Mac headed down the carpeted corridor, pulling his suitcase along with him. His flight had finally landed in JFK. Thanks to a delayed flight in London, followed by being seated next to a screaming baby for the entire flight across the Atlantic, he was tired. Unfortunately, there was something more pressing he had to address first. He knocked on the door in front of him, and waited patiently for it to be answered.
"Mac?" said Stella in surprise. She glanced down, spotting the suitcase and gave him a wry smile. "Normally, it's polite to wait for the person to move out before you move in."
"My flight got in an hour ago," Mac explained. "I came straight here."
From inside the apartment came a muffled cry. Stella sighed. "Looks like nap time is over. Come in," she called over her shoulder as she hurried into the nursery.
Mac did as requested, closing the door behind them. He left the suitcase by the door, then continued his way into her living room. Everything was organised into neat, stacked boxes, all sealed and labelled clearly. This time it was Mac's turn to sigh.
"You okay, Mac?" Stella asked him, quietly.
Mac turned, finding Stella watching him, Liam nestled in her arms. "He's gotten big."
"He's nearly two months old," Stella said proudly. "And putting on weight like you wouldn't believe."
"He'll soon be in college," Mac warned her with a small grin.
Stella shook her head. "No, he's not going to get much bigger than this. Past potty training, and then he's stopping."
Mac laughed. "Good luck with that."
Stella smiled, handing over Liam. "Any plans for you and Peyton?" she asked. At Mac's lack of answer, she looked up from her son to her friend, her face frowning in concern. "Mac?"
"Peyton stayed in London," Mac explained, simply.
"Oh, Mac," Stella sighed. The four words were enough to know she wasn't coming back to New York, and they weren't going to attempt a long distance relationship. "I'm guessing you didn't come here to talk about that?"
Mac shook his head. "What's done is done. That can't be changed. But I had come here hoping I could change your mind." He glanced around the room. "But I suppose there's no chance with that either."
"You know I'm not moving because of you, or anything at work, don't you?" Stella asked him.
Mac nodded, sadly. "I would do the same thing."
"No you wouldn't," Stella laughed.
Mac met her gaze and shrugged. "Alright, maybe I wouldn't. But I do understand why you're doing it." He sighed, bouncing Liam slightly in his arms, and moved over to the couch, sitting down. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you, though."
"Mac, you're talking like I'm changing time zones," Stella told him. "I will be an hour away."
"Running another lab," he pointed out.
"You'll find someone else," Stella said.
"Someone willing to help out on my admin work, as well as be a criminalist?" Mac asked her. "I don't think so. You're one of a kind."
"Thanks, Mac," said Stella. "But I'm sure you'll find someone who's nearly as good as I am."
"Mac?" said Stella in surprise. She glanced down, spotting the suitcase and gave him a wry smile. "Normally, it's polite to wait for the person to move out before you move in."
"My flight got in an hour ago," Mac explained. "I came straight here."
From inside the apartment came a muffled cry. Stella sighed. "Looks like nap time is over. Come in," she called over her shoulder as she hurried into the nursery.
Mac did as requested, closing the door behind them. He left the suitcase by the door, then continued his way into her living room. Everything was organised into neat, stacked boxes, all sealed and labelled clearly. This time it was Mac's turn to sigh.
"You okay, Mac?" Stella asked him, quietly.
Mac turned, finding Stella watching him, Liam nestled in her arms. "He's gotten big."
"He's nearly two months old," Stella said proudly. "And putting on weight like you wouldn't believe."
"He'll soon be in college," Mac warned her with a small grin.
Stella shook her head. "No, he's not going to get much bigger than this. Past potty training, and then he's stopping."
Mac laughed. "Good luck with that."
Stella smiled, handing over Liam. "Any plans for you and Peyton?" she asked. At Mac's lack of answer, she looked up from her son to her friend, her face frowning in concern. "Mac?"
"Peyton stayed in London," Mac explained, simply.
"Oh, Mac," Stella sighed. The four words were enough to know she wasn't coming back to New York, and they weren't going to attempt a long distance relationship. "I'm guessing you didn't come here to talk about that?"
Mac shook his head. "What's done is done. That can't be changed. But I had come here hoping I could change your mind." He glanced around the room. "But I suppose there's no chance with that either."
"You know I'm not moving because of you, or anything at work, don't you?" Stella asked him.
