come on, if we can get in, we've got a chance of finding these tags."

"I'm glad you think so," Mac said, his face and voice sincere. "Otherwise I made you climb a fence and squeeze through that passage for nothing."

She gave him an appraising look before replying, "Mac, even if we don't find them, it doesn't matter... I hope we do, but if we don't, then it's fine." She paused, taking in his change of expression. "But I can see you want to."

He was silent for the beat of a second before he answered. "You know, I always felt bad for losing them, even though Stephen never minded, never complained about it. He thought it was funny when he realised, said he thought he'd never see the day I lost anything..."

"Which made you feel even guiltier," Stella said, her sympathy for him coursing through her, and then a quick smile crossed her lips as she judged him accurately. "And even more determined to find them."

Mac shrugged his shoulders slightly and shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning side-on against the wall. "His Dad had given him the tags for his eleventh birthday. Few weeks after that, he was killed in Vietnam." He gave her a self-deprecating look. "I did buy him some more that he accepted, but it wasn't the same. I couldn't replace what his Dad had given him."

Reading the emotions that were being written with a fleet hand across his face, she felt her own roused. "You didn't lose them on purpose," she said sympathetically. "How did you come to have them anyhow?" Neither Archie nor Mac had been elaborate about that earlier.

As he moved over to the window, Mac's expression was invisible for a moment, but he answered her as he took hold of the board across the window. "There was a bunch of us who hung out here during summer vacation after we were in eighth grade..." Unexpectedly, the board came away with a splintering crunch and Mac darted backwards, letting it drop to the ground. A smashed window pane, a hole punched out jaggedly in the middle, its remaining glass opaque with grime, was revealed. Mac grunted and dusted his hands before continuing his story. "We were messing about here one day playing war games and after they voted me Commander in Chief, he lent me the tags so I'd look the part."

There was silence for a moment and Stella let her imagination wander again with a smile at the thought of Mac playing soldiers with his friends. The information that he had been designated Chief did not surprise her, and no doubt even back then he would have insisted they all stuck to the rules.

Another question rose to her lips. "Didn't you try to look for the tags after that?"

He peered at the window, fingering the edges of the glass. "Didn't have much chance to, and after that summer we found other places to hang out."

"Understandable," Stella nodded as she watched him, and watched the procession of his thoughts. "But..." she asked, suspicious of his expression, "Surely you searched a few more times?"

"Not really." Mac did not meet her eyes.

"Are you sure you didn't make a few furtive trips back here without the others, to keep up your reputation that Mac Taylor never lost anything?" She looked penetratingly at him and he relented and met her gaze.

"I went back a few times by myself." Stella nodded and waited, knowing he had more to say. "It bugged me," Mac admitted. "Knowing they were in here somewhere and I couldn't find them, along with knowing I'd lost something that was important. Even by eighth grade my friends had figured a few things out about me, and it took almost a year before Archie and the other guys gave up reminding me on a daily basis that I'd lost Stephen's tags."

Stella couldn't help a smile at Mac's wry expression as she realised more of his motives for wanting to find the tags. "Yeah, I can see that would _really_ have bugged you."

"Today reminded me about the whole thing; that I'd never been able to find them and that I'd never kind of made that up to him, and that now it's too late. I know maybe a set of dog tags is no big deal, especially not after all this time, but when Archie got to talking and you added your opinion..." He paused, pulling a few slivers of glass away from the window pane and dropping them on the ground before he turned to her. "I guess it's worth a try to look for them again."

"It is," she gave him a warm smile and once again her hand came to rest on his shoulder.

A glance conveyed his thanks, and then in unspoken agreement, they returned their attention to their current difficulty.

Moving closer and poking gingerly at the sill and surround, Stella frowned. The prospect of climbing through was not appealing, although, she considered, seeing as they had come this far it would be a shame not to continue; balking at a broken window was as unappealing as giving up.

And giving up was something she was not prepared to do.

She became aware then with the touch of his arm against hers and the faint scent of his aftershave that Mac was almost pressed against her. As he stretched, standing on his toes, towards something above their heads, his upper arm brushed her shoulder and the contact sent sensations through her. Involuntarily, her hands caught hold of the sill, and her fingers sank into the soft, rotten wood. She withdrew them hastily and glanced up at her partner in curiosity.

"What are you doing, Mac?"

"Just seeing if this catch will open," he said.

"Is it rusted?"

"Seems to be..." Mac continued tugging at it. The next moment there was a snap and he stood flat on his feet again, looking a little surprised at the piece of metal in his fingers.

"I guess it _was_ rusted," Stella said dryly.

Mac tossed it aside with a frown. "Clearly..."

"Which means we have to go through the glass," she said, not enthralled at the prospect. She scratched disconsolately at the window sill and then stopped as she realised she was filling her nails with muck.

He sighed, his eyes lowering a little. "This was a bad idea..."

"We're not turning back and giving up now," she said firmly, seeing him wavering. "You're going in there to find it, and I'm going with you..." They were both aware of the similarity to her words a few days ago, at the starting point of the journey they were taking. A journey that had become more than simply a funeral in Chicago and a visit to Mac's childhood haunts. "As long as you go first," she continued, bringing levity to the moment, and Mac crooked his eyebrows.

"Sure you don't want it to be ladies first this time?"

The memory of that remark made her smile as she swiped at his hand. "I do not, and for what it's worth, if you insist, what I said then still stands!"

"You don't have your piece," he said slyly, extracting another piece of glass like a rotten tooth from the window frame.

She did not deign to answer. Instead she stood and watched as Mac, a smile lingering on his lips, tugged free the last fang-like pieces of glass. Their broken points glinted a lethal red in the rays of sun as they fell to the ground.

"Okay, here goes," he said once the window presented a gaping hole, clear of glass. The return of his enthusiasm for the mission pleased her and confirmed that she had done the right thing in helping to persuade him to come here. Placing his hands on the sill, he pressed down experimentally and then vaulted himself up onto it. Then grabbing the upright edge of the window frame, he crouched on his heels. Stella was impressed, but with her lips in a thin line, she watched him anxiously.

"You don't know what you're landing on, be careful," she warned and he twisted his neck to glance at her, something of a smug look on his face as he rocked on his heels.

"Of course." He jumped down: Stella's heart jumped in unison. And then he reappeared, the smugness on his face now definite. "Floor's solid enough. You coming?"

With a brief shake of her head, she accepted whatever lay ahead. "I guess I am..."

**Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please review and let me know what you thought! I'll update this and Old West again next week. Thanks, Lily x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own very little, especially not CSI NY. **

**Author: Lily Moonlight**

**Notes: Thank you very much for the alerts, favourites and of course reviews! Please continue to review! Thanks to **_**Ballettmaus**_** for her help, and ****to **_**cmaddict **_**and**_** Brinchen86 **_**for discussion. **

**This was going to be a four part story, I've now made it five parts, so two more chapters to go after this one :)  
**

Finding the Future: Chapter Three

To climb through the window, Stella chose a different tactic to Mac; turning so her back was to him, she pressed her palms down on the sill and boosted herself up. After shuffling round, she drew her legs up so she was perched sideways. It was not a comfortable position, and she sighed at the dirt and flakes of paint she knew would be adorning her clothes. She clutched at the frame and grimaced at the clammy, rotten feeling beneath her fingertips. It hastened her movements and she swung her legs over the sill and looked for the first time into the building. The smell of must and mould was overpowering and she wrinkled her nose, trying to dislodge the odour. Her vision was obscured by the change of light and she could make out only gloomy shapes, though Mac's presence in front of her focused her sight and reassured her. She slid off the sill, and found herself bumping into him as she regained her footing.

His hand clasped her arm and steadied her. "It's more of a drop than you expect," he commented, his voice deep. It echoed through the space, and his hand stayed where it was.

"Guess so..." His touch had flustered her a little again, even though he seemed unruffled so she busied herself with sweeping some of the dust off her clothes. He let go and stood back a step, but she was aware that his eyes remained on her.

"Okay?"

"Fine," she smiled and met his gaze again. "Let's get looking." Even though she was troubled by a twinge of apprehension, and her fingers had begun to knot together almost unconsciously, Stella took a step forward. Immediately, her foot brushed against something soft; in jerking away from it, she knocked into Mac. "Sorry, can't quite see what I'm stepping on..." What she was stepping on or near to, she didn't want to imagine, especially as a faint chittering sound that could only be rats caught her ear. She hated rats almost as much as she hated spiders...

_Spiders. _

Stella shivered to herself. No doubt there were legions of them in here, lurking in corners, lying in wait ready to drop on her from above and lose themselves in her hair...

"A flashlight would've been useful," Mac remarked as he walked forwards with cautious steps, thankfully interrupting her thoughts.

"You mean you didn't come prepared with one?"

"Did _you_?" he asked, throwing her a look over his shoulder that hinted at humour.

"You know what? That was the one thing I forgot to pack." It was impossible to stop the sarcasm in her reply. "Breaking into a disused factory wasn't exactly on our itinerary."  
Mac chuckled and continued forward. "Do you have a plan, Mac?" she asked suddenly. Much as she trusted him, she needed a little more certainty. "You know, of where they're likely to be? Only, we could be wandering round for a while if we have to cover the whole factory."

"I remember roughly where we'd been," he said over his shoulder. "This main room, through into the back and a couple of other places."

"Okay, I'll trust you to lead the way then." Stella sighed as she trailed after him, wary now of every step and putting her feet down carefully. As her eyes adjusted to the murky interior and the sights, sounds and smells of a long-abandoned building insulted her senses, her enthusiasm began to wane.

Mac's enthusiasm, however, seemed to have revived, and that offered a slight consolation to her. Treading delicately across the insubstantial floor, he continued to lead the way. Gaping wounds where the concrete had disintegrated blotched the ground, making their progress akin to a game of hopscotch. They were inside a large space with a high, metal-girdered ceiling. Pigeons up above them cooed and gurgled and fluttered. The sudden sound of beating wings as a phalanx of them took off from a rafter rattling round the building startled her. Involuntarily, Stella ducked as they flew above them, and then chided herself for being so spooked inside a place that was no worse than many a crime scene she had been to. The number of abandoned buildings they had been to, many in far more dilapidated condition than this, she had long lost count of. All she could hope was that there was no unexpected body inside. How they had come to discover it would take some explaining to the Chicago PD, she thought wryly.

Even though it was dusky inside with particles of dust stirred into swirling sheets as they walked, Stella's sight had adjusted and she could see more clearly what was around them. What had to be items of old machinery stood in the middle of the room; a vast and lengthy conveyor belt of some kind that had warped and buckled over time, pieces of a production line and misshapen smaller pieces of machinery that she could not put a name or a purpose to, even though she was curious as to what they had been. Alongside the walls and scattered across the floor were also heaps of old cans, fused together now in grotesque, rusted aberrations of shapes. Monstrous shadows stretched along the walls as the waning sunlight filtered through the high windows, the fading light contributing to the mournful chill in the air. Mac walked in a haphazard fashion across the floor, his head turning from side to side. She trod where he trod, grateful for his presence ahead of her.

Somewhere at the far end of the building there was a leak. Her ears had picked up the sound vaguely almost as soon as they had entered, and now it became increasingly persistent; a metallic, steady drip that resounded. It was loud enough to be heard above the murmurings of the pigeons and their footsteps, and was beginning to irritate her. As they moved forwards, without being entirely conscious of it, her fingers brushed against surfaces, the tactility of metal and wood and perished rubber different sensations to her fingertips.

Stella craned her neck to look up and round. The sudden touch of something falling onto her hair made her yelp and she swept a hand across it, horrified at the possibility that something eight-legged had dropped on her. The action sent her sunglasses clattering to the ground, the noise making Mac whirl round. A little breathless, but realising there was nothing there now, she moved to retrieve the glasses. Mac had moved faster, stooping down to pick them up already. He passed them to her and she took them, her fingers brushing against his momentarily, and she felt heat in her cheeks as she murmured an apology before slipping them into a pocket for safety.

He smiled at her quickly and they continued picking their way further into the room. Though it had been only brief, as it had earlier, the memory of his fingers against her skin remained in her consciousness along with the sensation that had soared through her. She smiled to herself and followed him.

His route veered towards what appeared to be a small hut-like office built out from the inside wall. A window above it cast a shaft of light onto it, lighting the area, allowing her to see its appearance clearly. It was little more than a box erected next to the wall: its own walls and roof were thin, cardboard thin, and looked to be barely standing upright. Next to it was a large stack of oil drums looking as if they were supporting it. Stella approached it cautiously.

"This is one of the places we were playing in," Mac said, his face distant with nostalgia. Stella could almost see the years spooling past in his mind as he gazed at the structure.

"What was this place, your operational headquarters?" A grin twitched at her mouth as she glanced at her partner. He gave her a cool look back.

"Base camp," he replied, deadpan. "Gave us the advantage over the enemy."

"Sure," she nodded, still grinning. "So you might have lost the tags in here?"

His mouth turned up in thought. "Might have done. I hadn't looked in here particularly thoroughly."

"Worth another look then," Stella answered decisively. She took a step closer, still cautious in her movements, and with a delicate touch, she placed a hand on the door-frame. The door itself was sagging off its hinges, its boards cracked and warped. Mac gave the door a heavier push and it groaned in protest.

