Title: At My Side
Author: Banana Tooth
Rating: K
Classification: Mac/Stella
Spoiler Warning! Spoilers for Season Three, including 308, "Consequences."
Disclaimer: I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.
I can't really say that I was expecting him, because he hasn't come for such a long time, but I'm not surprised when I open the door to find him there, damp from the rain. His eyes meet mine silently as I stand aside to let him come in and shut the door behind him. His face worries me—his eyes dark with pain, his mouth drawn, his muscles tight. It isn't going to be easy, tonight.
I slide his wet coat from his shoulders and hang it up for him. "Come on, I was just making some tea," I say, touching his arm, and he follows me into the kitchen. We stand together, waiting for the kettle to boil. "Did you get him?" I ask.
"Yes."
"How is Don?"
"I didn't talk to him."
I know that's not really what's on his mind. The water boils, and we sit down across from each other with our tea. I pass him the sugar bowl and he takes some and stirs it in, staring at his cup.
If anyone is going to talk, it's going to have to be me. I take a deep breath. "How did it go with Reed?"
He doesn't look up from his tea. "It went—surprisingly well. He's a nice kid."
"Yeah, he seemed like it. Once he stopped running away." He nods, seemingly mesmerized by the steam from his cup. "What did you talk about?"
It takes him a while to answer. "He asked about her, why she gave him up…he asked what she looked like." For the first time, he looks up at me. "Seeing him was like—seeing Claire again. His face, and the way he turns his head…he even talks like her."
He looks back down, blinking. I want nothing more than to take him in my arms and hold him, tell him it's okay to cry, tell him that it's going to be all right. I reach over and take his hand in mine. His palm is warm from holding his cup.
"He asked if we had kids."
"Did you tell him?"
"I just said no."
I nod, rubbing my thumb across his knuckles in what I hope is a soothing gesture. He stares down at our hands and finally takes a sip of his tea. "Are you okay?" I ask softly.
He looks up, his face tight. "It's been five years, Stella," he says in frustration.
I don't know what to say to that. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes mine back, so hard it almost hurts. I feel like crying myself, watching him sit there in pain, unable to offer much comfort.
"You know, sometimes, I can't even remember what she looked like. I don't even remember her voice but…I still can't sleep at night."
I know what he's trying to say—it seems like it doesn't get any easier, but a part of him doesn't want it to, because that means forgetting. "You loved her, Mac. You'll always love her. That's not going to change."
"Yeah." He swallows, and I wait for him to go on. "I hadn't even thought about Reed in years. I should have…but of course we didn't even know if he knew he was adopted, and now he came all this way…"
"Well, at least he found out what he wanted to know. That's better than never knowing." I hadn't meant to say that. He looks up quickly, stroking my fingers, and suddenly it's him comforting me, which isn't what I intended at all. I grope for something, anything, to say. "Are you going to keep in touch with him?" I ask.
"I gave him my card. I don't know if he'll want to or not." He takes another drink of his tea and sighs. "I need to get going."
No, you don't, I think. Stay here with me. You don't have to be alone. We take care of each other, remember? I wonder what he would say if I asked him to stay. He's in no frame of mind to be by himself. We could just cuddle on the couch...
He gently pulls his hand loose and stands up. "Thanks for the tea."
"You're welcome," I say a little numbly, and follow him to the door. He turns and lays a hand on my arm, his gaze traveling slowly over my face.
"Stella, I…" He stops. "Thank you," he says at last.
I lift my hand to brush briefly along his cheek. "Anytime, Mac," I say, smiling at him, and he smiles back, his gaze locked with mine. Impulsively, I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. It's been a long time since I've hugged him—years, probably—but still it feels familiar: the hard clasp of his arms, the strength and warmth of him in mine.
I expect him to pull away quickly, but he doesn't. He leans against me, his head on my shoulder, and I trace little patterns against his back with my fingertips. Finally he squeezes me and straightens, and I let my arms fall away from him, feeling his warmth fade away as he steps back. I turn and get his coat and he pulls it on, his eyes never leaving my face.
"Good night," he says gently.
"You'll be okay?" I ask. He looks better, but I'm still worried about him.
His smile is bigger this time, reaching his eyes. "Yeah."
There are flowers on my desk when I get to work the next morning. Curiously, I read the card.
"In my darkest moment when all seems lost, you are at my side."
Thanks
—M
Tears sting my eyes, but I grin as I tuck the small card in my pocket. I appreciate you too, Mac.