A/N: I'm having a fluff overload. See for yourselves in this chapter.
I hope you like it.
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So I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I knew she'd pick beer. She would always pick beer every time she's stressed out about something. Clearly, I was one of those stresses. Damn it, Taylor – don't you screw up the one thing you plan to do right for the rest of your existence.
I was too forward. I made her uncomfortable. What was I thinking, inviting her to come up and help me 'carry my stuff and unpack'? Heck, I told her I wanted to talk but how in the hell could I open it up to her? Instead of preparing her and myself for 'the talk', I made us both very uneasy. For sure, she would notice that something was up.
First, it was the absence of Peyton in my arrival. For a while there, I thought Stella forgot all about her. She was about to drive off when she asked about Peyton. It was too soon for me to talk about it and too painful. And I think Stella understood that. I was sure that I wouldn't be hearing anything about that until I bring it up again myself. And now, I wasn't sure if that's still the case.
Second, it was my silence. Normally, Stella would be on the receiving end of my stories about my trips and experiences. But this time, the air inside the car on the way to my place was stuffy and tensioned. I knew that she was just stopping herself from a game of 20 Questions. A 'game' that would be dangerously close to an interrogation.
I've never really confided to Stella much when it comes to relationship problems because I know very well that she has her own share. And may I say that hers were far worse than mine. Not to mention, my relationship problems involved her in many ways than one. The more I think about it, the deeper it becomes.
Lastly, I touched her. Even at work, she's the one doing all the touching. I tend to keep my hands to myself – literally and figuratively. Although Stella's touches were meant to be friendly, sometimes I stop and ask myself why was there a warm feeling inside of my chest every time she comes in contact with me. I mean, I don't see her hug or kiss our other co-workers (except for Flack that one time).
I tried not to read too much into it. But sometimes, I couldn't help it. Her hugs felt very good every single time. Her hand leaves warmth on my cheek. Heck, her smile makes me smile.
There was one other time that I hugged her. It was when she suspected that she might have HIV. It was the little girl Stella talking to me; it was the little girl who needed the hug. Yet when my arms closed around her, it was her. Stella Bonasera. She snuggled closer to me and I tightened the embrace and began to rock her gently. I was scared for her. And I also didn't want her to think she was alone. So I told her that I was there for her. I knew she needed to hear it.
Before this day, there was one more time I braved a hug. It was when the lab was taken over. She came back for me when everybody was told to vacate the building. She was trapped in there with me. After the whole ordeal, I grabbed her – stopping myself from squeezing the air out of her just in time. I was scared of losing her. Her wet skin and clothes were cold but the hug was warm. Her breath against my ear was warm.
And speaking of warmth, "I expected my beer cold, Mac," a whisper sounded from behind my ear. Only then did I realize that I was daydreaming in my kitchen, holding two opened bottles of beer. I managed to collect myself, smiled at Stella and handed her one of the bottles. But she didn't take a sip right away.
Instead, she said, "I though you needed someone to talk to." She boosted herself up to sit on the counter and placed the bottle safely away from the edge. "Well, here I am and maybe only one of us needs to get loosened up."
As if on cue, I gulped about half the bottle I was holding. Sure, she's always right. I was the one who needed to relax. And she was the one who needed to keep a straight head on. The counter was big and sturdy enough to support both our weights so I sat flush beside her. I heard her breath hitch.
"Stella… I," don't know how to say this right, "Peyton and I broke up." There. I said it. The weight of that on my chest was replaced by anticipation for her response. Please say something, Stella.
The kitchen was silent apart from our even breathing (mine slightly faster than hers) and her heels occasionally hitting the cupboard doors underneath the counter. She finally took a swig from the beer bottle. "Oh," she simply said. Disappointment was apparent in her voice. "What happened," she followed, still in that flat and emotionless tone.
I'm in love with somebody else. I could say that to her but for sure, it would scare her off whether or not she finds out who that 'somebody else' is.
Is it too wrong or too hard to fall in love with the person sitting beside you? I was neither the poetic one nor the romantic one. But I do have my moments; this probably being one of them. Although, I don't think either of us were ready for that. I – for sure – wasn't.
"Things weren't right between us," I just said. There was some truth in that anyway. It's not that I didn't love Peyton, believe me – I had love for her. I respected her… now more than before. "She expected too much. What I had to offer was too little."
"Don't you ever say that, Mac Taylor!" Stella almost cried out. She couldn't take me pitying myself. And I'm the same to her. She finished her beer and continued, "You have the whole world to give, Mac. You're a good man with a good heart. You deserve to be happy after all the crap you've been through."
Deep inside myself, I believed her. The more I heard that same speech from her, the more I see myself being that person she's describing. Only now it all made sense to me. Yes, I do have the whole world to offer. Yes, I do deserve to be happy. Most of all, I saw her there with me. To offer her. To be happy with her.
We were silent yet again. The next thing I knew, my hand was back on top of hers, cold from the bottle and moist from the tension. I knew by the way she was looking at me that she got the message. I held her gaze expectantly, almost pleading her to understand. And I was also waiting for her to pull her hand away. I was imagining that the next sound that I would hear was the door slamming shut.
"Mac…" she started, her voice shaky with emotion, "We… we can't…" she stammered but her hand stayed where it was and her eyes never left mine.
I knew there were a lot of things keeping us from pursuing a relationship. But I was already in too deep. We've lost so much time and I wasn't willing to waste any more. I squeezed her hand once more and felt her tense up. But I wasn't 100 convinced that she didn't want this too.
"Why can't we?" I asked her. She was trembling beside me. I was glad that my voice held conviction and whatever courage I had left in me. For once, I was willing to strip my emotions bare.
"Mac…" she sighed, "what about our jobs? We have so much to lose…" she trailed off. Right then, I was sure – that she wanted this also.
"And so much more to gain," I countered softly. These were uncharted waters; both of us were careful if we were to go forward. I squeezed her hand again. "Stella, we could have…" I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She jerked away violently. But her hand remained under mine. "NO! Mac please… don't." I wanted her to look at me straight in the eye to really see how serious I was.
"Stella, I'm willing to…" what? I knew I wouldn't up and leave my job this instant. Not yet maybe. But I was willing to, "At least try."
That got her thinking. She was silent and still. I had a feeling that she wasn't going to say anything.
"Tell me you want to give it a try also," I whispered loud enough for her to hear. "Or you've already pulled your hand from mine."
She stiffened and slowly closed her eyes. I waited patiently for her to say or do something. And then she did. Stella looked at me with her green eyes and said, "Mac… I…" she sighed and gave my hand a slight squeeze.
I looked at our intertwined fingers, almost missing her widening smile. I squeezed her hand back and slid off the counter to the floor. I stood in front of her and held her gaze. My other hand cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes and sighed to my touch. Her free hand followed mine on her cheek and caressed my fingers. The moment was perfect.
"Okay," she whispered against my palm. "Okay. I'll try." That was all the answer I needed.
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Serien – Barbie's based on one of my friends actually haha. Same name even.
Murgy – I started this one, I think, during the time I finished the 7th book. I guess that's my 'embodiment' in this story.
Moska – here's number nine. I'll try to clean it up, since I don't have a beta haha.
MJ – smex and emotions go well together with these two.
Lionessmon – lol, that's based on personal experiences with airports
Mo -- snuggles