"It's a little more beat-up than I remember..." he said, holding the door with one arm whilst he stepped into the room.

"...Thirty years ago," Stella grinned. "You sound like you're feeling old, Mac."

"I am old," he replied, a wisp of self-pity in his voice, which she hastened to nudge out of him.

"No you're not. These days, being in your late forties is no great age."

"Thanks for the reminder," he said dryly. And then sorrow clouded his eyes. "It was too young for Stephen to have died."

Stella caught at his arm, turning him to her, then she raised her hand to his cheek. "It was, far too young," she said softly.

He nodded brusquely, and then gestured inside, letting her know he wanted to move to other matters. "We're going to run out of daylight pretty soon. Let's make a start."  
He went in. Stella followed close behind and sniffed at the fusty air as she assessed it.

"Nothing like your operational headquarters now, huh? Bet you didn't think back then you'd end up with the kind of office you have at the lab," she gave Mac a sly smile, judging a little more teasing would do good.

"The office you have your eyes on?"

At his equally teasing reply, she pretended to be hurt. "Mac, what are you implying? That I'm after your luxurious office with the fabulous view?"

He chuckled as he stepped over a collapsed filing cabinet. "I'm sure the thought has never crossed your mind."

"Hey, I like my office, it has a comfortable chair, a good desk and a view of the corridor. And a view of my boss whenever he walks along said corridor..."

"What more do you need?" Mac asked, turning his head to her with a smirk before he continued to poke about amongst heaps of rubbish and heaved an old chair out of the way.

Stella crouched down and joined the search as she cleared away paper that had solidified into damp and clammy chunks. Wishing for a pair of gloves, she let it drop from her fingers with a glower of disgust as quickly as possible. "Well, you do have more space in your office," she continued, keeping the conversation lighthearted. "I could always use a little more of that, for all the paperwork my boss gives me..." She tossed another wedge of papers to the side and dusted her hands off briskly.

"My office comes with a lot more paperwork than yours does, so I don't have time to enjoy the view. That's the price of more space," Mac said, rising from his task a little flushed in the face but smiling.

She considered, the twinkle in his eyes reflected from hers. "I'm sure I could find time to enjoy the view." Then she paused, choosing her next words with care, slightly uncertain of how they would be taken. "But I guess the only way I'd get your office would be if you weren't there anymore, and that's a price I wouldn't be prepared to pay."

For long moments he looked at her before a smile shone in his eyes. "I'm glad to hear that."

Her hand came to rest on his back and nothing more needed saying as they continued their search. Feeling a strange sense of relief through her, that he had accepted and understood all she had said and not said, Stella let a smile continue to hover on her mouth as she rooted through all the mess and detritus on the floor, being as painstaking as if she was at a crime scene. It mattered to her to help Mac find the tags; and had come to matter more than she had realised at the start of their quest, when it had been little more than a way of bringing him out of his melancholy. Soon though it became clear to both of them that there was nothing to find in the old office, and they straightened up with matching expressions of acceptance.

"Where else?" Stella asked, feeling a bone or two in her back crack as she stretched her arms above her head, cramped after bending down for so long.

Mac, placing his hands in the small of his back and curving his spine with a grimace, nodded out of the single window. "Back out there I guess, there's a couple of smaller rooms that lead off the main area. We can try them and there's also a mezzanine level through that way, we hung out up there as well."

"Perfect for sniping, huh?" Stella said, grinning and was happy to see the amusement in Mac's face.

"Of course," he replied. "I had the best aim with a BB gun."

"I bet you did," Stella threw over her shoulder as she led the way out of the little office and back into the main room. "I can see it now, you lining up your shots, dressed in your best fatigues..." It made her smile.

Close behind her as she stepped over the threshold, Mac grunted. "Don't tell me you never played dress-up as a kid."

"I did too!" she replied, turning to face him, her hands on her hips. "One of my best birthday presents ever was a fairy princess costume when I was six. Even though I didn't exactly have the looks for it, I wore it to death." The memory of it returned to her and she gazed back fondly at her much younger self, her eyes losing focus as the past called to her.

"I'm sure you looked just fine," Mac said, and she returned to the present with a start to see him regarding her affectionately, with a flicker of something more than affection in his eyes.

Folding her arms, Stella fixed him with a stern look, hiding the flash of heat she felt at what his expression suggested. "Are you picturing me wearing a fairy princess costume right now, Mac?" she asked in sudden intuition, nodding knowingly as the faintest hint of discomfiture appeared in his expression.

Then he narrowed his eyes at her. "You of course weren't picturing me in anything other than this suit, were you?"

As that was exactly what she'd been doing, the image of Mac in uniform being too beguiling to resist, she could only gape at him as he turned away with a smirk.

She was, however, prevented from any further discussion on the matters of dressing up by a sudden groaning noise. As she and Mac darted out of the way, the hinges on the door-frame of the office gave up their possession of the door and it crashed to the ground, sending a cloud of dust and splinters billowing into the air. The fragments caught in her nose and eyelashes and she coughed and blinked rapidly, feeling water stinging behind her eyes. Beside her, Mac was also coughing and clearing his throat and as her still streaming eyes re-focused, she saw him scuffing his face and hair free of the debris.

"You all right?" she choked out, backing away from the mess.

"Yes," he coughed. "You?"

After reassuring him that she was, they agreed to move on. They had only walked a few feet forward when there was a a deeper groan that emanated from behind them. In tandem, they spun round as the flimsy shack of an office gave a sigh of defeat and collapsed, casting a shower of flinders into the already filmy atmosphere. Standing stock-still, they watched, compelled, as the dust gradually settled. All that was left was a sad pile of broken boards.

"Wow," Stella said roughly, still feeling particles clinging to the inside of her throat. "That didn't hold up so well."

Mac blinked. "Good thing we got out of there when we did..."

At that moment the unsteadied stack of oil drums that had been propping up, or as it seemed now, propped up by the office, tilted, teetered and then toppled over towards them.  
Without even time to breathe, Stella felt her arms grabbed as she was yanked sideways and slammed against the wall whilst an almost unbearable clanging and rattling battered her ears.

She kept her eyes screwed shut as Mac yelled in her ear, "Stay still!"

He was flush against her, his chest against hers, not a millimetre between them as his arms encircled her and his face pressed into her hair. She remained motionless, even though her heart was thudding and pulsing through every nerve and it felt as if her breath had been sucked out of her. Enfolded in Mac's arms she waited for the noise to stop and the floor to stop shaking with the impact of the tumbling oil drums. The noise and tremors died away eventually and she dared to raise her head. A curl of her hair had caught around Mac's ear which he untwined as they pulled slowly apart and stared at each other, both shaken. Stella found herself gasping, the impact of the wall against her back having knocked all the air out of her. She sagged a little and Mac took hold of her upper arms, concern carved into his face.

