Title: Truce
Author: Cyclone
Pairing: Mac/Stella
Category: Drabble/humour Rating: K+
Summary: This is about the sock thing, right?
Disclaimer: As usual, I'm just borrowing.
Notes: I had so much fun with 'Treaty' that I decided to turn it into a series of drabbles. They have an AU-ish quality and will definitely be fluffy and probably even a bit silly, so don't expect anything of substance. Enjoy anyway!
XxX
"Good morning," Stella greeted brightly as she exited the bathroom.
"Morning," Mac responded, barely glancing up from the paper.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to him at the table. She waited for him to acknowledge her presence with a kiss or a smile or something, and when nothing was forthcoming she pulled the paper down and frowned. "It's not good?"
"It's fine," he said, tossing her a cursory look and tried to lift it back up.
Her hand stopped him and she offered a lop-sided smile. "Mac, c'mon.
Throw me a bone here."
"I'm just trying to read the paper, Stel."
She wasn't buying it. "This is about the sock thing, right? I said I was sorry."
"No, it's not about the sock thing."
"Then what's it about?"
"What is what about?"
"The attitude."
"There is no attitude."
"Mac."
"Stella."
"You're doing this on purpose."
"Doing what?"
"Being obtuse."
"I really don't know what you're talking about."
She glared at him suspiciously. He looked back innocently.
She glared some more.
"Can I finish reading my paper now?" he asked.
"Go ahead. I'll just sit here and watch you read."
"Okay then."
She watched him for a minute and noticed that he didn't seem to be scanning the lines. She watched for a moment more and noticed a slight crinkling around his eyes. She sighed when she realised that he'd been messing with her. "You're not pissed at all, are you?"
"I never said I was."
"Then why did you let me think that you were?"
"I can't control what you think, Stella."
"No? Then what's with the shit-eating grin?"
"I have no control over what you think – that's not to say that I don't know how you'd react to certain stimuli."
"You played me," she accused.
"'You're so warm and cuddly, Mac, that I can't help myself.' Like that little comment wasn't deliberately designed to do fuzzy things to me."
She cocked her head and blinked.
"You heard me. I said 'fuzzy'."
"I never really thought of you as the fuzzy type before," she grinned.
"I'm fuzzy," he defended.
"Yeah? What else makes you fuzzy?"
"Puppies," he said with a straight face. "And kittens."
"Anything else?"
"Socks."
"Socks?" she repeated.
"Yeah, socks."
Stella was trying hard not to laugh. "Socks make you fuzzy?"
"You have no idea."
She lost her battle and exploded in mirth. "Okay, sock man. I said I'd wear them from now on and I will. No more icy wake up calls from me."
"That's all I ask."
"Truce?" she offered with a smile that he couldn't resist.
He put the paper down and clasped her offered hand. "Truce," he affirmed, and leaned over and kissed her. "You know, I'm not adverse to those other less chilly wake up calls of yours."
"I think we can manage to come to some sort of arrangement there," she promised, and traded her seat for Mac's lap and more kisses.
End.
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