a/n: An update in two weeks? Preposterous! Thank you so much to my lovely reviewers: Guest, .58, cornish pasties, Smuffly, Madame Starlight, and tlh45. You guys are fantastic!

chapter ten

Almost a month had passed since that fateful outing with Danny. Fall had run seamlessly into winter, and Mac and Stella had sort of settled into some kind of normalcy, or at the very least a routine. She worked during the day, and tried to get back to the apartment before midnight. He spent his days reading and wandering the city, trying to bring anything back. His head felt like a 1000-piece puzzle that had just been started. It was full of holes, blank spaces where there should have been a plethora of memories.

He remembered where his apartment was – they'd driven past, but hadn't made it in. He knew how to get to the precinct, and how to get to the hospital. In short, he was beginning to function like a normal person, although the blankness behind his bright blue eyes still made Stella's guts twist.

There was that one memorable day when Stella came home to find that Mac had apparently decided to teach himself how to cook. She had a solid collection of cookbooks, most that hadn't been touched in years, and he had just gotten bored and sat himself down with one of them and attempted soup. It wasn't bad for a first effort, she'd had to admit, as they sat at the kitchen table in amiable silence, and watched the winter wind blow debris around the street below.

He'd never been much for conversation, and now his lack of memories had robbed him of inspiration, so she was getting used to the silences. She didn't always have the energy to prompt discussions after late nights at the lab, and those nights she was especially grateful for warm dinners and being able to just enjoy his presence.

The nightmares hadn't stopped, and he would wake up screaming, unable to catch his breath, and drenched in cold sweat. Where those tears glimmering in his eyes? Stella didn't ask, and she didn't mind sitting on the bed with him, fingers intertwined with his, or holding him until he succumbed to peaceful sleep, even if her body resented the lack of sleep in the morning.

"Marine, stay with me. Marine!" He was begging, shaking the boy's shoulders. Blood leaked lazily from the gaping chest wound, shrapnel embedded deep in his flesh. Mac pressed his hands firmly over the other boy's chest, feeling liquid trickle between his fingers, sickeningly warm and sticky. The boy was bleeding out in front of him, and he was surrounded by an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Sure, he'd received extensive first aid training, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

They said experience was the best teacher, and Mac figured he was about to find out. He unlaced his shoe quickly, fingers tripping on the thin string. Shuddering, he reached into the wound, feeling flesh squelch under his fingers, and probed around for the source of the bleed. He swallowed back a rush of bile, and found the torn artery. With trembling hands, he slid the lace around it, and tied it tightly, hoping to staunch the bleeding. He sat back on his haunches, staring at the face in front of him. The boy was turning grey, the colour of ashes. His hand was cold in Mac's, and blood was pooling around him, congealing in the dirt.

"Stay with me, we'll get you out of here," Mac told him, trying to stay the cracking in his voice. He watched as the light faded from his eyes, and his head fell back, lax against the ground. Every feature slackened, and he found himself staring into the open, blank eyes of his first dead body.

Those expressionless eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Stay with me! Come on, stay with me! We'll get you out of here," Mac mumbled, voice slurred and rough with sleep. "No!" A sob wrenched itself from him, and he sat bolt upright, fingers fumbling for an invisible body in front of him. "No…" It was fainter this time, and he sat back, looking around the small, simply furnished room. He wasn't in Beirut, and Stella's apartment was very much intact. The room smelled fresh and clean, not so thick with smoke he could taste it, acrid on his palate and stinging his nostrils.

"Another nightmare?" Stella clucked sympathetically from the doorway, curls mussed from sleep, and eyes soft and tired. She wrapped her robe over her pajamas, and the bed dipped as she sat down on the edge of it. "You okay?"

"I'm okay," Mac said quietly, pulling his pajama shirt down from where it had ridden up over his hips. "I don't think I'm going to be sleep again, though."

"That bad, huh?" she asked, as she stood and moved to the window. She parted the curtains and stared out over the city, which was lit up beautifully. It was quiet, without even the distant whine of traffic far below as white noise. It was just beginning to snow, a few flakes drifting from the inky sky. "Look, it's starting to snow."

"Is it?" He stood up slowly, relinquishing the warmth of his bed with difficulty, and joined her at the window. "Can we go outside?"

"Mac, it's," she broke off to check the time on his alarm clock, "3 am."

"I want to experience snow," he said, adding a 'please?' for good measure.

And that was how they found themselves in Central Park at 3:15 in the morning, walking slowly through the first snowfall of the year.

Snow sifted down over them, catching in Stella's curls like minute, glittering diamonds in the weak orange beam from the lampposts. It dusted his dark hair, melting into cold droplets of moisture. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything as breathtakingly gorgeous as Central Park blanketed in virgin snow. It glimmered, every surface coated in pure, crystalline white. No footprints marred the vast expanses of its pristine surface, and their footprints were muffled as their feet sank into the snow, already a few inches thick. The park was deserted, adding to the feeling of being in another world.

"Isn't it lovely?" he breathed softly, hardly daring to raise his voice above a whisper.

"It's beautiful," she replied in hushed tones, looking out over the pond.

He nodded, picking his way delicately through the snow towards Bapstow Bridge. In its shadow, he looked up at stones soaring above his head, enjoying the way the snow slanted over his head.

"Careful, I don't feel like pulling you out of the pond this morning," Stella warned him gently, following him towards the bridge.

