"Stella," he calls, slightly out of breath from running to the ambulance. She sits in the back, one hand on her neck, a worried look on her beautiful face. The paramedic is taking her pulse, working quietly. She looks up when she hears him, a frown still marring her features. No smile this time. "Stella," he repeats more quietly and pulls her into his arms.
Flack is giving the description of their perp to dispatch in the background and Stella starts talking once their embrace has loosened and she is sitting again. His heart stops for a few seconds when she tells him about the moment she feared she might leave the stairwell in a body bag. He takes a step closer and she leans into him, resting her forehead on his chest with a sigh. His arms wrap around her, shielding her from the glare of the city lights, and for a moment they just breathe; relieved that their still just two-piece puzzle has not been torn apart.
Flack approaches them and gently bursts their bubble of privacy, telling them about the security detail he has assigned. Mac breathes a little more lightly – it's not absolute safety, but at least somebody will keep an eye on her. He'd still like to volunteer to be completely sure, but he knows she would kick his butt for trying to be overprotective again. However, she allows him to take her to their apartment.
It's late, several hours having passed since the attack, and so he decides to just stay home as well. They both change into their nightclothes, Stella way more gingerly than usual. As he is pulling up his old pair of boxers, he is watching her move about the room silently and with her head bowed. He hates this and doesn't know how to help her – he's not good at this and so very sorry for it.
She slinks into the bathroom to brush her teeth and take off the little makeup she wears. Now he sighs, and scratching his head he walks to the window to look out at the shimmering city, brooding about how he could help. Stella is by no means a damsel in distress, but experiences like this would shake up anyone. He knows for a fact she's shaken up, because her normally bubbly personality has hidden behind transparent walls – it's still there, but in a glass cage not necessarily made to keep her in, but to keep others out. Even him. He hears the shower running.
Finally her steps make soft pats on the wood floor behind him and he listens to her crawl beneath the covers. Reluctantly he turns back around and gives her a helpless smile. She's looking at him, her bright green eyes not giving away a thing. "Stell…," he starts, but shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am," he continues after a long pause. Her eyes are still focused on him, but now he sees a hint of curiosity in the way her head is slightly tilted. She says her first words since they got home, "sorry for what?" He stares at her, brows raised, arms akimbo, again at a loss for words. A light, mirthless smile flitters across her face and she goes on. "It wasn't your fault – come to think of it, it wasn't even mine. Just a regular day for a member of the CSI by now, I guess." He thinks back to Hawkes being jumped by a group of thugs just the other week and looks to the ground. Why does it always have to hit the good ones?
"I guess I'll go brush my teeth," he mumbles dejectedly and pads to the bathroom. Now she looks after him, frowning again. He doesn't seem to realize that he is better at this than he thinks. For her it's enough that he's there. She's never had something this strong, this solid, this serious before and he's trying so hard.
When he comes back out of the bathroom he gives her a brief look, walking to his side of the bed. Her eyes follow him until his head is on his pillow next to her. He's lying on his back, hands awkwardly folded on his stomach, looking up at the ceiling. She rolls onto her side, holding her breath for a second because her ribs hurt from falling down the stairs, and glares at his face in the semi-darkness.
"Stop," she commands, and he abruptly turns his face towards hers. "Really, I'm gonna be okay. Stop feeling guilty. You're doing fine, I don't need you to throw a big dance around me so I'll feel better. I just need you to be here." Utterly dumbfounded, he silently looks back at her as she turns her back to him and starts pushing backward. "Now, what you can do is hug me, please." And of course he consents and turns on his side as well to throw his arm around her in a fierce embrace, burying his face in her hair. "You know," he grumbles, "you were not the only one afraid today. I just don't know how to handle this, you'll have to teach me". She sighs her agreement and falls asleep with his warm front pressed closely to her back.
When the morning light pierces through his eyelids, he groans. Stella has taught him how to sleep again, which has proven to be something of a nuisance in the mornings since he doesn't want to get up. He rolls onto his back, freeing his left arm and shaking it to get the blood flowing again. Stella isn't as lightweight as she looks, and with a schoolboy grin he thinks about her round butt and hips hidden beneath the covers. Definitely nothing wrong with that, although she likes to complain about both.
He's ripped out of his comfortably naughty thoughts when he remembers what happened yesterday and immediately turns back onto his side to take a closer look at Stella. Judging by the state of her hair and the sheets, she has apparently moved quite a bit throughout the night, although always managing to keep at least one of his arms around her. He inspects her face, which doesn't yet show any signs of waking, for bruises, but thankfully finds none. The tanned leg that has kicked its way into freedom from the covers during the night also looks unharmed, except for a few small bruises on her shins that had been there before – Stella's graceful nature usually ends at her shins.
He's glad that the attack doesn't seem to have left sources of pain all over her body, until she moves onto her back and the covers slip lower to expose more of her upper body and arms. He gently takes her right arm and turns it, halting when he sees the large contusion, deep red with a bluish hue. He pushes the covers off – her T-shirt has ridden up her abdomen to expose her ribcage and a frown on his forehead deepens when he sees that it doesn't look much better than her arm. He glances at her face again and sees her eyelids flicker; the cool air on her skin has probably woken her. While he is waiting for her to become fully awake, he pushes his nose into her unruly curls again to be close to her.
A final deep breath and sigh from her are the signal she's ready for basic communication. "Are you in pain?" he croaks with a deep morning voice and she shakes her head, mumbling a negative answer. "Why?" she asks at the start of a languid stretch, blinking at him through slitted eyes. He strokes his right hand over the bruised parts of her, making her shiver lightly and finally gasp displeasedly when he reaches her ribs while she is in a full stretch. "That's why," he wisecracks in an apologetic tone. She looks down, noticing the blotches expanding like islands across her body and groans. "Cute," she presses out sarcastically, pressing at a particularly dark spot on her right side and hissing in return.
Her head falls back on the pillow and she purses her lips. "Are you okay?" Mac carefully asks and she affirms in an annoyed sigh. "Don't worry, it's not you. It's just… with that charity function around the corner and all, I really don't need blotches and bruises all over my body. I wanted to wear a dress." When he chuckles, it transmits through her ear right into her whole body. "You're gonna look magnificent, no matter what," he says with a smirk. "The most important thing is that you're okay."
A/N: This idea hit me while I was rewatching season 5. I stumbled upon a short conversation between Hawkes and Mac in the scene following the attack on Stella, which starts like this if I remember correctly: "Hawkes: Hey, how's Stella? Mac: She's tough." This story has not been beta-ed.
And, ladies and gentlemen, let's all be honest: Stella Bonasera does have a beautiful, round booty. Not even sorry.
Enjoy your day, dearest reader; and, if you like, leave me a comment on this :)