A/N: So, I know I should be working on my thesis (which is due at the end of the week. Eek!) But this idea came to me, and it spawned the short little story you see below. Please read and let me know what you think! I love to read your thoughts and opinions! =]
Spoilers!: Grounds for Deception
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. But, oh, if I did...
"As is the mother, so is the daughter." Ezekial 16:44
So is the Daughter
Stella Bonasera sat at her desk, papers and folders strewn across the surface, but her mind was miles away. Through the window, the pale New York morning was slowly growing brighter as the city awoke to the fresh spring day. The sky was clear and vibrantly blue, a beautiful backdrop to the sleek, towering architectural wonder that was the Manhattan skyline.
Stella's hands were clasped atop the desk, and she worried her fingers endlessly. Her vacant green eyes kept darting to a drawer on her desk, and she gripped her hands even tighter to stop them from opening that drawer. Her exercise in self control only lasted so long before her hands, as if of their own accord, slid open the drawer and removed the treasure within.
She slid the photograph furtively atop her lap, pushing back from her desk so she could look down. She traced a delicate finger over the face of a man she had known for many years, who had been a kind, loving mentor to a lonely orphan alone in the big city.
"Professor," she thought, a melancholy shadow passing over her face.
Crouching over his supine form as he slowly bled out had been torturous. The beautiful weather and breath-taking Greek scenery had felt like a mockery to the horror and anguish she had felt that day, crying until she felt as though her heart could break no more. The year since his death had done little to dull the memory, and Stella could still smell the metallic tang of her dear professor's blood mixed with the sickly saccharine aroma of the peach trees.
Although she was used to dealing with hardships on her own, fighting her own battles and emerging victorious, Stella had not been alone that day. Her best friend and partner had been right by her side through it all, sacrificing time and effort to assist her in matters entirely personal. And somewhere across the Atlantic ocean, in the panoramic Grecian farmland, she was forced to relinquish her fierce independence and insurmountable strength to draw on his instead.
Mac's virtue and stability had kept her grounded when it felt like her world was careening out of control. She had clung to him desperately, resigned to his assurances that things would be okay. And for the most part, he was right.
The memory of the death of Kosta Papakota brought a fresh surge of emotion through Stella, and she swallowed hard to try to maintain her composure, refusing to allow herself to cry while at the office. She passed over the other people in the photograph until she came upon a beautiful, feminine face. Her fingers stalled over this figure.
A part of her grieved with a quiet, passionate force over this most recent loss of her mother. No matter how infinitesimal or implausible the notion was, there was always a part of Stella that relished her ignorance in regards to her parents. There was hope and fantasy in the unknown, and however childish the idea was, it allowed for a glimmer of optimism in her life.
But today was uniquely difficult for Stella because now she held knowledge on the subject. She knew her mother's occupation, her face, her love of art. And as she sat, solemn and quiet, she imagined what today would be like if she were a child again and her mother were still alive.
Stella liked to think that, with her mother as a restoration artist, she would be especially appreciative of a hand-made card, complete with macaroni pasted to form the loving message Stella never had the pleasure of giving or receiving.
Happy Mother's Day
Something deep and visceral within her felt bereft, cheated. Not only was her mother dead, but the professor, her one tangible link to her past, was dead as well. She would never know what her mother was like, and in her heart, Stella held the reverent love and wonder of a child when it came to her mother, and it was this child inside of her that wondered.
"Would she be proud of me?" she asked herself.
It seemed like such an inane, obvious question. Stella was a smart, successful woman. But still she wondered, and she fretted, and the small part of her that was still just a little orphan cried inside.
A knock at the door caused her head to jerk up sharply.
"Yeah?" she called quickly, scooting into her desk so the picture was hidden. She took a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to rein in her emotions.
The door creaked open and Mac poked his head inside, giving her a nod before stepping fully into her office.
"Hey," she greeted, thoughts whirling, wondering if he could tell upon first glance how shaken she felt.
In his hand he clutched a folder, but he did not speak immediately, and she had the distinct impression his intense gaze was piercing right through her carefully controlled demeanor.
"You got something for me?" she asked, resting her forearms on her desk, motioning towards the folder and striving for professionalism. Mac paused before replying.
"Ah, no," he waved the folder. At her delicately raised eyebrow, he amended, "Well, actually, yes. But it can wait."
"Wait for what?" Stella wondered, perplexed.
"Well it's such a nice morning, I thought we could get some coffee and sit outside for a bit," he suggested, voice softer and more personal than usual, a rare turn from his staunch professionalism.
Stella pursed her lips together in thought. He had noticed her mood, and she felt a rush of gratitude for having a wonderful friend like Mac Taylor in her life. He was at once a constant in her life, but never intrusive. Her face softened into a genuine smile.
"That sounds great," she admitted. "Just give me a second, okay?"
"Sure."
He didn't question her request, just left and closed the door behind him. Alone once more, Stella looked at her mother's face, her happy smile for Mac fading and becoming sadder, more wistful.
"Happy Mother's Day," she murmured to the photo, promptly feeling slightly foolish. She returned the picture to her desk drawer and stood, meeting her partner outside of her office.
"Hey, Mac," she said as they walked in companionable closeness towards the elevator. "Thank you." She gently touched his arm with the last two words.
He smiled at her as he pushed the elevator call button.
"Anytime."
A/N: So, I decided to write a little Mother's Day piece for Stella. Not exactly my best work, but I thought it was a subject that warranted some attention. Please let me know what you think! I cherish any and all thoughts and opinions. =] Thank you!