Mac nodded, sadly. "I would do the same thing."
"No you wouldn't," Stella laughed.
Mac met her gaze and shrugged. "Alright, maybe I wouldn't. But I do understand why you're doing it." He sighed, bouncing Liam slightly in his arms, and moved over to the couch, sitting down. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you, though."
"Mac, you're talking like I'm changing time zones," Stella told him. "I will be an hour away."
"Running another lab," he pointed out.
"You'll find someone else," Stella said.
"Someone willing to help out on my admin work, as well as be a criminalist?" Mac asked her. "I don't think so. You're one of a kind."
"Thanks, Mac," said Stella. "But I'm sure you'll find someone who's nearly as good as I am."
* * *
Flack walked into the precinct and pulled his suit jacket off, hanging it up on the well-used coat hanger that sat between his desk and Angell's behind him. As he turned back, he frowned, realising something wasn't right about his desk, and the desk he shared with Grace. Her side was spotless. Normally, it was a case that you couldn't see the wood for the paper, and her monitor was frequently half hidden by a pile of papers. The only way she ever found her mouse, was because she followed the wire from the back of the computer.
Flack frowned and glanced behind him, spotting Grace sitting opposite Angell, but refusing to catch
his eyes. He turned, about to walk over, when his Lieutenant called him to his office. With the frown firmly planted on his face, he made his way over to the small office in the corner of the room.
Gerrard's replacement was a short woman, who, like many other superior officers before her, carried a few too
many pounds probably from spending too many hours behind a desk. "Close the door," she told him.
"What's going on, Loo?" he asked her. He hadn't worked with her for long enough to be able to get a fair read on her himself, but he'd spoken to some buddies over in Brooklyn, where she'd transferred in from, and they'd said Lieutenant Jayne Black was alright.
"I was hoping you could tell me, Flack," she told him. "Perry asked for a new partner last night. Called it creative differences."
That was one way of putting it. Flack sighed. "She may have indicated that she liked me."
"And?"
Flack shrugged. "And I have a fiancé. But I'm not going to object to not working with her. I'm happy
flying solo."
"Good, because we have a new transfer for you. Phil Senna."
Flack pulled a face. "Senna? From 42nd? The guy is a lazy freeloader."
"Then you won't mind working with him," Black shrugged. "If you're doing all the work, then it will be
like he's not even there."
"But Loo-" Flack began objecting.
Black shook her head. "If you're going to complain, put it in writing so I can screw it up and throw it in the trash. After Yip, you're lucky anyone wants to work with you." She sat down at her desk, glancing out the window. "Looks like he's here. Go play nice."
Flack exhaled deeply as he left the room, heading back to his desk where Senna was already making himself comfortable. The guy was well known, even around this station. He'd made it out of uniform and transferred into Vice, but after it became pretty apparent that he was a complete chauvinist pig, he was transferred out. Flack was pretty certain it was somewhere where he was never supposed to meet with the public – somewhere like the cold case unit – so how the hell he'd managed to get to homicide, he had no idea. Given Black's somewhat
women's lib beliefs, he was hopeful it wouldn't last long.
"Flackie!" Senna greeted him, like they'd been friends for years.
"It's Flack," Flack told him.
"Yeah, whatever," Senna agreed, his attention on something over Flack's shoulder. "I can understand why so many people want to work homicide. Aside from the easy ride, the view in this office is phenomenal."
Flack glanced back, spotting Angell and Grace and rolled his eyes. "Put it away, Senna," he instructed him.
"Holy shit," Senna said instead, before letting out a loud wolf whistle. "That is one hot piece of ass."
Flack turned again, half expecting to see Angell bent over – he might be engaged, and she might prefer girls, but he wasn't going to deny the fact the woman was smoking – only to find Taylor making his way over to him. "That hot piece of ass is my fiancé," he growled at Senna.
"You are one lucky son of a bitch," Senna told him, earning a sharp jab to his side.
"Hi beautiful," Flack greeted Taylor as she arrived at the desk. "How'd the interview go?"
Taylor shrugged. "They liked me, they wanted to meet me, but just to see who Nancy considered the most unemployable writer in the United States of America," Taylor muttered, shrugging off her jacket. "I might have well as gone in my pyjamas," she added, gesturing to the skirt suit that she was wearing.
