Chapter 17

The light split through the smallest of space between her eyelids, forcing her from the most pleasant sleep she'd had in months to the most unfamiliar of rooms. It was white, clinical. No art on the walls like at home, nor with the usual scent of her rose candles burning in the background.

Instead, the room felt clean, too clean and the minimalistic interior was not a stylish decor choice.

She had survived.

She had no idea what was going through her mind when she took that bullet for James. Mac was going to ask her why she done it; she didn't know. Not really. Maybe it was out of loyalty to James, or maybe she'd realised quite how much James had lost when Jennifer had died. She was his entire world, and she knew from experience just how much it meant to lose your entire world. Maybe she just didn't want him to lose anything else.

But that wasn't it. It didn't sit with her that she would throw herself in front of a bullet for just anyone. They'd been friends for a long time, sure. But Jennifer was the common factor. She was the reason they were friends in the first place-

"Stella?" Mac asked, dragging her from her thoughts. She'd come back to that one later; it mattered.

"Hi."

He looked away from her. Nervous? Upset? Uncomfortable? The morphine must have been tinkering with her ability to read Mac like an open book. But he was here.

"Stella, how are you?"

She tried to sit up, but felt a ripple of pain through her stomach. Settling back down, she mumbled, "I feel like I've been shot."

"You have been shot," he confirmed, adjusting her bed for her. She looked at him with a scowl, but if he noticed, he didn't say anything.

"The doctor is going to explain everything to you later. He's told me bits and pieces but... well, I'm not a doctor am I?" He laughed. She could only nod in response.

"Is everyone else okay?"

He nodded, "I'm more worried about you."

As the day went on, Stella drifted in and out of consciousness. She had sent Mac home to shower the second time she woke up, and by the third, she had been informed that he had set up camp in the hospital canteen. She had asked the nurse if she could explain how she had been treated, but she insisted this would be best explained by the doctor, who's be by in a couple of hours.

Her next visitor was Don, and she knew this visit was going to be the most awkward. They hadn't really spoken since she got them both shot, and she had little expectations for the impending conversation. She wanted to apologise, but she really just didn't think it would be enough. She was like this a lot; causing absolute chaos with no idea how to remedy it. It was like she was a little kid in the orphanage all over again.

The man in question knocked on her door, and put his head round first, "Hey, Stell. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

He handed her a bag of Jolly Ranchers, "I know you love this crap, and since you're not really allowed flowers, I thought... next best thing, right?"

"Right," she replied, putting the bag on her lap, "How are you?"

"Sore, but I'll live. How are you?"

"Glad you're alive. Are you?"

What? Was this the morphine talking or-? What was he on about?

"Am I what?" she asked, confused despite taking several moments to compute his meaning. She hated looking stupid, but this was Don. He wouldn't mind.

"Are you glad to be alive?"

"Of course I am! What are you going on about?"

"Might be wrong, Stell. But you seem to be getting yourself into a lot of life or death situations these days. I'm just saying-"

She held up her hand, "I know what you're saying. When I was a kid, it wasn't about living; it was about surviving. All these kids that got all these great life experiences... well, I wasn't like that. I worked hard, but I was on my own. I had to work my ass off to get into college, then I got my degree, then it was the police academy. Once I became a detective, I thought, great. Time to start living. But there's always something, isn't there? Something that gets in the way. Frankie, my HIV scare; I put my life on hold because of those things and when I finally felt ready to start living..."

"What? What happened?" He asked, tearful.

"I fell in love with someone. I actually fell in love. I really liked Frankie, but I never loved him. He was never the point of my day, the person I got excited about seeing. He was never the guy who got me through the bad days."

Don's eye's followed her line of vision to the door where Mac stood, taking a call. Then, they met hers again.

"So tell him."

She shook her head, "He loves Peyton. I haven't seen him so happy since Claire. I don't want to ruin that."

"Even if it meant he could be happier with you? Stella, you don't know how much you mean to him."

"No, I do. I know he really cares about me. But he cares about Peyton more."

A damp spot on the hospital sheets. Tears? Lifting her cannula-bound hand to her cheeks, she found, indeed, she had been crying. Why? It was obvious really. The first sign of catharsis. She hadn't even shared this much with the department shrink, christ.

A knocking came from the door.

"Stella, want to try a herbal tea? I know it's not coffee, but-"

He looked up from the tray of hot drinks and caught her eyes, immediately spotting her tears. She wasn't sure why he was so shocked. Before Peyton came on the scene, he'd saw her cry at sad commercials on the TV. She'd be crying at some stupid dog promoting paint or something, and he'd find himself unable to control his laughter. Or when she'd killed Frankie, he'd hold her in his arms when she cried with nothing but soothing words to give.

God, she loved him.

"What's the matter?"

Stella looked to Don, pleading. Without even a pause, he had her back.

"Stella has been struggling a lot these past months. I think she's just grateful to know we'll be there for her, no matter what," he said. Mac sat beside her on the bed.

"Yeah, and I can only apologise if you have felt like I'm not here for you. I know it's been a rough year for you. And I should have been a better friend. I'm sorry."

She nodded, fighting back her tears, "I know you care about me. But you've had a lot on. From Clay Dobson to a new relationship, I'm not mad, Mac. You've got a life, too."

"You're a very important part of that life, Stella Bonasera," he smiled. "I need to go do something. Will you two be alright on your own for a bit? No causing trouble."

Don saluted, "You got it."