Mac Taylor knew he was getting older; the mirror reminded him of it each morning. Most days, he didn't let it bother him, but in the past few days, it had been harder and harder to ignore. He didn't like to think of his own mortality, but sometimes events beyond his control caused it to smack him right between the eyes. Finding out that Frank Cesarone, his first partner upon making detective, was dead, counted as one of those moments.

Frank's wife, Andrea, found him lying on their kitchen floor when she returned home from shopping Saturday afternoon. Despite finding that he had no pulse, she called 911 and tried to resuscitate him.

The EMTs pronounced him dead when they arrived on the scene, his death an apparent heart attack. His body was transported to the morgue, pending funeral arrangements, and no further investigation was requested. At dawn on Sunday morning, the morgue clerk slid Frank into a holding drawer and handed off his paperwork to be held for the funeral director.

As the saying goes, bad news travels fast. Mac heard about Frank when he walked into his office on Sunday morning and found Don Flack, who had gotten the call on his way into work that morning, waiting for him. Shortly after Don left his office, Andrea called.

She was, understandably, devastated. Despite the fact that Frank had 15 years on her, they'd had a solid marriage. Sure, things hadn't been so great in the year or so since he had retired, but they were still very much together, or so Frank had told Mac when they met up for a beer only a month before.

When Sid Hammerback arrived at the morgue, he recognized Frank's name. As he performed his usual tests and went about his routine, he got the feeling that something "just didn't look right." He had no choice but to declare Frank's death suspicious and perform an autopsy. That done, Sid released the body to the funeral home and the viewing was set for Wednesday night, funeral for Thursday morning.

Drea Cesarone was a strong woman. She'd have to be to be married to Frank, but it was more than that. A prosecuting attorney with the Manhattan DA's office, Drea had perfected her game face. Mac had seen her in court; she was strong, confident, and no matter what, she didn't let on when she was rattled.

Away from court, she was laid back, relaxed, and had a dry sense of humor. He'd hit it off with her right away and considered her as much of a friend as Frank. When he walked into the funeral home on Wednesday evening, Drea was doing her best to be the calm, cool, assistant DA, but he could see the grieving wife beneath the surface.

Frank's family sat off on their own, leaving Drea alone near the casket to greet the mourners who came to pay their last respects. Despite Drea's repeated attempts to get close to her husband's family, they never let her in. Frank had been engaged to a woman from his Brooklyn neighborhood, a widow with two teenage sons. To hear Frank tell it, it was more of an arrangement than a romance.

All was on schedule for a wedding, until Drea came along. Fifteen years Frank's junior and a hard charging assistant to the DA in Manhattan, her spirit and fire intrigued Frank from the moment he met her. The fact that she was equally intrigued was so much the better. Frank fell hard.

When Drea finally agreed to have dinner with him, he broke off his engagement, simple as that. His family held her fully responsible and refused to accept that their oldest son chose to be involved with a "home wrecker." Despite the fact that their marriage had lasted for years, the Cesarones still held the same feelings towards her.

Mac debated standing in the long line and waiting his turn to see her, but one look at her told him she needed support. He slipped past the line and walked over to where she stood. When she spotted him, her grateful smile told him that he'd made the right decision.

He stayed by her side for the rest of the evening, driving her home and making sure she was settled before heading back to his own apartment. The next morning, he resumed his position at her side and stayed there through the burial and the luncheon afterward.

When it was all over, they went back to the Chelsea apartment that Frank and Drea called home. Mac always liked the place; it was open and airy, a rarity in Manhattan apartments. There were a good many nights that the three of them sat on the small patio, drinking beer and talking into the wee hours of the morning.

Mac knew his team had gone through the apartment. They were never careless, but he knew they'd taken extra care with Drea and Frank's belongings. Still, there was a lot of clean up to do after they'd been through. From the looks of things, Drea had done a good job with it.

It was a warm fall night and they ended up sitting out on the patio, sharing a bottle of Jamison's and talking. They shared many memories of Frank, some good, some not so good, as they drank.

It was sometime after midnight when she turned to him and asked, "How do you do it, Mac? How do you go on after losing the person who means most to you in the world?"

He thought for a moment, then replied, "I don't know, Drea. I guess you just keep moving forward."

She shook her head. "Just that easy, huh?"

"There's nothing easy about it," he admitted. "Starting over after Claire is the hardest thing I've ever done."

"But you and Claire…" she trailed off, as searching for the rights words. "Frank and I…I mean…I love him...I loved him so much...but since he retired, things weren't the same. He didn't adjust well to being home. My caseload is outrageous and I wasn't around."

She raised her eyes to him and he could see her pain.

"When I was here, we argued over everything, the house, the bills, hell, even where to go to dinner, or whether we should stay in and save money. Frank swore that because he was only bringing in his pension, we would go bankrupt, but Mac, we were fine. I got a raise in July of last year and between his pension and my raise, we more than made up for his salary. I just kept going…and now, he's gone."

Mac reached out and placed his hand on her arm in reassurance.

"Do they really think someone killed him?" she finally asked, the words seeming painful to her.

Mac nodded. "I don't know too many details, and I'm too close to the case to be involved…"

"I know," she sighed. "I just…I don't get it. Who would kill Frank? Stella Bonasera interviewed me…"

"She told me."

"It's funny, you know? I've read thousands of statements, heard countless interviews, but until you're on the other side of it, you don't really know how it feels."

"How did it feel?" he prompted.

"Surreal," she laughed dryly. "Somewhere in the back of my head, I kept thinking that I should be sitting on the other side of the table, next to Stella. It was strange being the one who had to answer the questions. Honest to God, it felt like I fell down the rabbit hole or something." With a sigh she ran her hands through her dark hair. "I think I need to go to bed. I haven't slept for shit and I'm just so tired."

"Yeah...you should rest."

"Thank you. For being there for me the past couple of days. You don't know what it meant."

"I'm glad I could be here for you," he replied. "And I am here…whenever you need me."

Her smile grew sad as she looked up at him, her hair falling over her face. He'd always thought she was a beautiful woman, even teased Frank over the years, asking how he ended up with a looker like Drea. Despite the stress of the past week, he had to admit she looked more beautiful than ever tonight.

Reprimanding himself, he allowed her to escort him to the door. She gave him a hug, thanking him again and inviting him to come to dinner next weekend. She promised she'd make Frank's recipe for stuffed shells. He accepted her invitation, and then told her that he'd call her in the morning to check in on her. After another hug, he left.

It took him a while to fall asleep that night, despite the whiskey he'd downed. Once he was asleep, Drea haunted his dreams in a very erotic way. When he woke at dawn, he felt slightly hung over and strangely guilty. Unable to fall back to sleep, but not feeling up to his morning run, Mac showered and went into the office.

Stella had left him a voice mail, letting him know that they had a suspect in Frank's murder and would be bringing the person in for questioning. She wanted to talk to him before they did. He'd intended to call her back, but got a call to a crime scene and didn't get a chance.

When he returned to the lab three hours later, Stella was waiting in his office.

"Sorry I didn't call you back," he said as he walked into the office. "You said you had a suspect in Frank's murder?"

Stella nodded. "Yeah, they're down in interrogation now."

"Great. Who is it?"

Stella's expression was grim. "Drea Cesarone."