"I'd have hired you," Senna piped up.
Taylor glanced over at the well-built red head. "Hi?"
"Detective Phil Senna," Senna said smoothly. "But you can call me any time you want."
Taylor blinked. "I'm engaged. To him," she added, pointing at Flack.
"He knows," Flack told him, shooting his new partner another unimpressed look.
"Once you've had Senna, you won't go back to Flack," he said, before chuckling at his own poetry.
Taylor narrowed her eyes. "Do your lines ever actually work?"
"You wanna see the notches on my bedposts?"
Taylor cringed. "Oh, god. Please, no."
"Give it time," Senna informed her. He handed over a business card. "I'll be waiting."
Flack rolled his eyes and ushered Taylor away from their desk and outside into the June sun. "Where do you find these partners?" Taylor asked him in amazement.
Flack held his hands up. "Not my choice, trust me."
"Good luck with that one." Taylor sighed and glanced up at the Crime lab opposite.
"What brings you here?" Flack asked her.
"To see you and let you know how the interview went. Then it's over to the lab to go over the final plans for Stella's leaving party tonight," Taylor replied. I should probably head in." She leant up and gave him a kiss, before dashing off across the street.
Once safely in the elevator, heading up to the crime lab, she pulled out a clipboard and began examining the sheet on the top. She was so caught up in what she was studying that she didn't realise Mac was sharing the elevator with her until he cleared his throat. She looked up and caught him smiling at her. "Mac?" she said. "You're not due in until," she glanced at her watch. "Three this afternoon."
Mac cocked his head. "When do you know when I'm due back?"
Taylor shrugged. "Stella's leaving party. I had to arrange it so that everyone was here, but before she moved
tomorrow."
"You did?" Mac continued, amused.
Taylor nodded. "Tonight at seven. That would have given you a few hours for a nap, not that you sleep much, and probably would have gone straight there. Lindsay and Danny's shift is finished at five, so they have time to go home, shower, and get back to Mid-Town. Sid swapped for the night shift, with his first autopsy scheduled for..." she trailed off at the look Mac was giving her and gave him a sheepish smile.
"You'd be better off with a tablet, than a clipboard," Mac told her.
"That's true," Taylor agreed. "But without a job, that's a luxury I really don't need."
"That's a fair point," Mac agreed as they stepped off into the recently fully operational crime lab.
"Your office is that way," Taylor told him, as he started in the direction of his old office location. Mac glanced back at her, eyebrow arched. "Don't look at me, I didn't play any part in the refit, but apparently you have some really nice kit in here." She led him to his new office and pushed open the door. "It should be very much the same as you left it, other than in another location," Taylor added.
Mac walked in, examining the room, stopping every now and then to pick up a photograph, before setting it back down. "It looks good."
"Good," Taylor sighed in relief.
"Where is everyone?"
"Greg and Hawkes are on their day off," Taylor told him. She frowned, thoughtfully. "Danny was last working on a mugging in Tribeca, and I think Lindsay is probably in her office, finishing off all the paperwork so she can hand it back to you tomorrow. Adam is probably finishing up on the DNA evidence for Danny. Um,
Benda and Richard are trying to clear the trace evidence backlog-"
Mac held his hand up and Taylor trailed off. "You seem to have a handle on what's going on in here."
"Just looking after things while you've been gone, giving Lindsay a hand. She's done most of the work, really. It's just been these last couple of days where she's needed to get the paperwork finished," Taylor told him. "But I think everyone will be happier now you've been back. I think everyone will appreciate an extra criminalist on the team too."
"It's been busy then?" Mac asked, settling into his new chair and easing back to try it out."
"Nothing they couldn't handle," Taylor added hurriedly. "But I don't think everyone realised just how much you actually did here." Taylor's mouth fell open in horror. "I didn't mean it like that," she said, cringing slightly under Mac's stare. "I mean, we all know you're busy, I just don't think anyone really thought about what actually goes into running a crime lab... and I'm going to go and see if Lindsay's due for a coffee break."
"You're right," Mac agreed, halting Taylor in her escape bid for the door.
Taylor glanced back. "Huh?"
"You're right. People didn't realise how much I do around here, and that's because I had Stella's help."