"Are you all right?" he asked urgently. "Did I hurt you?"

Despite the painful banging of her heart, she managed a smile. "You didn't, it's okay. What about you?"

"Not a scratch."

"Good..." she inhaled and exhaled carefully, before pressing one hand against the wall to push herself upright. Mac moved back, allowing her to take a tentative step forward and survey the scene; the floor reeled and rolled with the oil drums, a few only inches away from them. Had any landed on them, Stella did not like to think about what damage they could have done.

"What else is lying in wait to fall on us?" she said shakily. A grim look had clouded Mac's face, and she hastened to reassure him, patting his arm. "We're not hurt, let's keep looking, we're just going to have to watch our step a little more." He looked unconvinced and she frowned. "Come on, Mac, we have to expect a few dangers in here. Anyhow, if you and your friends played in here when you were kids, you were taking far more of a risk."

"That's what kids do, and this place wasn't as falling-down then as it is now," Mac argued.

Stella persisted. "Sure, we're not kids, but that doesn't mean we have to stop taking a few reasonable risks. Anyhow, we're not going to go doing anything stupid like, I don't know, diving off staircases into a drop and roll maneuver..." She stopped, staring at Mac's expression, amusement suddenly catching her. "Like you obviously did last time you were in here. Seriously, Mac, it's fine. We've got this far, let's keep looking. I bet you didn't have any qualms last time you were in here about taking a few risks."

"That was different," he said, his face set in stubborn lines as his hands went to his pockets.

Folding her arms and resting her weight on one leg, Stella faced him and challenged him. "I don't see that it's any different."

He sighed, and glanced away for a moment, before returning her stare. "It's different because you're here. Back then, I wasn't responsible for anyone but myself. This time..."

"This time is _no_ different! You're still not responsible for anyone but yourself, Mac! I chose to come in here with you, entirely of my own free will. In fact, I persuaded you to come in here. So if anyone's responsible, it's me."

As the force of their combined wills clashed in a stare, there was silence between them. Putting her foot against the side of one of the drums, pushing it so it rocked, Stella waited for Mac to respond.

He let out another sigh and rubbed his forehead. "You're not going to let me get out of here until we find those damn tags are you?"

She grinned suddenly at his resigned expression. "Damn straight!" Then she turned round and waved her hand in the direction of the door at the other end of the room. "Want to take a chance on what's behind there?"

Mac took a careful step forward, skirting round the drums. "Why not? I guess it couldn't be any worse than this. From what I remember there was some kind of storage area through there and stairs leading up to the mezzanine floor."

"Let's finish going through this room then check it out," Stella gave a decisive nod of her head and moved forward equally carefully to avoid any unnecessary movement of the oil drums.  
Prying into every nook and cranny, every split in the floor, every gap, they moved round the room in methodical fashion, covering every inch. There was no sign of the tags, and for a moment, Stella began to doubt the possibility of finding them. It had been a long time; maybe too long a time for such small items to be found. But she could not tell Mac that, even if, judging by the look she sneaked at him, he was beginning to accept defeat unhappily.

As they reached the far wall, he turned to her, but before he could speak she interrupted, speaking with determination enough for both of them. Wanting to boost their flagging spirits.  
"There's still plenty of this place to search, Mac. I'm not ready to give up yet. It takes more than a few pieces of wood and a ton of oil drums almost falling on us to make me give up."

As hoped, it provoked a small grin from Mac. "Now how can I argue with that?"

She beamed at him. "You can't. So let's keep going. Where next? Through to the other room?" She gestured towards the door straight ahead of them, made of metal with a grille at the top.

"Why not?" Mac said, and they walked towards it. Stella coughed again and he sent her an anxious look. "Sure you're okay?"

"Fine," she said, suppressing the tickle in her throat from the atoms of debris. "But after we get out of here, you're buying me a drink before I'm driven to snatching one of Archie's beers."

"I was thinking more along the lines of dinner for the two of us, without Archie," he said, a smile playing round his mouth. "Chicago has a Greek quarter you know, I'm sure we could find a restaurant there you'd like. How about it?"

Delighted at the idea, Stella clasped his hand. "I'd love to. Maybe you'll even make me change my mind and choose Chicago over New York."

Mac raised his eyebrows. "As long as you're not going to tell me you're leaving the crime lab to head out here, leaving your office for someone else."

Their hands were still joined, and Stella felt her heart start to make its beat felt again as she ran the words she would say next round in her mind. On the surface, this was more banter between them, but there were depths beneath it that she was uncertain how to test. But then, she had never shied away from risk, from taking chances and so she smiled at her friend and partner.

"I'm not leaving my office or _you_ for anyone else, Mac."

He stared. And as the dust motes around them diffracted into invisibility, they plunged into the depths of her meaning.

"That's good to know," he said quietly. She nodded, her fingers stroking his.

A longer silence held sway until Mac with a quick smile and squeeze of her hand pulled them both towards the door. Stella followed, unable and unwilling to lose the simmering of emotions inside her. Loosing his grip on her hand, Mac placed himself in front of her without thinking as he reached for the door handle. Smiling at his inherent chivalry, she stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder as he pushed down on the handle and tried to open the door.

It stuck.

Even with Mac adding his shoulder to it, it refused to budge, and he turned to her with a frown. "Never used to be a problem to get this open."

She shrugged, quirking her mouth in puzzlement, but keen to offer an answer. "Could be something's fallen against it?" Although the falling oil drums had shaken her, she was still determined to continue. There couldn't be danger behind every door, she reasoned. Mac looked a little uncertain though, so she stepped over to his side and joined him, placing her palms flat against the door and pushing her weight into it. "Here's a suggestion," she said, seeing hesitancy in his face. "Let dinner be your incentive; we find the tags, we go get something good to eat. I'll even let you pay and choose the restaurant."

His face relaxed a little. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"That's because it is." Satisfied, Stella turned her attention to the door and Mac added his weight to it again.

Slowly, painfully, it began to inch open, the bottom of it squealing in protest until with a last shove, they opened it enough to stumble through.

