Hey guys! Thanks for taking the time to give my writing a go! A big thanks to Lily Moonlight for helping me with planning and proofreading this story :-)

A gentle breeze brushed her cheek, in the same way a lover might have touched her when leaning in for a kiss. For now, she had no boyfriend, no lover in which to compare the sensation created by the wind, no one to hold her in their arms. At this realisation, she allowed the feeling of her wine glass pressing against her lips to take her away from the present, the reality and responsibilities of the life she was living, and arrive in a new, wine-induced dimension. It was here that she was not Stella Bonasera and her only responsibility was to stand on this roof, sipping occasionally from her wine glass as she watched the heart of New York City beating below her.

This habit had become hers a few weeks past, and on the nights she wasn't working extra hours at the crime lab, she found herself on the roof of her apartment building. Despite overwhelming fatigue, she had found greater difficulty finding her way into the arms of sleep in recent nights, and even if she did manage to get off to sleep, it wasn't long before she was awake again; with thoughts buzzing around in her mind, or with nightmares consuming her sleep.

She watched the life of the city pulse through the streets. It was too fast for her to analyse the finer details of the blood of the city. But she found something in this new habit of hers. Something which brought her out to her roof every night, with that same glass, filled with the same wine, watching. Different people and faces passing through the streets. Different sounds. Different car horns blaring at different pedestrians who were careless in crossing the street.

Her job was different, but it was always the same. The murderer's motives might be different; people who took another's life – sometimes over love. Sometimes hate. Sometimes it was money, other times; power. There was seldom a case where the victim wasn't killed over something so insignificant, something that could be resolved so easily through civil courts, or therapy, or just… She couldn't explain it, but in the vast majority of cases, murder didn't solve anything.

She knew how it felt to pull the trigger. To watch the life drain out of another human being's eyes. Around a year had passed since her ex-boyfriend had tried to kill her following their break up. He had beaten her. Cut her. Dragged her into the bath tub.

He would have killed her.

So, she panicked and just kept pulling the trigger until she heard his body slump heavily against the ground. One shot would have given her the time to call the police, and gotten herself to safety. One shot would have kept her safe, kept Frankie alive.

But she kept on pulling the trigger.

And so, she knew how it felt to watch the life drain out of his eyes. To know that she had taken another person's life, when her job, as a cop, was to protect the citizens of New York – it felt like she had gone against the oath that came with the badge. Although a year had passed, she still seen the blood spattered onto her bath tub anytime she glanced at her feet during a shower. She was reminded of the pain of razor against skin when she tried to shave her legs. But most importantly, she heard his body slump against the ground when she raised that same gun to a suspect, his pained screams filling her ears when she shut her eyes.

She could only guess that the amount of death she had seen in both her personal and professional life was enough to make her appreciate a city such as New York. With its vibrancy and life, Stella could almost turn a blind eye, or at least, find a distraction from all of the deaths

Almost.

Sometimes, she wished she could just oscillate through the city as a civilian, or at least, as someone who was, at least, a little more oblivious to what happened on the very streets she walked. She was grateful for the little things that took her away from the specifics of her work, for example, tomorrow she was meeting with Jennifer, her friend James' daughter, to show her around the ballistics department. Daughter of New York's senator and a 2nd year student at Chelsea University, studying forensic science, Bright, positive, and full of potential, Stella was more than happy to take Jennifer under her wing and give her a head start in the field of forensics. Watching her eyes light up in pure happiness when she looked through a microscope or when she ran a fingerprint through CODIS, Stella was reminded of her own passion for her career at Jennifer's age and something which she was beginning to lack. She couldn't quite place what it was, but after the events of the past year, Jennifer was exactly what Stella needed.

The shrill ringing of her phone broke her away from the sight of the city, bringing her back to reality. The name Mac Taylor flashing across her phone, especially at this hour, meant that she was needed at some crime scene or another.

"Hey, Stella. I'm going to need you at a homicide case, as soon as you can, really."

"Hey. What's the address and I'll get a cab over?"

She heard the line go quiet for a minute before she eventually heard his breath against the receiver, releasing in a sigh. She had known Mac Taylor long enough to know that his sigh could never mean anything good. Usually it meant an early callout or cancelled dinner. It held disappointment or an apology following bad news or a favour too big to ask.

"Stella, it's Senator James Highsmith's apartment."

"Oh my God," she exclaimed. "James… is he okay? Of course he's not."

He paused, as though contemplating his response, "I'll send one of the officers to pick you up. Stell, it's not good."

She hung up, and feeling the weight of the wine glass in her hand, she brought the glass to her lips and tipped the remainder of the alcohol down her throat. Indeed, this was not good.

Arriving at the scene, she immediately looked for Mac's car among the sea of police cars and reporters, and once she was satisfied that he was here, she flashed her badge in an effort to push past the crowd. It couldn't be Veronica who had been murdered, could it? That would explain why there was so much press outside. The CEO of a major charity and the wife of a politician, well, such a death was bound to attract large scale media attention. She was so sure she and James were in Washington D.C for some conference or another for Veronica's charity, so unless they had returned early, it couldn't be Veronica or James.

When she saw Flack standing in the lobby, she had a horrible feeling in her gut that it wasn't Veronica who was going to be leaving the building a body bag. The look he gave her, the look of pity and concern, gave him away. Although she was friends with Veronica, she was only friends with her through James and while she had known the family for at least 3 years now, she didn't know Veronica particularly well. Sure, they had met for drinks a few times, but there were things she wouldn't tell Veronica and she was sure it was applicable vice-versa. She was much closer to James, meeting for lunch when he wasn't busy working, she campaigned with him when time allowed and he had taken care of her after Frankie attacked her, in ways Mac and Don weren't able to. He let her get as drunk as she had to, to get whatever she wanted off of her chest. She cried with him, got angry with him, and it was difficult for him to trust him fully – but he understood that. The only man she completely trusted was Mac, but when she needed him most, he had a habit of running, of distracting himself. Don was a friend, a very good one at that, and recently, he'd had a habit of seeing her at her worst.

Just a year ago, he had spent days on end helping her to piece together the pieces of the night her ex-boyfriend had tried to kill her. He had been kind, and patient, and resultantly became one of the few men which she trusted along with Mac. But Mac wasn't great at dealing with other people's emotions and could be a little clinical in the way he dealt with people; so it wasn't difficult to see why Don had been sent to deliver the bad news.

"Stell, I know it's your night off, but Mac thought you'd want to work this one."

She was granted entrance to the large apartment building by a young officer, and approached Flack, ignoring his previous statement. She didn't care that it was her night off; she was glad Mac had called her.

"What do we know?"

He guided her to the side of the lobby, where the elevator would soon take them to the crime scene. He looked at her sadly.

"Stell, it's Jennifer."

So what did you think? Leave a review and feel free to follow the story for future chapters. Chapter 2 should be up in a few days :-)