Oily Fish

By Dimgwrthien

Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to CSI:NY or affiliates.

Mac coughed as he entered his own kitchen, smelling a sweet smoke - nothing burned, but close to it. He opened the oven to find the dinner he had made almost done. It was a nice salmon, cut with perfect edges, a nice pink-grey color. It looked dry, though. Checking back at the recipe in the book, he saw the 'dressing' recipe, and mixed up a bit more of it. That would keep it nice and juicy. Cilantro… garlic… lime… olive oil… Mac smiled and poured half of the mixture over the tuna, considered it, and added the rest. What else would be do with it? Finally, he turned the oven back on and let it finish.

He met Stella in his living room and dining room where his wooden table sat. She smiled at him. His invitation to make her dinner had been spontaneous during work, so neither had to chance to change out of their work clothes.

Stella had been acting miserable most of the day. On top of both of them having files to go through and work to do since their last big case with the bombs, Stella had gotten a fever. Her eyes were red-rimmed like her nose, and she looked strangely pale. Mac didn't worry about catching it, though - he never seemed to get fevers.

"Thanks, Mac," she whispered when he passed her a box of tissues. She blew her nose and smiled at him. "Don't know why you brought me."

"Because you work the same way I do. You'd be going home to more work, and you shouldn't be doing that," Mac deadpanned.

Stella smiled again and wiped her nose with the tissue. "I can take better care of myself than that."

Mac smiled back at her and patted her on the shoulder. He got out of his seat once more as the oven timer went off.

He instantly regretting adding the extra dressing when he saw the salmon. It seemed too moist, as though it were drowning in a river of garlic pieces and olive oil.

He still pulled out the pan, sighing, then put it the pieces onto the two plates. With another thought, he pulled out the parsley and tried to make them look nicer, but the parsley seemed to wilt in the seas of olive oil.

Mac took the plates and set them on the table before sitting. Stella grinned, then sniffed, then sneezed.

"It looks great, Mac," she said, voice sounded somewhat nasally. "Thanks. I prefer this over working." She took her fork and started to cut up a piece when she paused. "What, did they have a sale on olive oil?"

Mac closed his eyes sadly. "No. In fact, I got the good olive oil this time. I just can't measure the amounts."

"It's fine, Mac," she told him. "Really. It looks beautiful." She took a bite as Mac cut his up a little, waiting to see her reaction.

She paused mid-chew. "It's certainly slippery," she told him through a full mouth. Then she swallowed. "Seriously, Mac, it's still good." She grinned at the plate, but it didn't seem to be a grin making fun of him.

"What?"

"You wasted that much olive oil," Stella sighed. "Did you save any for later?"

"What?" Mac asked. "I doubt anyone will ever trust me enough to cook again."

Stella laughed into her plate. "Mac, Mac, Mac."

"It's never good when people say my name three times in a row," Mac noted. Stella laughed again. "What am I missing?"

Stella moved her foot under the table, letting it slide against Mac's pant leg, lifting the fabric just the slightest bit. "The second I'm not feeling ill anymore…"

Mac smiled back. "Stella, I have bottles of olive oil. It was a nice 'buy three, get one free' sale. Do you really think I'd waste four bottles with one meal?"

"You're going to," she said and leaned forward to give him a kiss.