**I guess that was a tiny cliffhanger... Please review and let me know what you think! Many thanks, Lily x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own very little, especially not CSI NY. **

**Author: Lily Moonlight**

**Notes: Thank you very much for alerts, favourites and of course reviews! Please continue to review! Thanks to **_**Ballettmaus**_** for her help, and ****to **_**cmaddict **_**and**_** Brinchen86 **_**for discussion.**

**One more chapter to go after this one :)  
**

Finding the Future: Chapter Four

On the other side of the door they stopped, glancing round warily, half-expecting something to collapse. When nothing did, they took a few tentative steps forward. They had entered a smaller, equally abandoned room: metal shelves were scattered about the floor, all in a state of collapse, rotted clumps of cardboard boxes, or what had once been cardboard boxes, lolled about and cans were strewn all over the place; some nestled together whilst others stood incongruously upright. On the far wall, a rusty-looking staircase wound up to a mezzanine floor which was little more than a balcony and ran round two walls of the room. Stella shook her head slightly at the sight as she and Mac stared round.

"Must have been one hell of a place to play when you were a kid," she remarked as she moved into the room. "All this stuff, all the potential of the building."

It drew a smile from Mac. "It was. I'm surprised we haven't run into any kids ourselves since we've been here, seeing it's the weekend."

"I guess these days they aren't allowed the same kind of freedom," Stella suggested as they walked together towards the far wall and the steel staircase that adorned it. "Or maybe they just don't know about this place?"

"Possibly. There wasn't much evidence of anyone else being around, other than the window being boarded over," Mac said, kicking a stray can to the side. It bounced and clattered, striking a cluster of its fellows, sending them scattering.

Stella raised an eyebrow. "Nice footwork. You guys played soccer here too?"

"Would have been a pity to have wasted all these cans," Mac grinned.

"Absolutely." After returning the grin, Stella began to scan the floor, looking for any trace of the tags. It was easier to search in here; more empty floor space. Mac matched her actions and another silence fell for a few minutes. It gave Stella time for thought, and glancing across at her partner as she rootled through the flotsam and jetsam, she decided it was time to question him a little more. "So how exactly did you come to lose these tags?" she called out.

Mac paused in his search of the opposite corner to where she was. His eyes met hers, before he spoke slowly. "The first and last time we got caught here. It was one of the last days of the summer vacation and maybe someone had tipped off whoever about a bunch of kids hanging round, as we'd spent almost every day here. We were here as usual, I had the tags as I told you, we were in the middle of a battle and suddenly there's a guy appearing in the doorway yelling at us."

"Must have been a shock," Stella said, her mouth quirking in amusement.

"It was. We did the only thing we could in the circumstances, we made a run for it."

"Obviously you got away from him," she said, the scene playing in her mind; Mac and his friends, no doubt yelling themselves, fleeing from the irate intruder. It reminded her of an incident from her own childhood - when, aged eleven, her friends and she had been caught red-handed attempting to sneak out of the orphanage for a midnight picnic. Only in her case they had been caught by a furious Sister and sent straight back to bed.

"We did," Mac said. "By the skin of our teeth."

"How?" she asked, interested to hear more details of his childhood.

His expression was wry. "We ran. Very fast. In the opposite direction from him. Fortunately for us he tripped which gave us an extra few seconds. But he carried on yelling threats and our legs didn't stop running till we were over that gate and on the road home. It was only after we were safely back in Stephen's Mom's yard that I realised I no longer had the tags round my neck."

"Which must have been a worse shock," Stella said, scrunching her face up in empathy.

"As I said, made worse by the fact he didn't get mad about it." He met her gaze again, curiosity in his eyes. "Anything like that ever happen to you when you were growing up?"  
She shared the story of the thwarted midnight picnic and was happy to see him amused by it. There was a short silence again after that as they stared round the room. Then another can rattled across the floor as Mac's foot connected with it.

Stella watched its trajectory and sighed. "We've still got a bit of time to look, before it gets too dark." The encroaching sunset had been in her awareness and as she glanced up at the high windows, it was clear that it was soon going to be too dark to see anything. They would have to be quick. Moving to opposite ends of the room, a few more minutes searching passed and then Mac came across the floor to her, a frustrated look on his face which she could see even in the failing light.

"Doesn't seem like we're going to find them in here."

She stood up, and patted his arm, her sympathy in the simple touch. "Don't give up yet, we haven't looked everywhere here, and there's still upstairs. How about one of us looks up there, the other stays down here?"

"Upstairs is the last place," he said. "I was up there when the guy interrupted us, almost broke my neck tearing down those stairs in fact."

"I'm very glad you didn't!" Stella exclaimed, her heart accelerating at the thought, it striking her how different fate could have been, even as she knew it was a ridiculous thing to worry about now.

As Mac moved to place one foot on the bottom step, Stella grabbed his shoulder, envisioning disaster involving rusted stairs and her partner plunging to the ground. "No, wait," she said hurriedly. "They don't look too strong, and not meaning to be rude, but you'll be a little heavier than you were when you were last here, and those stairs will be a lot more rusty. I'm lighter than you, let me go up."

He left his foot where it was. "I'm not risking you going up there."

Glaring at him, she grasped his shoulder harder. "Mac, we've had this conversation already. I'm prepared to take a few risks. You can stay down here and continue to search, I'll check out upstairs. Or," she added, relaxing her grip a little and allowing a smile to play round the corners of her mouth, "you can wait below with your arms outstretched in case I fall this time."

For a long few seconds he regarded her with a frown and she could almost see the decisions warring in his mind, before he conceded and took his foot off the step. "Just be careful," he warned.

"Of course," she said. "After all, I don't want to go breaking my neck and depriving you of your best CSI, do I?" Then giving him no chance for a comment, she pushed him gently out of the way. She set her foot on the first stair and wrapped her fingers round the wobbling handrail.

After a few slow and careful steps, she paused and licked her dry lips. Mac, she saw as she glanced down, was standing below, his hands hovering at his sides. She smiled slightly. It faded though as she continued and realised that she was far higher off the ground than she had been when climbing the fence. And on a far weaker structure. Every time her foot came down, the staircase seemed to squawk in protest, and the spiral of its structure was enough to make her dizzy. But she continued. As she put her foot on the second to last step, however, the staircase jolted and swayed, and she froze, waiting, her heart jumping. Plain to see, it was coming loose at the walls. As softly as possible, with a sudden image of herself at six years old practising what she had fondly imagined were feather-light ballet steps in her fairy dress, she moved onto the last step. More creaks and wails broke from the stairs, so she hopped off and onto the balcony, dismayed at the fact she would have to go back down them again.

At the top, finally, she exhaled in relief to have the slightly stronger structure of the balcony underfoot. "It's fine, Mac," she called down to him, leaning over the railing. "Keep looking, I'll do the same up here."

