He watches her.
He used to do this years ago, when it had been someone else in her place. He'd watched her waste away in a hospital bed that time. Watched, helplessly, as her face got more and more sunken, watched as her body wasted away.
Watched her die.
He loves the way her curls, tight and spiralled, frame her face and cascade down her shoulders and back. He loves her soft, olive skin and her long, lean legs. He loves her perfect lips, plump and pink, and so kissable. He loves her high cheekbones.
But, most of all, he loves her eyes.
Bright, sparkling green eyes. Eyes that care, eyes that love, eyes that know. Eyes that see straight through his tough exterior and into his soul. Eyes that can fill with tears, harden with anger, or twinkle with laughter. God, he loves her eyes.
He watches her sleep and he's at peace. In the past, with the one that had stolen his heart and had finally given it back years later, he wasn't at peace. The world was not at peace. His city was not at peace. And, when the steady beep of the monitor turned into a continuous drone, he knew it would take him years to find peace again.
But he had. He'd at it all along, just waiting for him to find it.
He found it in her.
So, he watches her. And he's content. She sleeps, unaware of his eyes, and he decides he likes it that way. When they're awake and out in the world, he never gets a chance to sit and marvel her beauty. Her mind, yes, but rarely her beauty. It's why he loves the night so much. Night, when he can study her hair, cheeks, neck, breasts, stomach, legs. Anything and everything he knows she'll surrender to him.
He knows he'd give up anything for her.
"Mac?" Her soft, sleepy voice reaches his ears. He stares at her softly illuminated form from the lights outside.
"Mac," she whispers, with the smile that says she's done this so many times before and the look in her eyes that tells him it's okay. "Come to bed, baby."
He watches her hold her hand out. To him, that hand is his salvation, his chance to save himself from his thoughts.
This time, he doesn't feel guilty. This time, he knows he belongs there with her. And this time, as he takes her hand and kisses it, he feels the love swell within him for the love he has for the woman in his bed.
This time, he knows there won't be a next time.
A/N: I seem to be on a roll with Mac and Stella lately, huh? Read and Review--I love reviews better than chocolate.
..Almost.