Disclaimer: I own neither Mac nor Stella, but that's okay, as long as I'm allowed to dream of them.
A/N: Sorry to all those who are waiting for an update of my other story, that one is not forgotten, but this one wanted out too.
Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think; you can make my day by reviewing, and I will reply.
He brushes down his uniform. No specks of dust are allowed to cling to it. He does it regularly, although he doesn't even remember when he last wore it. He's not even sure it still fits, but he keeps it anyway. Keeps it as a reminder that he once thought he was useful, that he once thought he could do something for his country.
Single flakes of dust are released into the air. He doesn't watch them sink to the ground, helpless as they are with nothing to hold on to. He doesn't want to be reminded. He puts the brush away, satisfied with his work. The uniform goes back on its hanger and back into the darkness of his almost empty wardrobe. It swings back and forth on the rail, back and forth like a pendulum. Before he knows it his arm shoots up to steady the movement.
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She's shaking her head, laughing at what he's just said. He watches her curls follow the movement just a tick behind, swinging back and forth full of life. The rhythm of her mirth resonates inside of him, comes up outside as a chuckle.
"We should do that more often." he smirks.
"What? Make fun of Flack?" she asks between giggles.
"If that's what it takes, yeah, but just laughing would be fine too."
This time her curls follow the movement as she nods.
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He sits in the dusk of his apartment, looks around at the dull place that has nothing to do but to wait. Waiting for someone to revive it, children maybe, splashes of color. He thinks of his dreams, of what he thought he could be when he was a child. Dreams that are now nothing but memories, still returning to him at night, tinged by the darkness of his reality.
He wakes with a gasp, torn from a dream by the shrilling of an alarm. His eyes scan the room for the source of the sound, then he remembers he doesn't have an alarm clock. He doesn't need one anymore, the habit of getting up early and living on little sleep was never broken.
He maneuvers his body from the couch and makes his way to the door, towards the recurring sound. He looks through the peephole, it's not her. He leaves the door closed, shuffles back to the couch, covering his ears against the penetrating cadence.
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Stella sees Mac standing outside the lab, the glass walls casting a luster over his body. She smiles at him and points down at the table, indicating that she's working on something. He returns the smile, lingers for a moment before he turns and walks away.
She reconsiders what she's looking at, mulling over possibilities in her mind. She finds herself being drawn to musing again. Looking at pictures of how a life ended she wonders how it began, and what might have become of it had not somebody decided to play fate. Young people die with dreams, old people die with memories, but there never is a right time to be torn from life like this.
She pulls away with a sigh, shaking her head. Time for…, the thought is suspended by the beeping of her pager. No, please, not another case. She reads off the direction and breaks into a grin as she finishes the message: lunch, now. She tosses her lab coat over a hanger and walks out, oblivious to its swinging behind her.
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He looks at the picture again, that moment of color in his place. Scans her face with his eyes, lets them rest on her smile. But that smile was not for him, someone else captured it, locked it into a picture, froze it into time. Suddenly the smile seems cold, forced. He has to turn away.
He doesn't remember why he picked her, he's not sure he ever knew the reason. Maybe it was just fate, maybe it was her name. Bonasera, the chance of having a fine evening before the night closes in. The chance to spend some time with her.
His eyes are drawn to her smile once more. He closes them quickly before the effect returns, imagines her smiling at him, a warm smile full of life. The kind of smile she had for that other ex-marine. The one he tore from the only picture he has of her, the one who was more fortunate than him.
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"That's beautiful, where did you find it?"
He recognizes her voice before he sees her reflection in the glass of the picture frame. He adjusts the frame, making sure it hangs straight before he lets go of it. Then he turns around to face her.
"What are you still doing here?" he wants to know.
"I asked first." she insists, slightly cocking her head, a smile lighting up her eyes.
"Okay," he gives in, "Danny had it, I asked him to get me a print. Now you."
"Well, actually I had just lost my sense of time over the case."
He pretends to believe her. This job has never had them working by the clock. They look at the picture he just hung up, of someone who was as dedicated as themselves but missed the right moment to step back.
"I'm glad we have this reminder of a happy moment in her life." Stella's thoughts travel back to their time with Aiden.
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He hesitates for as long as he can. But eventually he has to go outside; his cupboards are as empty as his wardrobe. Nothing to eat left in his place, nothing to drink either, but for that he could fall back on water from the tab, and has done so in the past. Reluctantly he shoves the sunglasses up his nose. He steps outside and is surprised by the darkness and the cold.
He realizes he has no idea what time it is, nor what day. He thanks an unknown someone for the creation of 24/7 shopping facilities. His steps fall heavy on the pavement as he makes his way down the street. The number of people he encounters doesn't give him a clue as to what time it could be. He hasn't been out for so long he can't recall what it's like.
There is a throng of people gathered around a spot he has to pass on his way. He thinks of crossing to the other side, but is too tired to put it into practice. He pushes through the people only to be stopped by a yellow tape. He looks up in dismay.
His heart jumps when he sees her, sees her bend over a body lying on the ground, sees her shake her head, tossing those lively curls, sees her lips move as she talks to someone. No frozen smile, no imagining, this is reality. It must have been fate driving him out tonight.