After receiving his agreement, she set about combing the balcony, working methodically from end to end. It was easy to see though that there was nothing other than flakes of rust and years of accumulated dust embedded in the ridges of the floor. Frowning, she walked the length of the balcony again, reluctant to give up and disappointed in herself for not being able to find them. She hoped there was still the slim chance of Mac finding them. Looking over the railing, she could see him trawling the floor below. The best thing she could do now was go down and help him. She leaned back and then received a shock as the top bar of the rail pulled away in her hand. It hit the balcony with a dull clank leaving only a trace of rust gritting her hands. Letting out a quiet whistle, Stella stepped away from the edge in a hurry.

"Everything okay?" Mac's voice called up to her.

"Fine," she replied quickly, not wanting him to know what had happened. "On my way down."

She made her way to the stairs and trod delicately on the first step, testing it, mindful of its previous behaviour. Nothing moved any further though, so she took another cautious step.  
The metal grumbled but held. She released her breath and took another step down, aware in the corner of her vision of Mac moving towards the stairs. When she put her foot down again, something snapped and a terrible screeching sound ripped through the air.

Unable to stop a scream tearing from her throat, Stella felt the whole staircase falling away beneath her. As air replaced the solid metal under her feet, she grabbed desperately at the edge of the balcony, catching it with one hand only, wrenching her previously jarred wrist as she did so. Yelling out to Mac in terror, she was helpless to prevent the whole structure crashing towards him. All she could do was struggle for a stronger hand-hold as the tenuous grip she had was fast slipping and call him again.

Her blood roared in her ears and she could hear nothing but the bangs and echoes of the destructing stairs. She called Mac's name, again and again even as she coughed as more dust rose and coated her throat, drying and choking it. Tears burned in her eyes and horror made her heart almost explode out of her chest when she heard no answer. Vaguely, she was aware of her wrist sending bolts of pain through her, but she didn't care. He had not answered her.

And then a voice, croaky and not completely steady, called up to her and she almost cried out in relief. Emerging intact from just behind the smashed-up heap of metal was Mac.

"Stella!" he called to her, fear in his voice for her as he clambered over the mess. "Are you all right? Just hold on..."

A laugh bordering on hysteria jerked out of her at that. "I'm hardly going to do anything else am I?"

He looked round hastily whilst she managed to catch hold of the balcony edge with her other hand, relieving some of the strain on her wrist now she had both hands grasping it. As he turned his face back up to her, even at that distance and in the dim light she could see the anxiety there. It looked as if all the colour had been sucked out of him.

"Stella, you're not going to like this, but..." he called.

She groaned, knowing exactly what he was going to suggest and not liking the idea any more than he was. "It's a long drop, Mac!" Taking a look down, her heart sank at the distance; easily twenty feet, if not more.

But what other option was there?

The stairs were gone, there was no other way down, and she was not going to hang there waiting whilst Mac called for help. There was only one thing for it: she was going to have to trust him.

"Stella, come on, I'll catch you!" His arms were held out and he had positioned himself beneath her. Stella let her eyes close, inhaling heavily, and then she opened them and looked down again.

Of course she trusted him. With her life.

"Okay..." she called, trying to hide the tremble of anxiety in her voice. "If you're sure you're ready."

"I'm ready." He raised his arms a little more and planted his feet firmly on the ground.

She let go.

The air whooshed past her as she plummeted. Her eyes closed involuntarily and her stomach lurched upwards.

If she missed Mac's arms...

If he missed her...

"Got you!" he gasped as she landed in his grasp. He staggered backwards a little, banging against the wall, but kept his balance as she clutched him, breathless from the descent, her head reeling. He kept hold of her, his arms tightly round her and his face pressed against hers. As she gripped his shirt between her fingers and tried to bring her breathing back to normal, his heart was in rhythm with hers. "I told you I'd catch you," he murmured and she smiled, half-laughing, half near tears as she nodded.

"I knew you would."

Gently and carefully, he set her down, keeping one arm round her waist; a support for both of them.

"Thank you," Stella said, looking up at him with a shaky smile. "For not dropping me."

His expression was serious. "I would never have dropped you." Then he grinned suddenly. "You were lighter than I expected."

"Mac!" She swatted his arm, and then was reminded of the strain she had put on her wrist as the movement sent a shock of pain through it. Unable to stop the wince it provoked, she clasped it with her other hand, trying to conceal her discomfort.

"What have you done?" A frown reappeared on Mac's face as he reached for her wrist and cradled it in his hand, his fingers running over her skin again.

She breathed in sharply, the ache of sprained muscles disappearing under his touch, replaced by a surge of sparks. "It's fine, I probably just pulled it." Then she frowned herself as she studied him more closely and saw the damage he had sustained; the cut and bleeding skin just below his hairline, and the tear to the front of his shirt with a scrape to his chest visible beneath. With her free hand, she reached and brushed delicately across it. "You've cut yourself," she murmured.

"It's nothing," he said gruffly, putting his hand over hers. She stilled her movement, but did not draw away.

His eyes closed for a moment at her touch and she smiled softly. "We're alive and intact, that's what matters."

"Yes it does," he said, and returned her smile a little sadly. "I guess those tags just weren't meant to be found..."

He broke off, staring beyond her at the wreckage of the staircase. "Mac?" she asked, trying to look where he was looking. Letting go of her carefully, he gave her a wondering look, stepped forwards and then crouched down. She moved over to him, and as he lifted a small item up to her, her face broke into an elated smile. "_Oh!_ Oh my God, Mac! You found them!"

"_We_ found them," he said, his face alight, and then she was in his arms again, their embrace coming so naturally after everything.

Sighing happily she pulled back and studied him. "I'm so glad, you deserved to find them." She held out her hand. "Let me look." Almost reverently, he offered the battered and dusty tags to her and she took them, turning them back and forth. "Wow," she breathed. "They must have been caught somewhere in the staircase, no wonder you hadn't found them till now."  
She handed them back and Mac, after a moment's more gazing at them, half-disbelieving that they were in his possession again, put them into his pocket.

Then he reached out to her and traced his finger down her cheek. "Thank you."

"You've no need to thank me," she said, moving even closer.

"I _want_ to thank you," he said in a low voice. "For everything: for making me come out here in the first place, for coming with me..."

"Mac," she said, her eyes locking with his, "I would do this all over again if you wanted me to."

He smiled and his other hand trailed down her arm. "Then we'll have to arrange that... though maybe we'll miss out on this place next time."

"It wasn't so bad," she grinned, and then became serious as she said quietly, "But I'd like that. Very much."

She knew, and knew that Mac did too, that the boundaries they had crossed and the barriers they had breached were not just those made of wire and brick and glass; other walls had come tumbling down between them.

They stood for a moment, eyes reading each other's thoughts, their hands together, and then Stella gave a start. Her hand broke from his and flew to her mouth."Oh no! _Archie!_ He's still outside, with my phone. And I told him to call for help if we were gone longer than an hour, and okay, he was asleep when I left him, but still, we must have been, what, two hours at least in here..." Aware she was gabbling, she couldn't stop herself. The adrenaline from their brush with disaster was just taking hold and starting to fizz through her nerves.

