Title: What If
Summary: You find forever today
Disclaimer: I mean no profits with this story. The show and its characters belong to their owners.
This one goes to Edward, for every single fortune cookie we've shared. ;)
WHAT IF
by SHIPPY ANGEL
"I'm not telling you, Stella!"
She lays her chopsticks down as he sips his beer slowly. "Aw, come on!" she begs, increduously. "I invited you in for a chinese take-out and this is how you show some appreciation?"
"Ha!" Mac grins sheepishly, something he hasn't done in a good while, which leads Stella to think that this moment just made her day, despite their hard day at the lab, because they're finally talking and enjoying themselves in a way they haven't since Angell passed out. "Trying to move me, Detective Bonasera?"
"Mac, please!" she cocks her head to one side, trying to get under his skin and she whines in the sweetest voice he has ever heard, he swears, but shakes his head 'no' nevertheless.
"You realize that's just a piece of paper, right?" Mac settles more comfortably, watching her, his lip curled in a mocking way.
She curses in Greek with a grumpy face and he has to laugh at her behaviour, feeling incredibly happy in a way he hasn't felt for a long time.
"This is my place." She crosses her arms. "My rules." He smiles, simply sipping from his can of beer. "Get the hell outta here." She orders, but her tune of voice is soft. He stares at her in a way to make her knees go weak and she surrenders. "I don't know why you always have to make such a mistery out of it."
"YOU make such a mistery out of it." He states. "Do you honestly think that your destiny is written there?!" she rolls her eyes in a feminine way and, for the love of God, he can't help but try to cool his body down. "You're a scientist, for Christ's sake."
This has been their secret joke for years, now. Since the first time they shared a chinese take-out, Mac never reads the fortune sentence that comes in his cookie, judging it as a waste of time. Stella likes these things, though, and she always tries to get the paper from his hands before he throws in the garbage can. She never manages it though.
They are half lying on her carpet ground, her face is resting against the sofa cushions and he's propped up on one elbow, his body turned to hers.
She smiles, biting her vanilla flavoured cookie. She takes the piece of paper that's hidden there and unfolds it, smiling with her eyes as she reads it's words.
"What?" He smirks, turning his head to the side and trying to guess what it says. "What does it say?"
"And all of a sudden, ladies and gentlemen, Detective Taylon, the Mr. Skeptical, is interested in what fortune cookies have to say!" Stella's curls fall in her face as she laughs ironically, teasing him. His childish silence is enough to make her read the words out loud "What if things were different?". He looks at her, at first, as if she has changed the subject and he couldn't follow. A second later, though, he notices her misty eyes, looking at the paper, or farther away, and he's dying to know what's on her mind.
She wonders. She wonders about the thousand meanings that those words could have. And the message, somehow, seems to affect Mac's thoughts as well, as he ponders the things he has done in his life, and the things he hasn't done too.
His voice is husky when he whispers thoughtfully "I once wondered what would happen if we had met under different circunstances." she turns to him fully now, intrigued at the possibility of him exposing a secret, the air no longer at ease, but dead serious. She questions him with her eyes as she finds herself hypnotized, dazzled by this unexpected display of confession. "What are you talking about, Mac?". He smiles, simpatizing with her lost stare and estabilishes "I wondered if things would turn out differently."
"Oh?" she pauses for a moment, considering what to say, since she never knows how far to reach out for when Mac is willing to go personal and she always choose to leave it in his hands to decide. She never thought that his need for privacy was a fault of his, she never thought he should quit it. She would rather just stay there, as she was, always watching him. "And how would we have met?" she asks.
"Oh well." He sighs and looks contemplative, now, his gaze wondering far away as she realizes that he's picturing the whole scene in his mind, waiting for him to describe it with words. And she waits without a hurry because one of her favorite things in the whole world is to look at him when he's concentrated. "We'd be at a coffee shop, for sure." They share a secret smile as they're both addicted to those delicious java grounds. "I'd have spotted your smile from the other side of the room and I'd found myself unable to do anything other than to ask for the number of your telephone."
It's too good to see him using his charm and humour again and she blushes, which makes him feel pleased about himself: how rare is it to make Stella Bonasera blush? He smiles smugly, not giving her a chance to back away.
Her eyes sparkle when the words sunk him; she smiles in return, missing their connection, deciding to play along. And it feels so good to have him back, she thinks, so unlikely how he has been behaving lately.
"Hmm." She gives in, not caring about how far this conversation can really take them. "I'd probably give it you with such a chat up."
The silence grows, in a comfortable way, their faces remain flushed with excitment.
"And I'd have called the next day, asking you out on a date."
"Really?" she was a little taken aback (that fast?, she wonders but doesn't say the words) "And where would you take me?"
"Uhh" He tries to think of the perfect place, pretending not to have thought about it before, looking at her ceiling, conspiratoriously searching for words. "Someplace nice, close to the ocean, maybe? Oh well, not too fancy. Just nice."
She looks at him, praising his choice. "I'd have dressed a low cut black dress to impress you."
A smile touch his lips and he closes his eyes, trying to picture her, stunningly standing in a restaurant patio. It feels unbelievably nice for Stella to see Mac flirting out in the open, like he rarely does anymore. "Would it have worked?", she tempts and he lets himself be seducted by that mischievous look that's so hers.
"Well," he smiles "Let's just say I'd felt jealous for the others guys staring, but proud to be the one with the hand on the small of your back."
"With a hand on the small of my back, ay?" she tries, smiling delightedly. "Always the protective, uh?"
"I need to watch out for what's mine." He joked.
