A/N: Wow, I haven't posted fic in so long. I miss writing Mac/Stella fics, I think I have a couple more finished ones stashed in a file somewhere, too, although I seem to be incapable of writing more than 1000 words lately. This story's set in season three since I wrote it so long ago, and Peyton makes a brief appearance. I'm glad she stayed in London this season. Feedback is love, and it helps me see if my writing has gotten any better. :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
The Way it Was Before
Under the dim light of the empty hallway, Mac Taylor catches up to the woman he's come to think of as his closest friend. "Stella!" he calls. "Wait!"
She doesn't want to wait, she doesn't want to stop and face him, but she does, because he's got some sort of hold over her and they both know it, but neither of them know why. So, she stands there in her pretty black dress, the one he's barely had a chance to admire because the annual NYPD formal dinner has barely started and she's already leaving.
"Where are you going?" he asks, stopping in front of her.
"I'm going home, Mac," she says shortly. Stella doesn't wait for him to say something after that; she turns back around with a bitter smile and heads towards the door.
"Hey!" he protests, grabbing her arm to stop her from going any further. "Stel," he says more softly, "...what's the matter?"
She shakes her head. "I'm just tired," she lets out. "I made an appearance and now I think I'm gonna go home and relax."
He lets her arm go and he's standing a little too close, but neither of them move. "That's all?" he murmurs, his eyes piercing hers.
"Yeah. That's all." She doesn't mean to snap, but she does, and he takes a step back. She really has no idea what's gotten into her, and judging by the hurt that flashes across his eyes, Mac doesn't either. After an awkward pause she opens her mouth to apologize but when she hears a pair of heels clicking on the tile floor, she stops.
Mac turns around to see Peyton tentatively approach. "Ah, hi. Sorry," she says, when she realises she's interrupting. "Just seeing where you went off to, Mac. I'll, uh, see you back inside?"
He nods appreciatively, keeping his eyes on her until she leaves, and then he turns back to Stella. "I'm sorry," he begins, and Stella cuts him off.
"No, Mac, you're not the one who should be apologizing; I just... don't know what's got into me." She pauses for a minute. "Or maybe I do," she murmurs defeatedly.
He follows her gaze to the retreating form of his girlfriend and he thinks that now he understands. "Stella..."
He really doesn't know what to say.
She wipes away a tear she doesn't remember shedding, and he takes a tentative step forward. Stella shakes her head. "We're not the same people we used to be, Mac," she says softly.
He bows his head a little. "I know. But I wish we were."
She nods. "So do I," she murmurs, "but too much has changed." Her gaze drifts to the empty corridor where Peyton Driscoll stood a moment ago. She speaks again after a long pause, resigned. "I'm gonna head out, now. See you tomorrow."
"Yeah," he says, "see you."
And with an almost bitter smile she turns, and he lets her leave. Too much has changed, she'd said. Mac stands there, staring after her. He doesn't want to think that they can't go back to the way they used to be, back when they were less damaged and things were less complicated. He heads back to the ballroom, hands in his pockets, still thinking about what Stella had said. It isn't too late, he tells himself.
He'll be having a talk with Peyton tomorrow.