Title: Stay With Me
Author: StarrySkies
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Not mine. Credit goes to J.B. & Co., A. Zuiker, CBS, Alliance Atlantis, etc.
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Mac/Stella, M/H/S friendship
Summary: Please don't go. Just stay with me.

Sirens wail. People scream. She falls to her knees and his world slows to a crawl. His feet won't move as fast as his head is telling them to. There is blood on her hands, and her panic-stricken eyes connect with his amidst the onslaught of chaos. He's never seen her so scared, and he can't get to her quick enough.

"Stel--" he manages to shout. He pushes past a group of civilians too stunned to move. He wonders why they're all just staring at her bleeding out on the ground. He should've stayed close. He shouldn't have staked out so far away from her. It's all his fault.

Flack orders his guys to "Take the son of a bitch down!" Two uniforms charge after the man who wielded the knife that's left a three-inch gash in the side of Stella Bonasera.

Shots ring out. Mac can't tell how far away they are or if they acquired their target, and he can't look up to see because his heart won't let him.

"Stella!" he screams, finally reaching her. Curled up on the pavement with, her hands are covering the wound, applying pressure the best she can, fighting for consciousness. She's still losing a lot of blood. It's seeping out from between her fingers and pooling on the cold cement beneath her. Orange and yellow leaves are stirring around her.

In a moment of brief lucidity, he is finally able to put out a call to dispatch for emergency medical assistance on his two-way radio. They'd already gotten a summon from another officer at the scene. An EMS crew is en route.

Blood on her hands. Blood on his.

Her bright green eyes, staring up at the New York sky, are beginning to close, and she's unable to form words. "Stay with me, Stella. Stay with me, damn it!" Mac's throat is closing up, combating a menacing lump. A Good Samaritan offers his NYU sweatshirt to him for use as a tourniquet. He takes it hastily from the young man's hands without thanking him.

Not again, not again. I can't do this again. Angry words and feeble pleas are silently directed Heavenward. He's holding her hand, blood matting them together like a glue that's yet to dry, as she's put onto the gurney and into the back of the ambulance.

He sees the doctor come out of the O.R. and walk towards him. He nearly leaps to his feet to meet him halfway. They're both painted crimson. Painted with her.

"We repaired what we could, but she lost a lot of blood. Right now," the man sighs, "it's just a guessing game."

He's staring at her, lying in the bed, still not out of sedation. IV in her arm, an aspirator to help her breathe. His heart aches.

A nurse peeks her head into the room and whispers, "May I see you for a moment?"

He looks once more and follows the young girl out into the hallway.

"Her chart," she says. "There isn't an emergency contact specified." She holds up the paper to reveal the blank had been left unfilled.

"She doesn't have--" he begins but stops himself. Mac feels like he's breaking some sacred oath or something. A secret shared. He doesn't want to tell her that Stella was abandoned as an infant and that there might as well be a giant question mark stamped on the page in red ink as far as a next of kin is concerned. "Just write my name," he says. "Mac Taylor."

"Relation?" she asks, scribbling.

"Friend," he answers and sees the pen in her hand come to a standstill.

"We actually prefer a blood relative or spouse, Mr. Taylor."

"Listen," he clears his throat and hopes Stella will forgive him. "I'm all she's got. So, it's either me… or me. Take your pick."

"I apologize," she continues and turns back to her form. "And your number?"

He recites both his home and cell numbers for the girl before he receives another apology.

"How is she?"

Mac looks up and sees Hawkes quickly heading toward him a few feet away. He's holding a vase filled with grayish-purple flowers, cradled like a baby in his left arm, and something else in his right hand. "Not out of the woods yet. She's still sleeping." Hawkes nods. "What are those?"

"Sterling roses. I think she'll like them, right?"

"Sure."

"We all pitched in. Everyone else should be coming by after their shifts are over. I hope you don't mind that I left a little early."

"Not a problem," Mac assures him. "I'm glad you're here." Mac knows that his staff will be the only visitors Stella will see.

"Oh, here." Sheldon holds out a navy bundle of fabric to him. "Thought you could use this."

Mac unfolds it, sees it's one of their unit shirts, and looks down at his (usually) white button-up. "Thanks."

Machines are beeping and whirring when he leads Sheldon into the room. Numbers flash on screens. He remembers vaguely what each number on the monitors is for, but just barely. Days and nights spent staring at them made them hard to forget.

They stand still at the foot of the bed, both nonchalantly watching for the rise and fall of her chest, the one sure signal that she's alive. Her hair looks as though it was strategically placed, each tress one-by-one, on the pillow. And even in the horrible fluorescent lighting that emanates from a fixture on the wall above her, her skin still appears to be sun-kissed.

"She looks like an angel when she's sleeping," Hawkes says softly.

It takes Mac a minute but eventually whispers, "She does."

Sheldon takes the vase of flowers and carefully sits them on the particleboard nightstand beside the bed. Mac watches him carefully rotate the glass vessel until the bow tied around the center is facing Stella.

"What did the doctor say?"

"He said we've just got to wait it out. She lost a lot of blood, and they repaired what they could."

"Hmm," he nods. "Flack said they got the guy."

"Good." He can't take his eyes off of her lying there.

