I Will Follow Where You Lead Me

Mac closed the door behind him after room service dropped off the food he'd ordered. Stella had said she wasn't hungry, but he knew from experience that eating dinner did wonders for nights like this. After all, she'd never let him starve when he wanted to cut himself off from the rest of the world; he wasn't going to pass up the chance to return the favor.

He turned around to look at her, curled up on the window sill with her head resting against the curtains. She hadn't cried since earlier in the day at the peach farm, but her usually bright features had darkened and she stared out at the city below the window blankly. He didn't blame her, of course: the only person who had been the closest thing she'd had to a parent had died that day. He eyed her hands on her knees: he knew when she was upset she would twist her fingers together because she didn't know what else to do with them. But now, they sat still, lifeless, and drained of energy. He wasn't entirely sure she'd even blinked in the last five minutes.

He turned back to the little cart by the door with a sigh, picked up a plate with fruit, the bottle of wine, and two glasses. She hadn't said anything about the wine, but he remembered this was what she liked to do when she needed time to process just how cruel the world could be. He walked to her side and held out the fruit wordlessly. It took a moment, but she finally turned to him and gave him a minuscule smile.

"Thanks," she said in a whisper that was so unlike her usual commanding tone.

He sat down to join her and put the wine between them as she picked at the fruit slowly. They sat together in silence, mostly because he knew she'd talk when she was ready and he knew there was nothing he could say to make this hurt any less. So he watched the nightlife of Thessaloniki with her, touching her foot with his knee to remind her that she wasn't alone.

"I don't think he was my father." She spoke softly again, keeping her eyes trained unseeingly on the window. "For a second, I thought he might have been, but then I remembered when I was a kid and he would tease me about something that I did that was 'so Italian'. He said I was half and half. Plus, if he had been my father, he would have gotten custody and taken me back here. They wouldn't have put me in St. Basil's if he was. Right?"

He took the hand resting on her left knee and squeezed. "Right." Actually, he wasn't sure, but he knew she didn't need a long discussion on international custody laws at the moment. What she needed was someone to tell her that a life with her biological father hadn't been just out reach for her entire life.

"You know what he said before he died?"

"Tell me."

"He said he loved her. My mother. Maybe that's why he stuck around: he had to protect me for her. But all those years in and out of foster homes and St. Basil's, he only came to visit. All that time that I didn't have to be there. Why did he wait for so long to get me out, Mac?" She snorted humorlessly. "Maybe I was just an obligation in between staking out ancient tombs for things to steal."

"No, Stella. I'm sure that wasn't it."

She finally met his gaze and he tried not to flinch at the intensity of the darkness in her eyes. "Why didn't he fight harder for me? If he loved my mother like he said he did and he always made it a point to check on me when he was in town, why didn't he petition for custody?"

"Maybe he couldn't-"

She turned away from him to look out the window again. "Yeah, because he was a felon in two different countries."

"Hey," he spoke calmly, taking her wine glass from her and gripping her fingers harder. "Look at me, Stella. Don't do this to yourself. Come on, you know the laws. It would have been hell with DDS to get them to let him take you."

"But-"

"Remember him as the man who looked out for you when he could. Remember him as the man who taught you about your heritage, even when he couldn't tell you the whole story. Remember him as the person who was like a father to you, not as someone who kept secrets about your mother and stole from Alexander the Great's tomb."

She snorted and pushed a hand through her hair. "Even after all of that…he was a good man, Mac." The words sounded pained as she said them, as though she was trying to convince herself that they were actually true.

"Then remember him that way," he replied gently, hoping his validation would help her reconcile the battle going on in her head.

"His funeral is in a couple of days."

"Do you want to stay?"

She sighed. "No."

"Stella-"

"We said our goodbyes at the farm. Honestly, I'd just like to go home."

"Okay. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

She sniffed.

"Stella?"

The tears coated her words again. "He's dead, Mac. As much as I hate the things he did, he's still so much more than the misguided mistakes that he made. It doesn't matter that we weren't biologically related. He was my father. Even though we'd go months without seeing each other, he always came back. And now he's dead." Her forehead fell to her palm.

He moved the glasses and the fruit plate, knowing they wouldn't touch them again for the rest of the night. When he squeezed her hands this time, she squeezed back.

A/N: Don't worry; I'm only just getting started exploring Stella's heritage. Thanks to the AMAZING writing of this episode, the door is open to play around a bit! Also, I just finished watching Gilmore Girls for the first time (I know, I live under a rock!) and the line from the theme song just seemed to fit as the title. =] Thanks for reading and look out for chapter two!