A/N: If you don't want spoilers for the coming season, this is your last chance to turn back. Okay? You gone? Don't say I didn't warn you!

Disclaimer: If I owned the show, I wouldn't do something as stupid as ignoring the most obvious pairing in the show in favor of the most ridiculous pairing last season. And since we haven't gotten our way, obviously it's not mine.

The Soft Goodbye

Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as Mac Taylor slowly made his way down the glass halls of the lab. Night settled onto New York City like a heavy dark blanket. He felt the weight of it all the way to his soul. Things were changing. Changing far too fast for his liking. He was a man used to the way things were; order was a vital part of his life.

But this – this was far from orderly.

He turned down a familiar corridor, ignoring the pointed glances of his coworkers. They knew where he was going. Since the announcement earlier that day, they'd probably guessed. For once, he didn't particularly care what they thought. It didn't matter anymore.

The office was at the end of the silent hallway. Darkness enveloped it, save for a single lamp left on the cluttered desk. Lightning burned a white trail across the black sky outside the window, appearing for a moment then vanishing forever, leaving just a hint of light in his retinas.

It illuminated her silhouette moving about the office for a split second, reflecting off the silky curls bouncing around her shoulder as she walked. She was carrying a few things in her hands, little knick-knacks she'd collected over the ten years she'd been his second-in-command, his right-hand-woman. His best friend.

His throat tightened.

Flashbacks of their years together played before his eyes like a movie, a silent depiction of a lifetime. But the difference was he could still feel everything. Every touch, every caress, every tear she shed on his shoulder and every tear he shed on hers.

He could still feel her hand slipping into his at the memorial nine years ago, a quiet comfort in the wake of terrible tragedy. He could still feel his heart stop beating as he desperately tried to wake her, the image of her bloodied and bruised face filling his nightmares for years. He could still smell the acrid smoke in the skeleton of her demolished apartment, still hear his sigh of relief when he found her unharmed. He could still see them standing in an abandoned Grecian field, her arms wrapped around his neck and her tears falling on his shoulder.

But he could also still hear her chuckle at one of Adam's lame jokes. Still smell her perfume as she worked by his side. Still feel the gentle pressure of her lips on his cheek. Still see her wide grin as she teased him mercilessly about his workaholism.

So much pain, so much sorrow, and so much joy with just one person. The sort of thing oh so rare in life.

And it was ending.

And it was breaking his heart.

He cared deeply for the woman in that darkened office. He'd always cared deeply for her, even during Peyton and Aubrey. She'd been the one constant in his life, the one thing he could count on.

But even the constant was changing. She was moving to New Orleans to take a supervisory position in the crime lab there. She'd mentioned they were recruiting her several weeks before, and like an idiotic coward he'd told her to interview for it, despite the fact that the news made his chest constrict and his heart rate to plummet. He'd seen her saying goodbye to Flack, Danny, Lindsay, Hawkes, and Adam after the announcement this morning. Lindsay had been crying, Flack's face had twisted into an expression he hadn't seen since Angell's death, and the other three had simply stood there with helpless expressions on their faces, an outward manifestation of the same thing he'd been feeling since she'd told him.

She paused for a moment, finger to her lips as she thought about something. Taking a deep breath and exhaling with a sigh, he decided that it was as good a time as any to interrupt.

Mac crossed the remaining length of the corridor in four quick strides. He rapped on the glass door twice. She glanced up sharply, startled, but her green eyes sparkled in the dim light when she saw him. She waved him in with a smile. He pushed the door open and stepped inside her office, letting the door slowly close behind him.

"Hey, Mac," Stella murmured softly, her voice melodic to his ears.

He smiled, though he was sure the smile didn't reach his eyes. Not on a day like today. "How's the packing coming?"

She rolled her eyes and groaned. Her hands found their way to her slender waist. "Like molasses. Who'd've thought one person could accumulate so much crap over the years?"

Mac chuckled. "You've always been a pack rat."

"Yeah." She glanced around the room fondly. "This place has always been much more stable than my place of residence." A sigh escaped her lips. "I'm gonna miss it."

"It's gonna miss you." The words left his mouth before his brain could process it. She glanced at him immediately, her eyes filling with surprise, then sadness. Before she could say anything, he cast his gaze toward the floor, breaking their connection. Thunder growled again, closer this time, as he crossed the room to pick up a coffee pot she'd bought in Greece.

