Title: You Found Me
Author: StarrySkies
Rating: T
Pairing: Stella/Hawkes friendship, Lindsay/Hawkes implied, Mac/Stella implied
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Everything is different. But nothing has changed.
A/N: From the prompt "rooftop" from Goddess-Loki's generator. Title from Kelly Clarkson.
"Hey," he says.
She turns from the ledge and looks back. Seems her quest for solitude has been interrupted.
"Hey," she replies dryly. It's not that she's unhappy to see him. No. His company is usually one of the highlights of her day. He steps to her shoulder and keeps his hands in his pockets, looking so much like Mac it's unnerving. She tries to focus on the skyline.
"You gonna jump?" he jokes.
She leans her head to one side as if she's considering it. "Tempting."
There's a sadness in her voice like she's been crying. But from what he can see, her face is dry.
"Heard you had a bad one today."
"Aren't they all bad?" she asks.
"Some more than others."
Fair enough. She nods in agreement.
"Where's Mac?" he asks, looking around as if he'd find him somewhere on the rooftop, out of sight.
"Hell if I know."
"I'm sorry?" he half asks, half apologizes. He doesn't know if he's said something to offend her. Usually, it's a routine question. Find Stella, find Mac.
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped."
"Hey, you're entitled to it."
"I am. But that doesn't mean I have to take anything out on you. Let's just forget it."
"All right." Hawkes knows that she and Mac have an epic of a story. Years filled with battles fought but never won, and more pain than most people know in a lifetime. And still, they're drawn to each other. When he thinks about it, he finds it rather beautiful, in a foreign way.
"What do you suppose it's all about, Hawkes?" she asks, leaning on the ledge with her hands.
He looks to his right. That case must've really gotten to her. "I think... it can be about whatever you want it to be."
She sighs and says, "The job will change you if you're not careful, Hawkes." Then shakes her head and adds softly, "It'll change you even if you are."
"You don't think I know that?"
"I--" she starts. "Of course you know that. I'm sorry."
"It's all right. I even forget myself, sometimes."
Stella waits for a minute; the silence that is always comfortable between them seems to be too much today. "How's... Lindsay?" she asks, knowing that she would've already talked to him by now.
"She's okay," Sheldon half-lies. He knows Lindsay wouldn't want him to divulge more than that. Over lunch in the park, Lindsay had told him she and Stella were called out to a DOA in Tribecca early that morning. Domestic dispute that ended with the girlfriend being beaten to death.
"I've never seen Stella that pale before," she had said while picking apart a salad. "I tried to get her to talk to me, but she just wouldn't. It was like she shut down."
(Sometimes, he thinks she and Stella are more alike than either of them know.)
And now, he doesn't want to bring up Frankie. Waits to see if she'll be the one to open the wound. He hasn't heard her say his name out loud, finds that the name makes his own stomach churn. She only refers to it as vaguely as she can. "Before." "Back then." And he can't really blame her.
"Can you tell her I'm sorry?" She pauses. "For earlier."
"I will." He nods.
She pushes back from the ledge and runs her fingers through her hair. "I just... don't know what I'm doing anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know," she sighs and crosses her arms. "He took everything from me, Hawkes. It's all different now."
"Stella," he starts. But he doesn't know how to proceed. Doesn't know if what he wants to say will be what she needs him to say.
"I can't sleep without my lights on – if I can sleep at all. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder. Sometimes, I think I can smell him." It's more than that, a lot more than that, but it's all she can bring herself to admit at the moment. Even to Sheldon.
"That's normal. It will go away."
"I--" She sighs and swallows. "I see all these women… Dead. Murdered by their boyfriends, their husbands. And I think… what makes me so fucking special?" Her voice cracks, nearing complete breaking.
He shrugs as if it takes no deliberation at all. "Everything."
"Sure," she scoffs.
"I'm serious, Stel."
She looks him in the eye for the first time since he came up on the roof. And she doesn't say a word. Doesn't know what to say, even if she could speak without tears threatening to fall.
"Come here." He holds one arm out and brings her in to his chest without much effort. She rests her lips against his shoulder, his wool coat scratchy against her mouth, her chin. His scent is a welcomed one, and she breathes him in as much as she can, just to get the unrelenting smell of blood out of her nose. She holds the tears back and clings to him long enough to return to the comfortable state of numbness she's been living in for the past several months. Maybe he is expecting her to cry; she doesn't know. But she's not going to. Not now.
She pats his back and pushes away from him. "I'm okay," she says quickly and clears her throat.
But she thanks him with her eyes. He returns a smile.
"What do you say we get back to work?" he suggests.
"Sure."
They both start towards the door, and he ushers her to go in ahead of him.
When she starts down the flight of steps, she asks, "How'd you know to where to find me?"
"I'm a very observant guy. I notice things," he replies very matter-of-factly.
She waits for him to catch up and looks sideways at him, "You... notice things?"
"The way you always come up here when something's bothering you. The way you draw in your cheeks when you're frustrated. And purse your lips when you want to say something cruel… The way you dance in your office when you think no one is watching."
She smiles a little and shakes her head.
"So see? Not everything changed."
"I guess not."
End.