"It'll be fine," Mac said, slipping his arm round her and drawing her to his side. "He's big enough to take care of himself..."

"And he's drunk enough to get himself into a whole bunch of trouble!" she exclaimed, breaking away from him in agitation. "We need to get out of here."

Calm and collected in contrast, he smiled. "We do. I believe we have a dinner date to get to. Trust me, Archie will be fine where he is. We'll find him sleeping peacefully where you left him."

She stared at him for a moment, and then lifted her shoulders in acceptance. "Okay... I guess you're right."

"Occasionally I am," he said still smiling serenely. He replaced his arm round her and as he ushered her towards their exit, she allowed herself to relax into the comfort of his hold.

**Please let me know what you think, reviews much appreciated. Last chapter will be posted in a few days time :) Thanks, Lily x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own very little, especially not CSI NY. **

**Author: Lily Moonlight**

**Notes: Thank you very much for reviews, alerts and favourites! I'm really glad you've enjoyed this :D Thanks to **_**Ballettmaus**_** for her help, and**** to **_**cmaddict **_**for discussion, particularly for the conclusion. **

**This is the last chapter, I hope you all enjoy this one too :) Dedicated to _Blue Shadowdancer_ and _iluvCSI4ever_ (have a wonderful time!)  
**

Finding the Future: Chapter Five

Early the next morning, Archie called at their hotel. Summoned by the desk clerk, both Stella and Mac came down to meet him in the lobby. Had she not been told who it was, Stella would not have recognised him: the rumpled and beer-stained suit of the previous day had been replaced by a shirt and a pair of chinos, his hair was combed down neatly, and he appeared to be sober. He was also bearing a magnificent bouquet of roses and a contrite expression. Thrusting the flowers towards her, he overflowed with apologies for his behaviour the day before. Immediately, Stella took pity on him, and guided him over to sit down in the little cafe the hotel contained, ordering coffee for all of them.

Once they were seated and had their drinks in front of them, Mac and she waited for Archie to begin talking. Faced with the two of them sitting opposite him, he blushed and mumbled, fiddled with his cup and almost spilled the liquid as he explained what had happened to him outside the factory; how it had come to pass that the last sight of him they had had the previous day was him being taken away in a police car. They listened, and while Mac filled Archie in on some of their own exploits along the way, Stella sat back. Absently, she rubbed her wrist. It ached, but the pain was receding. It reminded her though, if she needed it, of yesterday's events.

They had tried to leave the factory as quickly as possible, but had encountered a few hold-ups along the way before they got to Archie. After they had helped each other through the window they had entered by, they had made their way to the fence and then halted. Glancing at each other, they had reached the silent decision that climbing over it was not a preferred option. Even though Stella would not have admitted it, her wrist was hurting her and in no condition to be taking any more weight on it. And although he would not have admitted it either, it was clear from the pallor of his face, that the cuts to Mac's head and chest were paining him, along with the other bruises and scrapes he had sustained. So they had gone on a recce along the fence and discovered a small hole. Having pulled and tugged at the wire, they had widened it enough to crawl through.

Emerging onto the path some distance from the spot they had left Archie, they had hurried along, mindful of the oncoming twilight, stopping only to retrieve Mac's jacket from where he had left it earlier. When they reached Archie, to their dismay, they had seen the spectacle of a squad car and two uniformed officers with Archie in between them. Though they were some distance away, it had been clear to see he was waving his arms and protesting loudly. They had stopped and stared at each other for a moment, Stella resisting the urge to say 'I told you so', and then they had dashed forwards to investigate.

_"...Yes Ma'am, we received a call from this gentleman, claiming two friends had been lost inside the factory and possibly kidnapped. When we arrived, we discovered said gentleman attempting to break into this vehicle using a cellular phone..."_ one of the amused officers, a burly man with a broad smile, had informed them.

After she and Mac had produced their IDs and a brief explanation of the circumstances he had tipped his cap to Stella, returned her phone to her and then offered to drive Archie home to sober up. He had also made sure they were all right, having noted their injuries. Their assertion that they were had reassured him, and no further questions were asked. The sight of two NYPD Detectives in a somewhat bedraggled state had provided some interest to the two officers' evening. Archie, apparently not fully aware of what was going on as he was still protesting vehemently that he needed to rescue his friends, had then been guided into the back of the squad car and driven away. As it pulled out of sight, Mac had slipped his hand around hers and their attention turned to each other.

Stella smiled to herself at the memory, and the memory of their dinner together, which they had enjoyed once they had changed their clothes and attended to their wounds. Although Mac had tried to insist on driving her to the nearest hospital to have her wrist X-rayed, she was more insistent that it was unnecessary. He had won the concession though that she at least needed it bandaging. After a detour to a pharmacy, they had returned to the hotel where he had seen to her wrist with a more than gentle touch, and she had tended to his cuts and bruises. Although the simple act of caring had taken on a degree of intimacy, they had both accepted it as just another facet of their developing relationship.

Following that, she had, still in Mac's presence, chosen an outfit to wear for dinner. It had been easy to tell from the look in his eyes that he approved very much of it, and she had smiled half-shyly at his compliment. The contact, once again, of his fingers on the exposed skin of her neck as he helped her with her jacket once they were both changed had sent further sensations through her, reminding her of his earlier touches. After that, he had offered her his arm, and they had embarked on the next stage of their journey together. The details of dinner, their walk under the night sky and everything that had been spoken of, would not be shared with Archie.

Nor would they be shared with anyone back in New York.

"...But I still don't understand how you came to be trying to get in the car using Stella's phone," Mac was asking in a baffled voice, as Stella returned to the present.

Looking chastened, Archie sighed heavily and avoided their eyes. "Don't entirely understand it myself, Mac. You know, one minute I was talking to Sal - to _Stella_, the next thing I know, I'm waking up, lying on the ground, on my own. When I realised I had a phone, I called for help, thinking you'd gotten yourselves kidnapped or even killed... then help seemed to be a long time coming, so I guess I thought I'd try and drive somewhere to _fetch_ help..."

"Even though you weren't in any kind of state to be driving?" Stella said severely. "Seriously, Archie, if you had gotten in that car and driven, _you_ could have been killed, or you could have killed someone else."

His head hung down even further, but his eyes looked up pleadingly at her. "I know that, Stella, and I'm sorry. I was just, you know, really worried about you guys. You'd disappeared, I didn't know what else to do..."