Pulling off his gloves, he bent down at the water's edge and trailed his fingers through the frigid water, enjoying the way the cold made his skin tingle. It made him feel alive, whole almost. It was an exhilarating feeling, one he hadn't felt before. He wanted to run, climb, jump off the skyscrapers. Turning back to Stella, Mac caught a glimpse of her wide smile as she watched him. Scrambling up the bank, he made his way up to bridge, waiting for her to catch up to him, and they walked over it together. Halfway across, he paused, face upturned like a daisy, catching the lights from the plaza and the skyscrapers. The combination of urban and country was beautiful, and he loved being in the middle of it.

"It's so peaceful here," he said, looking out over the water. It was calm, except for the faint gurgling of flowing water beneath them, and the sound of falling snow. "It's like we're not in the middle of a busy city. It's like it's just the two of us."

"It could be just the two of us," Stella agreed, as his hand bumped into hers, fingers still cold from the icy water. Impulsively, she took it gently, wrapping her warm fingers around his cool ones.

He didn't know how or why, but his body instinctively pressed against hers, holding her close. His hand found her waist, and her head dropped just slightly to rest on his shoulder. They stayed like that, comfortably still, just watching the water flow and the snow fall, under the diffused glow of the iron lamppost. It felt perfect. "Stella?" he asked softly, arm shifting a little to pull her closer.

"Mmhm?" She nestled into him, cheek rubbing against the slightly scratchy surface of his wool coat.

"This is perfect."

"It is," she replied, closing her eyes for a few seconds, and letting the smell of him surround her, mixing with the freshness of the air and the faint aroma of coconut from her shampoo. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring down at her with that deep, searching look she'd seen thousands of times, his blue eyes alight with a genuine happiness. His head dipped towards hers, moving oh so slowly, and her face turned up to meet him. His breath danced across her upper lip, and he tucked a stray curl behind her ear with tender, deft fingers. Eyes fluttering closed, she waited, aching for the contact she knew they both wanted.

And then the gentle warmth of his breath faded, and her eyes opened on their own. He was staring out over the black water, gaze thoughtful, with gleam of disappointment. They had been so close, and the contours of her body fit his like two puzzle pieces. She had wanted it – had wanted so much to feel those lips pressed against hers, and from the look in his eyes, she could tell that he felt the same. Frowning slightly, Stella straightened up, putting a hand on his shoulder blade. "Do you want go a little further?"

"Hm?" he asked, turning back distractedly. He withdrew his hands, tucked them in his pockets. "Oh. Yeah."

"Let's go." She placed a hand in the crook of his elbow, drawing him with her, and they crossed the bridge and headed towards Heckscher Fields. The didn't talk, just took in the scenery, breath pluming in the darkness.

"Have you ever made a snow angel?" asked Stella, as they stood on the periphery of the field, hand still tucked firmly in his arm.

"No… I don't remember." He said it sadly, wistfully, and the spark of pain in his eyes felt like a knife to her chest. Determined to chase it away, she grinned, tugging at his hand like a child.

"I'll teach you. Come on!" She raced away from him, boots sinking into the soft snow, leaving a glittering trail of footprints in her wake.

He followed, running after her, snow spurting up from under his feet.

She plopped herself down, pillowing her head in her hands, and staring up at the night sky. It wasn't completely dark; there was no such thing in the city. But still, she could see just a few stars sparkling determinedly.

"This doesn't look very angelic to me," Mac said, his shadow falling across her as he peered down at her.

"Not yet." Smiling widely, she extended her arms and legs, and moved them up and down in a windshield-wiper motion, and then stood up carefully. She hopped away from her Stella-angel, and looked down at it, arms folded in satisfaction. "Now it's an angel. You make one."

Obediently, Mac got carefully down on his hands and knees, and lay on his back, swishing his arms and legs just as she had. Gingerly, he stood up and took a jump away from his cherubic snow silhouette, and stood next to Stella, eyeing the compacted snow with appraisal. "Not bad, not bad at all."

He was so busy admiring the first snow angel of his adult life, that the snowball caught him off guard, splattering against his black coat and spilling snow down his collar. "What-" Whirling around, he saw Stella grinning like a maniac from a safe distance away, another snowball in her now gloved hands. He knelt, quickly gathering another handful of snow, and her other snowball nailed his side, marking him with white again. "It's on!" he called mock-threateningly, packing the handful together and hurling it at her.

Dodging easily, Stella spun gracefully away from him, managing another hit to his back as he tried for another snowball.

"Come closer!" he growled out, feigning frustration.

"Guess you're going to have to catch me," she taunted, taking off through the fields. She was fast, but he was faster, and he grabbed her swinging wrist, pulling her down into the snow with him. He broke her fall, as she landed next to him, legs tangled with his, breathing hard. "Guess you caught me."

"Yeah." He grinned triumphantly, throwing a snowball of his own directly at her stomach.

"I've been shot!" she yelled, in between giggles, brushing the snow off her belly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned, as her hand snaked up and pushed a handful of snow down his collar. He yelped, squirming, and tried frantically to pick the melting snow out of his coat. "That was a dirty trick!"

"All's fair in love and snowball fights," she quipped merrily, eyes glimmering with mischief. She rolled away from him, but he pulled her down gently, and she stayed there. She reached out to lace her fingers with this, letting their arms sink back into the powder.

"We should do this more often," Mac said, looking over at her. He didn't think she'd ever looked more radiant than she did now, curls wild and fanned out over the fresh snow, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. She was his snow angel.

"Yeah," she agreed, catching her breath. Silence fell over them, and they breathed together, watching the stars above and their breath steam in the air. It was a cold night, but they glowed with warmth and health, and a genuine happiness to be alive. "Yeah, we definitely should."

Sometimes I can't help myself and write shameless Mac/Stella fluff. I promise this is essential to the plot, though, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, please review if you liked it! My reviews are dropping, and it's a little discouraging. As always, thank you for reading, and more soon.