"Didn't peg you for the possessive type, Mac." she's lying. She has always known he's the kind of man who never takes his eyes off of what's his. He choose the silence, instead of giving her the pleasure of letting another confession scape his thin lips. But the tip of his ears, turning bright red, gives it all away and Stella laughs out loud, making Mac's body reacts instantly like it always does in response to that amazing sound that's unikely hers.
"And then what?", she asks, her tone conspiratorial, as she leans in closer to him and he bites the corner where his lips meet, choosing his words carefully.
He remains still so she isn't sure he actually heard her. But the way the muscles in his jaw tightens is - has always been - an indication that he was just as deep in this as she was.
"And then... I'd have driven you to your place."
"Oh." She suddenly fells very exposed to the way he is devouring her with his eyes but mentions "I'd have asked you in for coffee."
"Not to read coffee grounds, I presume?" he takes his turn in teasing.
"No, Mac." She answers, playfully slaping him in the arm, as if stating that he's breaking the mood, which he isn't and she knows it. "Not to read coffee grounds." And she rests her hand on his arm, instead of taking it back, playing with the small hairs she finds there. He notices it and he doesn't mind a bit. "I'd have put some music on." She whispers.
They get closer, slowly, inch by inch, as the hand that was resting on his fore arm falls gracefully to the ground. He takes it in his own, tracing her fingers and wondering how incredibly delicate her skin is.
"And then what?" he kept his gaze on her face, his eyes immediatly growing to a darker shade, she notices too. (At that moment, they notice everything.)
Their heads get even closer, their breaths mingling in the air.
"I'd have debated with myself on whether to kiss you or not," he answers himself since she hasn't spoken a word, his voice lower. "worried that you might not have wanted the same."
She smiles, closing her eyes as if she wants to see it happening in her mind – at least - and she throws her head back, leaving him no choice but to stare at her breasts, which he does, watching the nipples showing through her working clothes. He feels his body harden instantly and groans.
She looks at him after hearing his sexy complaint, catching him staring at her, her pupils filling almost all the green iris. She looks at him as though looking at him for the first time, seeking for the genuine and true man that lies behind that marine façade that most people are used to.
"I'd have licked my lips." her right knee raises, coming to rest between his tighs. Things are now more dangerous than they have been ever before, even though they have traced that line a million times: they have never gone that far. "Would it have helped for you to make up your mind?"
He holds his breath, suddenly realizing how close they are to breaking it all. Their faces are now only inches apart. They remain silent, staring: right eye, left eye, lips. Right eye, left eye and lips. Repeating this trinity over and over again.
Mac sees her licking her lips, like she said she would in their make-believe shared dream of a paralel reality where they would have met differently, where things would have been easier for them. Stella gently bites her inner lip, letting it go slowly, watching him watching her.
They're are so unbelievably close that it fells like they're trying to prove physics wrong, by showing that two bodies can ideed share the same space. He smells her breath to the point of almost knowing the taste of it and as he whispers "We're playing with fire here, Stell." but never, not even for one second, taking his body an inch away from hers.
She stays just a fraction away from him, letting him decide whether to close the distance between them or not. She's memorized because, even though she has fantasized about this a thousand of times before, she would have never thought it would actually happen without Mac struggling against it. "We've been playing for years, Mac." She murmurs, rubbing her nose against his and he's speechless at the power that she holds over everyone; specially him.
Their lips inevitably meet: perfect fit.
He catches her chin with his left palm and gently coaxes her head to get a better angle, amazed at how her hair feels tangled with the fingers of his right hand, while her hands roam over his chest. He's worried, for a second, that the uncontrolled beating of his heart will scare her, but as he descends his hands to feel the blood quickly rushing through her jugular vein, he knows there's no other place in the world he would rather be.
She gasps huskily and they part, their eyes fixed in one another, hazy with arousal, their lips swollen and red from their kiss. They lean in once more, unfolding their secrets. She digs her fingers into his hair while he caress her arms. She shivers and her skin gets goose-bumps where he touches it, slipping to her waist, feeling the skin underneath her shirt. He wraps his strong hands on her hip, her spine, her ribs and he can't help but think how incredibly smooth she feels. Tanned but soft.
They fight for control, without knowing whose tongue started it: they touch, they sneak it through each cravice of the other mouth, they caress, they say things that words cannot. There's luxury, there's passion: pure desire.
There is no space between their bodies, now, as they are pressing against the other forcefully, showing no compassion what so ever. The only sound that can be heard is from their moans and grunts.
Suddenly, his cell-phone buzz to life and they break. He stops abruptly and looks at the rare vulnerability that he finds in her eyes. She studies him: he looks different, he's changed, he's no longer lost.
"Work."
She nods, unable to say anything else. They keep staring at each other for a little bit longer, wondering what is it that they are facing: something that corrodes, it's a feeling that breaks walls and builds bridges. It's heat in the skin and warmth in the chest, it's a hurricane in the stomach... confusion! It's a bunch of desilusion, eye for an eye, it's a thight in the throat. It's rough and it's happy. It's love. It has always been love. It will always be love.
He leans foward with a genuine smile in his lips that, she swears, she has only seen when he looked at Claire. One hand gets busy in her curls again, getting addicted to the feeling, and the other shakes her hand.
She finds it weird and, as he raises himself from the ground, taking his suit and turning to leave, she looks down and notices the little piece of paper he handed to her. She questions him with his eyes once more and he opens the door, turning to her with a look that promises something more. "I'll call you tomorrow." He whispers as he closes the door.
She unfolds the fortune sentence that came with his cookie and she reads it, smiling brightly:
"You'll find forever today. Take it."
THE END
A/N: It was so unlikely for me to write this story (I like angst, for God's sake!). But it felt real to share it with you guys, so here I am. Thanks for reading!