"So, New Orleans, huh?" he asked, changing the subject slightly. He handed her the pot, trying desperately to ignore the spark traveling up his arm when his fingers brushed hers.

"New Orleans." She wrapped the pot in newspaper carefully and set it in the box with everything else.

"The land of Mardi Gras and gumbo."

A smile spread across her face as she reached for the last remaining picture frame on her desk - a picture of the two of them at Christmas the previous year, smiling and embracing. "That's the one. The lab there wants me to start immediately. With Katrina and the oil spill and everything else, they need all the help they can get."

"You'll be a fantastic lab supervisor." The words sounded hollow to his ears, despite their truth. She'd always had the abilities to be a supervisor. It made sense that she'd want such an opportunity. It was perfectly logical.

So why did logic hurt so much?

She smiled again, setting the pot into the box. "Thanks, Mac. That means a lot to me."

He returned her smile and gestured toward the box. "That everything?"

"I think so." Stella set her hands on her hips again and looked around her office. "Everything else is already in the Avalanche."

"Let me help." He reached for the box.

Stella shook her head. "I can get it, Mac."

He turned his head slightly to give her a pointed look.

An amused chuckle left her. "And they say chivalry is dead."

Mac grinned despite himself. "What can I say? My mama raised me right."

The bright smile she gave lit up her face. "Yeah. Yeah, she did."

They shared a laugh as Mac lifted the box into his arms. Surprisingly it was fairly light, even with everything she'd crammed in there. He moved toward the door, but Stella suddenly stopped, gazing at the room. In the low lamplight, he swore he saw a tear glistening in the corner of her eye. He maneuvered the box to one arm and gently touched her hand. She looked at him sadly. "It's so weird empty," she murmured.

A gentle smile tipped the corner of his mouth, and looking around, he sighed. "Yeah, it does."

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, glancing around the room one last time. At last, she turned to him, a half-smile curling her lips. "Let's go."

A silent walk toward the elevator led to a silent ride to the parking garage, broken only by the steady hum of cables and gears. Mac glanced at her over the box, studying her as she watched the numbers above the door glow one by one. A tear slowly trekked down her cheek, and he desperately wanted to throw the box to the ground, take her in his arms, wipe her tear away. And the fact that he had no earthly idea where that desire came from scared the hell out of him. That certainly wasn't his normal, habitual reaction when it came to the women in his life, few and far between they had been.

But the fact also remained that she was Stella Bonasera, and nothing was ever really normal when it came to her.

The loud ding startled him out of his reverie, and he turned his gaze just in time to see the doors slide open, revealing a nearly empty parking garage. Stella placed a guiding hand on his elbow, leading him toward the black truck waiting in the far corner of the level, fishing her keys out of her pocket. Two beeps reverberated through the concrete structure when she depressed the button on her remote, followed by the steady clack-clack of their footsteps.

Mac opened the passenger door and slid the box in alongside the dozen or so other boxes piled in her passenger seat and backseat. He pushed the door shut, wincing at the sudden slam filled with so much finality. Slowly he turned to face Stella and his heart clenched at the sight of her, teeth tugging on her bottom lip, hazel-rimmed emerald eyes full of unshed tears.

Her gaze met his.

Without a second thought, he opened his arms wide, and she stepped into his embrace. Her hands wound around his waist, her head nestled in the crook of his neck like it had finally found where it belonged. He breathed in the scent of her curls, a scent like summer.

And suddenly he found that he didn't want to let her go.

"Come with me," he whispered against her hair.

She slowly initiated the end of the embrace, pulling back but not away, a confused gaze in her eyes.

"Come over," he clarified. "I have coffee. We can talk. Like we used to."

He could see the war raging within her, a battle behind her carefully schooled expression. "Mac, I'm leaving in the morning. I still have packing to do –"

"So you can just follow me." He reached out with a finger, tipping her chin up to look her in the eyes. He knew that his gaze was pleading with her, begging her not to leave him like this, but this was a night for not particularly caring. Not when it came to work.

"Please, Stell," his voice so soft it sounded like the wind whispering through the leaves, leaving a hint of mystery of words left unsaid and unheard. I don't want to say goodbye here.

And she seemed to understand, for she reached down, grasping his fingers in hers, gently squeezing them. A little smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Okay," she whispered.