She exchanged a glance with Mac, and felt how his fingers curled round hers as their thighs touched on the sofa. Then she let her gaze bore into Archie. "Maybe you ought to consider drinking a little less, especially as you told me you don't even like beer? Obviously it doesn't agree with you." She arched her eyebrows and he squirmed and sank a little lower into the couch.

"Guess not. I'll, uh, leave the stuff alone for a while, if you think I should, Stella."

She relented her gaze, softening her expression. "Then I guess we're sorry too," she said. "For worrying you."

Archie beamed, his cheerfulness restored in an instant. "Apology accepted, Stella, even if you did abandon me..."

Stella rolled her eyes, but couldn't remain annoyed with him for long as he continued to talk, asking Mac with boyish enthusiasm if he had found the tags after all. It impressed Stella that he had remembered them. If there was a certain boyish pride in Mac as he took the tags from his pocket and dangled them in front of his friend, she could not blame him for it. In truth, she was happy to see him that way. With Mac's fingers still entangled with hers, she sighed in contentment, leaning back against the couch, happy to let the two men talk for a few moments. As she listened to them, she smiled to herself; Mac was animated, re-telling the moment he had spotted the tags amongst the wreckage, and Archie was drinking it all in, wide-eyed and admiring. The sight lifted her heart.

It was Mac who after glancing at her during a lull in the conversation, lifted his cup of coffee and suggested a toast to Stephen. She agreed warmly, as did Archie, and the three of them lifted their cups to an absent friend.

"He'd have liked you, Stella," Archie remarked, and she noted wryly that he seemed to be using her name a little more than was necessary. "Don't you think so, Mac?"

Mac regarded her with a half-smile that spoke of his deep care for her. "He would," he said, holding her gaze. "He would indeed."

Archie grinned, looking back and forth between the two of them, and at his expression, Stella shot a quick glare at him, knowing what he was thinking.  
"Sooo..." he said, in an echo of his words yesterday. "You and Mac, _Stella_, what are you guys up to for the rest of today?"

The hint of a wink in his eye she ignored, as she answered, "Me and Mac, _Archie_, have a few things to do, then we're flying back to New York this evening."

"Uh huh," he nodded and set his cup down, staring at them, his lips twitching up at the corners. "Well, that's great, Stella. I hope you get done all you need to and have a good flight back, together. And maybe some day you'll come back to Chicago, _together,_ and we can all meet again, in happier circumstances..."

There was definitely a wink there now, but instead of succumbing to embarrassment and annoyance as she had the day before, Stella smiled sweetly and remained calm. "Maybe we will. If that's the case, you'll be the first to know." A question appeared in his face, in the shape of his mouth forming an 'O' and his eyes widening. Deciding it would do no harm to assuage his curiosity, Stella nodded and smiled. "Yes, Archie, _together_."

A huge grin spread over his face as he caught onto her meaning and brightened visibly. "Hey that's great! I'm really happy for you guys, you know, really happy."

Stella caught the faintly bemused expression on her partner's face. "I'll explain later," she whispered to him, her lips brushing his ear and her fingertips running lightly over the back of his neck as she leaned in to him.

Then Archie checked his watch. "Oh, hey, I got to go," he sighed, rising to his feet. "Got to check in at the precinct with the officers who took me home yesterday..." His face brightened. "But I guess it's not so bad, one of them was a real nice girl, I think she liked me."

Stella struggled to not look incredulous at his statement; she just hoped he was not headed for more disappointment.

"Keep yourself out of trouble," Mac ordered as he stood up and offered a handshake to his friend.

"Right back at you," Archie sniggered and then turned to her. "Keep Mac the man in line, Stella."

"I'm sure I can manage that," she said looking up at the man in question with a teasing smile.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "So who keeps _you_ out of trouble then?"

"You do," she beamed and dabbed a kiss on his cheek, causing Archie's grin to almost split his face.

They escorted him to the door together, and he said his goodbyes reluctantly, truly sorry to see them go; it melted Stella's heart towards him a little, and she hoped there was more luck out there for him. On his departure, he offered a chaste kiss to her cheek, which she accepted, albeit with her hands as firmly as she could round his upper arms to ward off any attempts he might make at getting too close. Although she suspected Mac's presence might be a deterrent to that.

And then he was gone, waved off down the street, leaving just the two of them.

"Me and you, hey?" Mac asked, looking at her with a glow of affection. The same glow he had owned last night when they had come to that realisation and to a decision to begin a new journey together one step at a time. Something they had settled with a kiss under the stars, the city skyline their backdrop.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," she said softly, smiling, twining her fingers round his.

"The very best," he said, and then paused for a moment, caressing the back of her hand as he captured her eyes. "I'm sure Stephen would have been happy to know about it."

She laid her hand on his chest. "So let's go tell him."

An hour later, Stella stood with the breeze lifting her hair once again. This time, however, she was not concerned about Mac's whereabouts because he was standing at her side, his arm through hers. Together, they were in front of Stephen's grave. In her left hand, she held the bouquet of yellow roses that Archie had given her. She sighed at the sight of the flowers clothing the new grave; sorrowing at the loss of someone she had never known, but who she wished she had, and who had been known to the one she loved. Mac was silent at her side, the tags in his fist and a faraway look in his eyes.

She waited for him.

"I wish I'd been able to give them to him before now," he murmured finally as he knelt down and hung the tags over the corner of the stone. Her hand lay on his shoulder as he was still for a moment.

"He understood," she said. "From all that you told me, I think he was that kind of guy, he didn't hold a grudge, and he'd have been happy for you, for finding them."

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Mac nodded slowly. "Yes, he would have been."

She touched his cheek, letting her fingers glide over his skin and up to the graze on his forehead, before she turned and laid her bouquet on the grave. Then, in silence, they stood for a minute with their thoughts.

She waited for Mac to be ready to move, then with their hands clasped, they walked away across the grass and out of the cemetery. At the car he stopped and in a gesture of intimacy that sent a rush of loving warmth through her, he cupped her face in his hands and touched her lips with his; a touch of the sunlight that shone round them.

"Thank you," he breathed, pulling away just enough to utter the words.

Their foreheads rested together and she soothed the nape of his neck with her fingertips, murmuring, "I told you, Mac, you don't need to thank me."

Studying her, still with his hands holding her so tenderly, he smiled into her eyes. "Yes I do. I do because I found far more than just those tags, Stella."

"Then I need to thank you as well," she said, her heart overflowing at what she saw revealed in his. "For what _we_ found."

The sun sparkled in their eyes and they knew that everything else could be spoken of later. As they sank into a kiss, the breeze caressed their skin and whispered of the love, life and future they had found together.

**Thank you very much for reading the story, I hope you enjoyed it :) Please review and let me know what you thought, I'd love to know :D Thank you, Lily x**


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