Sheldon sees the sadness in Mac's eyes. The helplessness among other things, he notices. He can practically feel Mac willing Stella to wake up. Sheldon knows telepathy has little to do with medicine, but he says nothing. After a moment, he advises, "You can talk to her, you know." Mac looks up. "Some people say it helps. At the very least, it might help you."

He bites his tongue, not to tell Sheldon that it's none of his business, what he's feeling. Still, he is just trying to help. "Maybe later," Mac says, not fully sold on the concept. It didn't work for Claire.

Undiscouraged, his colleague leans down, his lips almost meeting Stella's ear. Words are whispered, but Mac can't hear them. Sheldon hovers for a moment with closed eyes before standing upright again and takes a curl into his hand. Mac can't help but feel he's intruding on a private moment, but he can't make himself look away.

Sheldon leaves soon after with a promise to come back with the rest of the crew after while. Mac nods and thanks him for Stella's flowers. As an afterthought, he adds that he knows Stella would appreciate him being there.

He knows Hawkes and Stella are close, but begins to wonder how close after he'd seen him whispering to her. And Mac knows he shouldn't, but he feels a tinge of jealousy in his heart.

He closes his eyes and begins to pray to a god he isn't even sure he believes in anymore.

It should've been me. She didn't do anything to you. Please let her stay. You can take me instead. Just let her be all right. I can't lose another one. I can't lose her. I love her.

Mid-prayer, his eyelids become so heavy he can't seem to lift them open again. Stella's heart monitor's gentle beeping lulls him to sleep.

He dreams of her. How he begged her not to take the job in the towers. How he barely spoke a word to her that morning she went off to work and never came home. The buildings fall, and he's too far away to save her. He's running and running, not getting any closer. He can't get to her.

Somehow, she turns into Stella in the middle of the dream.

She's too far away. She's falling. She's falling.

His eyes open and connect with hers.

"Hey you," she says softly.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes, tiny beads of sweat from his brow, and sits up in the chair at her bedside. "You're up? Why didn't you wake me?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I was watching you sleep."

"How are you feeling?"

"Mmm." She tries to smile.

"Do you need anything? Water? Or something to eat?"

"No." She looks as though she wants to close her eyes again and fall back to sleep.

"They got him," he tells her quickly, in hopes of keeping her awake.

For a moment, she had forgotten what she is doing there, but now remembers and warm tears cloud her vision.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I didn't mean to--"

"It's all right," she murmurs. She stares straight ahead at a cheap clock on the wall. At least 10 hours since she last looked at the time. Her side is on fire. She feels tape pulling at her skin, itching. She wants to look at the damage but knows it will hurt too much if she tries to move. "You know, I think I could go for a cup of coffee now." Her voice is wavering but she's determined not to break now.

"Okay," he says and moves forward to stand up. He doesn't want to leave her like this. But he wants her to have something to drink, and so he goes.

He leaves and she cries. Cries without moving. Without making a sound. She'd perfected that procedure a long time ago. She closes her eyes and doesn't know why she woke up. Why she didn't stay in that serene place of darkness between sleep and comatose. No, she does know why. Him.

He returns with her coffee, and she's finishing wiping her eyes. He feels worse for leaving. She sips thedrink he hands her, and although the taste is much weaker than she's used to, she drinks it anyway.

"When the doc says you're ready," Mac starts, "why don't you… stay with me for a while?"

She looks at him and doesn't know what to think.

"You know, help you around, bring you food. Stuff like that. I've got a sofa bed, and I'll be close by if you need anything." He wants to make it up to her. For not being there. For everything.

Danny opens the door and walks into the room, before she can answer, followed by the rest of the crew. "How's our champ?"

"I'm fine," he hears her lie. "Just a little sore."

They see her reddened cheeks, her eyes still watery. They all know she's just being Stella, trying to be brave for everyone when she doesn't have to be.

"When do you get to bust out of this joint?" Flack asks.

"Couple days, maybe. I don't know."

"Do you got someone to help you out when you go home?" Danny says.

"Yeah," she replies. "I do."

An announcement comes over the PA, 10 minutes remaining until visiting hours are over.

"Well, I guess that's our cue," Flack says. "So much for this."

"We're gonna go and let you get some rest," Lindsay adds. "We're glad you're okay, Stella."

She smiles meekly. "Thanks."

"Bye, Stella," Flack says and steps through the door. Danny and Lindsay also say their goodbyes, but Hawkes lingers for a moment.

"I'll catch up with you guys downstairs," he tells them.

"All right, man."

As soon as he's sure the others have gone, Sheldon steps toward the bed and reaches out for Stella's hand. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Hawkes."

"You need anything, you call me."

"I will. Thank-you for the flowers. Tell everyone else too."

He takes her hand and encases it between his.

"Bye, Hawkes," she says with a smile. She wants to cry but won't allow it, holding it in at all costs.

He instructs her to be good and heads out the door with a wave to Mac. "Take care of her, Sir."

Mac nods. "I will."

Everyone is gone, and the two of them sit in silence for just a moment before Mac remembers something. "I'll be right back," he tells her and hurries out the door. "Sheldon," he calls.

He spins around near the end of the hallway. "Yeah?"

"What… did you say to her? Earlier, I mean."

His hands are deep in his pockets, collar turned up, already prepared for the night cold even before he reaches the elevator. "I told her to come back… because you needed her."

The end.