Thirty minutes later, the coffee maker in his apartment beeped at them, signifying it was ready. Mac took two coffee cups from his cabinet and filled them with the hot brew. He glanced over his shoulder to where she sat on his couch. She'd kicked her shoes off and drawn her knees up under her, and while he was making the coffee, she was flipping through a book on the Marine Corps he'd bought.

A small smile touched his lips. He wasn't entirely accustomed to such a domestic scene, but with her, it felt as close to right as he'd been lately. And the low lamplight on her caramel curls made her perhaps the most beautiful sight he'd seen in a long time.

And suddenly he wanted to sweep her into his arms and tell her he wanted to be with her.

The thought stopped him cold. It was the most ridiculous notion he'd ever had – wasn't it?

He looked over his shoulder at her again. A tiny smile graced her face at something on the page before her, and his heart skipped a beat. Maybe the notion wasn't so ridiculous. Maybe, he realized, he'd felt this way about her all along, and it took the threat of her leaving to make him move.

But would it really change anything? She was leaving, had one foot out the door. New Orleans waited for her, needed her. And she was going.

He sighed to himself. It was the last night he had with her. She was leaving, and these epiphanies weren't going to change anything.

Mac quickly put two spoonfuls of sugar and a touch of cream in one of the mugs, picked up both of them, and carried them into the living room. Stella lifted her eyes from the book when he came in, and a winning smile spread over her face. Returning her grin, he handed her the mug with cream and sugar. She took a sip and sighed, "Perfect, Mac. Thank you."

Taking great care not to spill, he flopped down on the couch next to her. "You're welcome."

"You remembered the cream and sugar."

He grinned, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Well, of course. After ten years, I oughta remember the cream and sugar."

She chuckled. "God, have we really known each other that long?"

"Yep, since…" his face twisted into a thoughtful expression, "since 1998. Remember the day you first walked into my office?"

Her chuckle easily transformed into a full-fledged laugh. "I thought for sure you weren't gonna give it to me after I spilled that cup of coffee in your lap."

Mac's laugh, rare as it was, joined hers. He slung his arm over the back of the couch, turning his body slightly to face her. "If anyone spilled coffee on me and still had the guts to ask for a job, they deserved it."

Stella's smile faltered, and her gaze shifted into the brown depths of her coffee mug. "We've been through a lot in the last decade, haven't we?"

The question was entirely rhetorical, and Mac knew it. What they'd been through went without saying. September 11th. Explosions in the lab. Gunshot wounds. Kidnappings. Her failed – and nearly lethal – relationships. His failed relationships.

"You know," she continued, swiping a stray curl from her face, "I was thinking earlier today. About us. And I realized I never actually thanked you for everything you've done for me. With Frankie and the fire and Greece –"

He held up his hand and shook his head. "You never needed to thank me, Stell. I knew."

"Still. You've always been there for me, Mac."

Mac set his mug on the table and, with a gentle smile, reached out to touch her knee. "I was just returning the favor." His voice softened with emotion. "I was in a bad way after Claire. And then after Peyton. And you… Well, you held me together after all that."

Stella shook her head, curls bouncing over her shoulders. "No, I really didn't."

"Yes. You did." He caught her gaze and smiled. "I don't think I would've made it through if you hadn't been there."

Her face blossomed into a smile brighter than a thousand spring flowers. "Thanks, Mac." She glanced down at his hand, still resting on her knee, his thumb sweeping back and forth, and her smile widened impossibly more. They fell into a comfortable, practiced silence again as they both sipped their coffee. Thunder rumbled again, getting closer this time, and a few drops of rain splashed against the window. Stella rolled her eyes and groaned. "Great."

"Do you need to go?" The question almost literally burned him as soon as it was out of his mouth.

As if in answer, the sky opened up, and rain pounded against the window. Lightning flashed, elucidating the entire night sky. Stella sighed. "I guess I probably should. I've still got some stuff to pack before tomorrow."

"Yeah." Mac's heart sank as she reached down to put her shoes back on. Feeling like an elephant sat on his chest, he walked her toward the door. Just as he reached for the doorknob, he stopped. "Look, Stell –"

She gently put a finger to his lips. "I know. I'm glad we had this talk too. It really… I don't think I would've been able to say goodbye without it."