"Oh," Taylor sighed. "Well I can help with that. Sinclair sent down some applicants to fill her position. Lindsay didn't want to take that responsibility so we got him to agree to wait until you came back." She hurried over to his desk, and leant over, turning a tablet on. "The city decided that now was a good time to try and reduce the carbon footprint of the crime lab, so where possible, they have provided tablets that are all linked up to the system. Adam had a hand in setting up the firewalls, so I suspect it's pretty indestructible." She pulled up an app, and handed the tablet over. "I won't tell anyone if you want to create a paper copies."
Mac flicked through the various applicants before setting the tablet down. "How do you feel about helping with that?" he asked her.
Taylor shrugged. "Sure," she said, reaching for the tablet. "It's all hooked up to the wifi. Your office printer is set as the default, but the all-singing-all-dancing printer, scanner, coffee maker contraption is in the reception area if you want to print really big documents. It's behind the reception desk, so there shouldn't be any chance of someone from the public picking anything up. But if it's really confidential, maybe..." she trailed off again. "Sorry, I'm sure you know how to print."
"I do," Mac agreed, taking the tablet back from her. "But I was asking if you wanted to help. Me."
Taylor stared at him, blinked, and then burst out laughing. She finally calmed down enough to realise that Mac wasn't laughing with her. "Sorry, Mac. It's been a long day. I thought you were offering me a job."
"I was."
Taylor's mouth fell open. "Come again?"
"Would you like a job?" he asked her.
Taylor glanced around suspiciously. "Is this a joke?" Mac shook his head. "Mac, I'm a journalist. I'm not a cop."
"You realise you don't have to be a cop to work in a crime lab, don't you?" he asked her. "Adam's not a police
officer."
"Adam has a degree in Chemistry and a Masters in Forensic Computing," Taylor pointed out. "Mass Comm. and Journalism," she said, using her thumb to point at herself.
"I'm not asking you to be a lab tech, Taylor. I have enough of those," Mac responded, calmly. "And while I do have an opening for a criminalist, I agree that there are better qualified people out there."
"So what are you asking me to do?" Taylor asked him, still puzzled.
"Deal with this," Mac said, gesturing to the tablet.
Taylor pursed her lips. "You're being serious, aren't you?"
"What do you think?" he returned.
"I think I never want to play you in poker," Taylor admitted. She gave him another searching stare. "Not too long ago, you couldn't get me out of this lab quick enough."
Mac let out a weary sigh. "Taylor, I have realised that no matter how hard I try, you will always end in this lab. I still don't believe that you can see ghosts, and I am not about to give you a free reign to collect evidence, but I
need help with the administration work and you have a particularly intuitive mind that sometimes sees evidence in a context which I cannot."
Taylor considered the offer, and then grinned. "Does the job come with benefits and a pension?"
"Don't make me regret this, Taylor," Mac muttered, handing the tablet over to her.
Flack frowned and glanced behind him, spotting Grace sitting opposite Angell, but refusing to catch
his eyes. He turned, about to walk over, when his Lieutenant called him to his office. With the frown firmly planted on his face, he made his way over to the small office in the corner of the room.
Gerrard's replacement was a short woman, who, like many other superior officers before her, carried a few too
many pounds probably from spending too many hours behind a desk. "Close the door," she told him.
"What's going on, Loo?" he asked her. He hadn't worked with her for long enough to be able to get a fair read on her himself, but he'd spoken to some buddies over in Brooklyn, where she'd transferred in from, and they'd said Lieutenant Jayne Black was alright.
"I was hoping you could tell me, Flack," she told him. "Perry asked for a new partner last night. Called it creative differences."
That was one way of putting it. Flack sighed. "She may have indicated that she liked me."
"And?"
Flack shrugged. "And I have a fiancé. But I'm not going to object to not working with her. I'm happy
flying solo."
"Good, because we have a new transfer for you. Phil Senna."
Flack pulled a face. "Senna? From 42nd? The guy is a lazy freeloader."
"Then you won't mind working with him," Black shrugged. "If you're doing all the work, then it will be
like he's not even there."
"But Loo-" Flack began objecting.
Black shook her head. "If you're going to complain, put it in writing so I can screw it up and throw it in the trash. After Yip, you're lucky anyone wants to work with you." She sat down at her desk, glancing out the window. "Looks like he's here. Go play nice."
