Title: Phish Food

Author: Barb

Rating : G

Spoilers: Teeny tiny reference to a future episode

Summary: A short but sweet story told from Mac's POV

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.

A/N: A big thank you to Ann for beta reading and fixing my mistakes, and most importantly, helping me with the ending. You're the best!

Thursday Night

Mac's Apartment

It's Thursday night and I'm sitting here leaning against the back of the couch, alone and drowning myself in ice cream and a tearjerker movie - three hankies, no less. I brush my hair from my face and shove the spoon into the half-eaten pint. I have to stop this, I admonish myself for the hundredth time. Time to move on. With a snort of disgust I stab at the button on the remote to turn off the TV and throw it on the sofa – so there, I showed it! What I really need right now is a friend, someone to talk to, but last time I looked I didn't have any, still don't....none that are close anyway. Can't count Dr. McCool – hah, if you start counting your shrink as your friend then you're in pretty sad shape. Harriet's too busy, can't talk to her, I think as I pick imaginary lint off my pajamas.

I sit and think again about the doctor; she hit a little too close to home when she asked why I always choose to be alone. She should understand, knowing that I grew up in an alcoholic environment. Anyone I ever knew who had an alcoholic parent knew the truth, it's like being in a club you don't want to belong to – that as much as you want to, you just can't let yourself bring someone home just in case he was home; you didn't want anyone to see that you didn't live in a Father Knows Best TV fantasyland. That you ran home from school to help Mom with dinner so you could try to make it perfect so when Dad got home he wouldn't start yelling that you can't do it right, that you're worthless; that you lie in bed at night and pray that Dad will just pass out instead of slapping Mom and making her cry. Old patterns. I'm in my 30s and still I let people in only to push them away....because, why? I'm not good enough? I'm not worthy? I know in my heart that's not true, but the old tapes are still there, playing over and over.

I sit and hug my legs to my chest, resting my cheek on my knee. And as I sit here and ponder the mess that is my life, I think I am worthy, I am a good person. I'm intelligent, successful; I've got a lot to offer someone. And suddenly one bright thought shines through - someone who's seen me at my best, my worst, someone who's always been there for me. Harm.

I grab a pillow and hug it to my chest, and think about my one true friend. Friend. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to be after this last, screwed up year. And even though the odds are long for the chance of us going halves on a kid, for some reason he's still here. I feel a little hope. And suddenly the thought of sitting here alone feeling sorry for myself makes me want.....to call him. He said when I'm ready to talk, let him know. So now's just as good a time as any, so what if it's...it's...it's late. I shouldn't, I mean, he'll probably be sleeping.

Inexplicably my hand reaches for the phone and flips it open. There's a war going on inside me, but I figure if I back out now, I may never do it. So....I....close the phone. This is stupid. Okay, I open it again. It's easy, just hit number three on speed dial.....there. It's ringing. Ringing. This is stupid. Ringing.

"Rabb." He sounds tired. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

"Hello." Oh God, he's getting annoyed, probably thinks I'm some kind of heavy breather.

Just before he clicks off, I get up the nerve. "Um, Harm? It's Mac."

"Mac? What's going on, is everything okay?" he sounds concerned.

"Uh, yeah, everything's fine." Clever answer, MacKenzie, you're full of witticisms.

"Mac, it's 2345. What's going on?"

"It's 2342 actually," I inform him.

"Funny. What's up?" I knew this wasn't a good idea.

"Nothing, it's stupid. I...I'm sorry if I woke you up. Go back to sleep, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Well I'm wide awake now, Mac. So what is it that couldn't wait?" My mind is conjuring all kinds of thoughts right now, he's probably rolling his eyes, can't wait to get off the phone.

"Nothing, Harm." My voice is practically a whisper.

"If you don't tell me, Mac, I'm coming over there right now," he threatened.

"Okay, sheesh. Call someone to talk and they bite your head off."

"You called to talk?" he asked in surprise.

"Is that so hard to believe?" I ask facetiously. "Wait, don't answer that." We both laugh.

"So what, did you have an epiphany, or is this just a general sort of talk you had in mind?" he asked.

"I don't know, I was just sitting here watching a movie and eating Phish Food and I thought of you."

"Fish food?" he asked incredulously.

"Not that kind of fish food silly! You know, Ben & Jerry's Phish Food, chocolate ice cream with lots of gooey marshmallow, caramel and fudge fish. It's my favorite."

"Yeah, sounds appetizing. So...you really just called to talk?"

"Yeah. For some reason, I just wanted to hear your voice. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. What did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"I don't know, nothing heavy, just....stuff."

"Stuff."

"Yeah, you know, best friend stuff. You. Me. Mattie. What you like, what you don't like. Stuff. I miss talking to you."

"I miss you too, Mac. So you start. What's on your mind?"

"Patty melts." I say as my mouth starts to water. I figure we should start off slowly and work our way up to the heavy stuff.

"Somehow I think if I just kept you fed, you'd be a very happy person," he chuckled.

"I told you I didn't need much, Harm," I respond with a smile.

"You're right, Mac. You did."

My heart does a little flip as I hear Harm's chuckle come over the wire. I think we might just make it.