His breath caught in his throat. "I'll miss you," he whispered against her finger.

This time her smile was sad, and he didn't miss the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes. "I'll miss you too."

Stella raised herself onto her tiptoes and, ever so gently, pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. His heart thudded against his ribcage, and when she pulled away, his eyes locked with hers.

And something within him snapped.

Slowly he leaned forward, his body moving with a mind of its own. Confusion flashed across her eyes for just a moment, but then he lifted his hand, cupping her soft cheek and her eyelids fluttered closed and she licked her lips in anticipation. He felt more than heard her say his name, her sweet breath brushing his lips. Softly, tenderly, his lips met hers. He kissed her so gently, testing, reveling in that first taste that had been a decade in the making. It lasted just a split-second before he backed away, his hand still on her cheek.

She opened her eyes just as slowly as she'd closed them. He smiled to himself. Her cheeks were flushed, and even with such a brief touch, they were both breathing hard.

"Mac –" she murmured huskily.

"I want you, Stell," he blurted. She stared at him, stunned. "Maybe it's because you're leaving me, and maybe it's because I don't want you to go. But maybe this has been coming for the last ten years, and maybe now I've finally stopped being a coward so I can tell you that I want you." He paused for a moment, chest heaving.

"I've always wanted you," he whispered. "And I can't let you go without you knowing."

Before she could reply, his lips were on hers again. In just half a second, she melted into his embrace, her arms snaking around his neck, pulling him closer, and he smiled against her lips. She wanted him too.

He breathed her in, her lips creating delicious pressure against his. She tasted like coffee and honeysuckle when he deepened the kiss. His hand left her lush curls in favor of slipping underneath the purple t-shirt she wore, his fingers dancing up and down her spine, as gently as if he were playing his guitar, then skimming across to her abdomen, delighting at the sudden flutter they gave.

At last he succumbed to the need for oxygen, and his lips deserted hers. But then he descended to her neck, placing kisses up and down her jaw to the spot just in front of her ear. Her fingers wound their way through his hair, and her breathy moan barely registered in his brain as he slowly backed them down the hall toward the open door of his bedroom. When they crossed the threshold, his lips firmly reattached themselves to hers, tongues tangling and mouths melding. Without letting her go, he kicked the door shut behind them.

Unceremoniously they tumbled to the mattress. Her fumbling fingers found the buttons on his shirt, and he groaned. She was almost too much, too sweet, too soft beneath him, yet he would never get enough.

"Mac," she muttered into his ear, the last letter morphing into a moan as his hand slid across her abdomen, still under her shirt.

"Hmm?" he hummed against her jaw.

"What are we doing?"

He stopped and sat back on the bed, looking down at her supine figure underneath his. Immediately he changed his mind about how she'd looked under the lamplight. Her hair was mussed, her lips were swollen from his kisses, and desire burned in her peridot irises. Now she'd never looked more beautiful.

"What are we doing?" she repeated, teeth worrying her lower lip. "I'm leaving in the morning. You're staying here. I don't think that's going to change."

Mac ran his hand through his hair, sighing. "I know," he murmured softly. He reached out and touched one of her curls, twisting it around his finger. "Maybe we just needed a catalyst. Maybe this has been a long time coming."

Her eyes softened, still maintaining that flame of want.

"I love you, Stella." His voice was a whisper this time, so soft it was nearly lost in the pounding rain.

At that, tears welled up in her eyes yet again. She reached toward him. Delicately she traced the lines of his face with her fingertips, and he closed his eyes to her touch. The duvet rustled as she sat up and moved toward him. Her lips just barely touched his cheek, sliding up toward his ear.

"I love you too," she whispered in his ear.

His eyes snapped open long enough for him to reach out and pull her to him. His lips crashed against hers like waves upon the shore. Clothes fluttered to the ground along with their inhibitions, and the cacophony of breathy moans and sighs mingled with the storm well into the night.

Morning light's first gray fingers crept through the blinds in Mac's bedroom, finding their way to the sleeping man in the bed, all traces of the previous night's storm vanished. Mac groaned, opening one eye, squinting against the unwelcome intrusion. He rubbed his eyes sleepily before glancing at the alarm clock on his nightstand, his sleep-addled brain finally making sense of the blurry numbers. 6:05.