Flack exhaled deeply as he left the room, heading back to his desk where Senna was already making himself comfortable. The guy was well known, even around this station. He'd made it out of uniform and transferred into Vice, but after it became pretty apparent that he was a complete chauvinist pig, he was transferred out. Flack was pretty certain it was somewhere where he was never supposed to meet with the public – somewhere like the cold case unit – so how the hell he'd managed to get to homicide, he had no idea. Given Black's somewhat
women's lib beliefs, he was hopeful it wouldn't last long.
"Flackie!" Senna greeted him, like they'd been friends for years.
"It's Flack," Flack told him.
"Yeah, whatever," Senna agreed, his attention on something over Flack's shoulder. "I can understand why so many people want to work homicide. Aside from the easy ride, the view in this office is phenomenal."
Flack glanced back, spotting Angell and Grace and rolled his eyes. "Put it away, Senna," he instructed him.
"Holy shit," Senna said instead, before letting out a loud wolf whistle. "That is one hot piece of ass."
Flack turned again, half expecting to see Angell bent over – he might be engaged, and she might prefer girls, but he wasn't going to deny the fact the woman was smoking – only to find Taylor making his way over to him. "That hot piece of ass is my fiancé," he growled at Senna.
"You are one lucky son of a bitch," Senna told him, earning a sharp jab to his side.
"Hi beautiful," Flack greeted Taylor as she arrived at the desk. "How'd the interview go?"
Taylor shrugged. "They liked me, they wanted to meet me, but just to see who Nancy considered the most unemployable writer in the United States of America," Taylor muttered, shrugging off her jacket. "I might have well as gone in my pyjamas," she added, gesturing to the skirt suit that she was wearing.
"I'd have hired you," Senna piped up.
Taylor glanced over at the well-built red head. "Hi?"
"Detective Phil Senna," Senna said smoothly. "But you can call me any time you want."
Taylor blinked. "I'm engaged. To him," she added, pointing at Flack.
"He knows," Flack told him, shooting his new partner another unimpressed look.
"Once you've had Senna, you won't go back to Flack," he said, before chuckling at his own poetry.
Taylor narrowed her eyes. "Do your lines ever actually work?"
"You wanna see the notches on my bedposts?"
Taylor cringed. "Oh, god. Please, no."
"Give it time," Senna informed her. He handed over a business card. "I'll be waiting."
Flack rolled his eyes and ushered Taylor away from their desk and outside into the June sun. "Where do you find these partners?" Taylor asked him in amazement.
Flack held his hands up. "Not my choice, trust me."
"Good luck with that one." Taylor sighed and glanced up at the Crime lab opposite.
"What brings you here?" Flack asked her.
"To see you and let you know how the interview went. Then it's over to the lab to go over the final plans for Stella's leaving party tonight," Taylor replied. I should probably head in." She leant up and gave him a kiss, before dashing off across the street.
Once safely in the elevator, heading up to the crime lab, she pulled out a clipboard and began examining the sheet on the top. She was so caught up in what she was studying that she didn't realise Mac was sharing the elevator with her until he cleared his throat. She looked up and caught him smiling at her. "Mac?" she said. "You're not due in until," she glanced at her watch. "Three this afternoon."
Mac cocked his head. "When do you know when I'm due back?"
Taylor shrugged. "Stella's leaving party. I had to arrange it so that everyone was here, but before she moved
tomorrow."
"You did?" Mac continued, amused.
Taylor nodded. "Tonight at seven. That would have given you a few hours for a nap, not that you sleep much, and probably would have gone straight there. Lindsay and Danny's shift is finished at five, so they have time to go home, shower, and get back to Mid-Town. Sid swapped for the night shift, with his first autopsy scheduled for..." she trailed off at the look Mac was giving her and gave him a sheepish smile.
"You'd be better off with a tablet, than a clipboard," Mac told her.
"That's true," Taylor agreed. "But without a job, that's a luxury I really don't need."
"That's a fair point," Mac agreed as they stepped off into the recently fully operational crime lab.
"Your office is that way," Taylor told him, as he started in the direction of his old office location. Mac glanced back at her, eyebrow arched. "Don't look at me, I didn't play any part in the refit, but apparently you have some really nice kit in here." She led him to his new office and pushed open the door. "It should be very much the same as you left it, other than in another location," Taylor added.
Mac walked in, examining the room, stopping every now and then to pick up a photograph, before setting it back down. "It looks good."
"Good," Taylor sighed in relief.
"Where is everyone?"
"Greg and Hawkes are on their day off," Taylor told him. She frowned, thoughtfully. "Danny was last working on a mugging in Tribeca, and I think Lindsay is probably in her office, finishing off all the paperwork so she can hand it back to you tomorrow. Adam is probably finishing up on the DNA evidence for Danny. Um,
Benda and Richard are trying to clear the trace evidence backlog-"
Mac held his hand up and Taylor trailed off. "You seem to have a handle on what's going on in here."
"Just looking after things while you've been gone, giving Lindsay a hand. She's done most of the work, really. It's just been these last couple of days where she's needed to get the paperwork finished," Taylor told him. "But I think everyone will be happier now you've been back. I think everyone will appreciate an extra criminalist on the team too."
"It's been busy then?" Mac asked, settling into his new chair and easing back to try it out."
"Nothing they couldn't handle," Taylor added hurriedly. "But I don't think everyone realised just how much you actually did here." Taylor's mouth fell open in horror. "I didn't mean it like that," she said, cringing slightly under Mac's stare. "I mean, we all know you're busy, I just don't think anyone really thought about what actually goes into running a crime lab... and I'm going to go and see if Lindsay's due for a coffee break."
"You're right," Mac agreed, halting Taylor in her escape bid for the door.
Taylor glanced back. "Huh?"
"You're right. People didn't realise how much I do around here, and that's because I had Stella's help."
"Oh," Taylor sighed. "Well I can help with that. Sinclair sent down some applicants to fill her position. Lindsay didn't want to take that responsibility so we got him to agree to wait until you came back." She hurried over to his desk, and leant over, turning a tablet on. "The city decided that now was a good time to try and reduce the carbon footprint of the crime lab, so where possible, they have provided tablets that are all linked up to the system. Adam had a hand in setting up the firewalls, so I suspect it's pretty indestructible." She pulled up an app, and handed the tablet over. "I won't tell anyone if you want to create a paper copies."
Mac flicked through the various applicants before setting the tablet down. "How do you feel about helping with that?" he asked her.
Taylor shrugged. "Sure," she said, reaching for the tablet. "It's all hooked up to the wifi. Your office printer is set as the default, but the all-singing-all-dancing printer, scanner, coffee maker contraption is in the reception area if you want to print really big documents. It's behind the reception desk, so there shouldn't be any chance of someone from the public picking anything up. But if it's really confidential, maybe..." she trailed off again. "Sorry, I'm sure you know how to print."
"I do," Mac agreed, taking the tablet back from her. "But I was asking if you wanted to help. Me."
Taylor stared at him, blinked, and then burst out laughing. She finally calmed down enough to realise that Mac wasn't laughing with her. "Sorry, Mac. It's been a long day. I thought you were offering me a job."
"I was."
Taylor's mouth fell open. "Come again?"
"Would you like a job?" he asked her.
Taylor glanced around suspiciously. "Is this a joke?" Mac shook his head. "Mac, I'm a journalist. I'm not a cop."
"You realise you don't have to be a cop to work in a crime lab, don't you?" he asked her. "Adam's not a police
officer."
"Adam has a degree in Chemistry and a Masters in Forensic Computing," Taylor pointed out. "Mass Comm. and Journalism," she said, using her thumb to point at herself.
"I'm not asking you to be a lab tech, Taylor. I have enough of those," Mac responded, calmly. "And while I do have an opening for a criminalist, I agree that there are better qualified people out there."
"So what are you asking me to do?" Taylor asked him, still puzzled.
"Deal with this," Mac said, gesturing to the tablet.
Taylor pursed her lips. "You're being serious, aren't you?"
"What do you think?" he returned.
"I think I never want to play you in poker," Taylor admitted. She gave him another searching stare. "Not too long ago, you couldn't get me out of this lab quick enough."
Mac let out a weary sigh. "Taylor, I have realised that no matter how hard I try, you will always end in this lab. I still don't believe that you can see ghosts, and I am not about to give you a free reign to collect evidence, but I
need help with the administration work and you have a particularly intuitive mind that sometimes sees evidence in a context which I cannot."
Taylor considered the offer, and then grinned. "Does the job come with benefits and a pension?"
"Don't make me regret this, Taylor," Mac muttered, handing the tablet over to her.
First posted 04/04/2013