Slowly he rolled over, smiling at flashbacks of the previous night. Stella's scent – coconut and vanilla - still lingered on his pillow, on his skin. His hand immediately went to the other side of his bed. It was vacant, the sheets cool to the touch, and Mac frowned. Both of his eyes snapped open. He sat up, glancing around the bedroom. Stella was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly he heard a clatter in the kitchen. He threw back the covers and quickly dressed in his undershirt from last night and a pair of sweatpants he found on the floor. Quietly he padded out down the hall toward the living room.

Stella stood in his kitchen, making coffee at his counter, humming a song he vaguely recognized to herself. He smiled. She was fully dressed, a slight smile tilting her lips as she hummed.

He cleared his throat softly to warn her of his presence. She turned, and that little smile that had been playing at the edge of her lips widened to a grin. "Good morning," she called in a sing-song voice.

"Good morning." Mac crossed the room quickly and wrapped his arms around her. She smiled at him just before he kissed her gently. His breath quickened as she hummed against his lips. Reluctantly he pulled away, content with keeping it sweet this morning. "You're up early."

The smile on her face faltered slightly. "I had to call the movers this morning."

"You're not going?" he couldn't keep the hope out of his voice, and Stella noticed.

Slowly, sadly she shook her head. "I just postponed for a few hours. They're coming at two this afternoon."

His face must have fallen, because she reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. "Mac –"

"I know," he said, his voice soft. "You still have to go."

Stella nodded. "It's the right thing to do. For now." She tilted her head to the side, catching his gaze. "Last night was amazing, Mac. Really, really amazing. The perfect goodbye, really."

"I know," he repeated. His hand found its way into her hair again, tangling in her curls, thumb caressing her smooth olive skin. "I love you. I've always loved you. I'm just sorry it took me this long to tell you."

She grinned. "I always knew." Gently she kissed him. He deepened it almost immediately, her tongue scorching against his. It had been years since he'd been kissed like this, and he wrapped his arms around her tighter until, breath stolen from them, they parted. "I love you," she whispered against his lips. "Goodbye isn't forever."

Unwillingly he released her, with one final kiss to her lips. "Can I walk you outside?"

She nodded. "Of course."

Without bothering to put on his shoes, her hand cradled in his, he led her outside to her car. Puddles dotted the pavement from last night's storm, and a cool breeze blew in from the north, ruffling their hair. "I've been thinking," he said as they neared her truck, parked in a corner of the garage.

"Oh?"

"I bet New Orleans in the fall is rather warm compared to here."

Stella raised an eyebrow at him. "I've heard that, yes."

"So maybe I could come down. Once things settle down a little at the lab. I've got enough vacation days stored up."

"Mac, you've got enough vacation days stored up to last you a year," she laughed.

He grinned. "So that'll make it easy."

They reached her truck at last, and she stopped, turning to face him. "And I've always loved New York at Thanksgiving. Maybe I could come up for a little snowfall."

"You've always got a place to stay. And maybe I could look into getting that video chat thing Hawkes is always talking about."

"Definitely." She smiled gently at him before brushing her hand down his cheek. He closed his eyes, reveling in her touch. Then she leaned forward and, hand twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck, pressed her lips to his. He returned the kiss vigorously before he felt her initiate the end of it, and then the warmth and the sweet smell of her disappeared into the cool of a New York morning. Mac opened his eyes just in time to see her slide into the driver's seat of her Avalanche.

She smiled at him and waved one last time. Halfheartedly he waved back as she started the car. "Call me when you get there," he shouted over the engine's roar.

"I will," she returned, her smile watery.

And then she shut the door.

He watched as she backed up and drove out, vanishing from his sight. Mac sighed morosely around the lump in his throat. He'd told her, and she'd still left. He wanted to scream at God, at how unfair life was that the woman he'd loved for so long and didn't know it had left when he finally did know it.

But then another cool breeze, a zephyr this time, blew into the garage. The familiar scent of coconut and vanilla – stronger even than the usual city stench of car exhaust and grime - swirled around him, ruffling his hair, caressing his cheek. Stella's scent.

And her words, her soft words of parting, came back to him, floating on the breeze, her soft farewell. Goodbye isn't forever.

Mac suddenly smiled to himself. Life would go on. Things would change. But Stella – she would always be part of his forever.

That was one constant even a soft, whispered goodbye would never change.