Disclaimer: I don't own Desperate Housewives. Seriously, I'd be up to my armpits in money.
"Mac, I'm sorry. Really."
With his face buried in Stella's couch, and with Stella herself sitting next to him, Mac shook his head and exhaled slowly.
Her gaze pivoting from him, Stella blindly reached out and rubbed Mac's back soothingly.
"It's not your fault, okay? How could you have known that Jane was in on it?"
Mac lifted his head, only to drop in into his hands. "I feel…damn it, Stella, I feel so used."
Stella shifted closer and took Mac into her arms. Their cheeks made contact and his arms slipped out to wrap around her. She whispered in his ear, "Hey – you've got one girl right here who's never going to use you."
Mac lifted his head to meet her eyes. She gave him a warm smile and hoped for one in return. Thankfully, the corners of his mouth upturned slightly as he acknowledged that she was trying to help out.
"You know what you need? A nice picker-upper." She got to her feet.
"Does it come in liquid form?" he asked longingly.
"Not in the momentary sense," she laughed, "but we could arrange something."
"What is it?"
"Food." Stella pivoted and went into her kitchen, adding, "I'll make us some lunch."
"Ah, food. And what is lunch, pray tell?"
"It's sort of this meal you eat at noon or sometime around noon…"
Mac rolled his eyes. Stella laughed. "It's Italian wedding soup. Have you ever tried it?"
"No, and is someone getting married?"
"Oh, smart, handsome, and funny, aren't you?"
There was some question in his mind as to why she had called him handsome. The attitude washed away quickly.
"Anyway, it's really great," Stella continued. "It's basically spinach, meatballs and pearl-shaped pasta. They served it occasionally in my orphanage and, being half Italian, I just couldn't resist."
Had Mac just heard correctly?
"Did you just say you were in an orphanage?" he asked incredulously.
"Sure," Stella replied a bit too brightly. She rummaged around in her pantry. "Is canned soup alright? I don't think I have all the ingredients…"
He grew impatient. "Stella, that's fine, but you never told me…"
"That I was in the system? Ah, I don't spread it around much, but I don't mind telling my closest friends." Stella pulled two cans out of the cabinet and pulled the lids off them. "Truth is that you're the only one I've ever told…well, besides my therapist in college."
As she poured the contents into two separate bowls, Mac commented, "You seem so comfortable with it."
"After so many years, it eventually sinks in and you come to understand it. Though, when I was younger, I could never quite digest why someone out there hated my father enough to kill him."
Somewhere in the bowels of his stomach, Mac felt queasy. What was probably even more unnerving, however, was how casual she was making it sound.
"Anyway, Mac…that was then; this is now." Stella placed the bowls in the microwave, set a time and pressed start. The machine hummed steadily as it cooked the soup.
"I don't know how personal this may be for you, but weren't you ever teased?"
Stella joined him by leaning against the back of an armchair. "Yeah. I didn't have any real friends at school. I was the resident bookworm."
"Sounds familiar," Mac muttered with a smile.
"Exactly. I was the little girl with the frizzy hair who sat in the corner reading up on Greek history and mythology while the other kids went out to recess. But…it didn't bother me. No one tried to hurt me or anything. I was, for lack of a better word, a ghost – except in class, when my shot up to answer every science question." Stella stopped right there and an extended pause settled.
Deep in thought, Mac shifted in his seat and eyed Stella. She was staring at the seat cushion, arms crossed, looking like she was thinking about more than just the smell of cooked spinach and seasoned meatballs emanating from the kitchen. She laid her head on the chair's headrest, and her hair fell in curls over her face – beautifully so, as he dually noted.
"I would have been your friend," he said quietly.
I would have been a little more than your friend, he added to himself.
Stella didn't look up, but through the crazy mess of hair, he could almost surely make out a shy smile.
"You sure you'd want to take on the challenge?"
"I think I've known you long enough to know how to handle you."
The microwave beeped, cueing Stella to remove their food. "Oh, Mr. Taylor, there are parts of me you definitely do not know," she cooed seductively.
He raised an eyebrow and was too busy shamelessly ogling her to honestly think about what she just said.
"It's hot," Stella said. "You'd better be careful. Here." Grabbing two spoons and napkins, Stella managed to balance the bowls and bring them to Mac. The soup inside them sloshed in circles, threatening to spill, but Stella's cat-like grace prevented such an event from occurring.
Mac's hands burned when they touched the bowl. Stella curtly remarked on how he should have listened. He narrowed his eyes in mock-irritation and put the bowl on the coffee table before him. Mac pulled his legs in so Stella could take a seat beside him. She mimicked his position, reached for the remote control on the sofa's arm and clicked the television on.
"Is there anything you'd like to watch?" she asked, still fingering the remote.
"It's your apartment. So what you'd like."
"Mac, you're my guest."
"Just pick something and stay with it."
She swore a few seconds later she heard him say, "Picky, picky," under his breath and gave him an odd look, then shrugged and started changing channels. "Repeats of the X-Files…some corny Chuck Norris movie…Spike TV; you sure that's not your kind of viewing?"
"No. I'm more of a Formula One Racing kind of guy."
"Oh, now that's unique."
"Stella…"
"Fine, fine." She kept clicking. "Providence…The West Wing…oh, here's something!"
"Desperate Housewives? You seriously watch that?"
"Is there any shame is watching the secrets of the stereotypical housewife?"
"Technically, the only two real 'stereotypical' housewives are Bree and Lynette…"
Stella punched him playfully. "You can't act for your life! You watch it too!"
Mac's guilty-as-charged expression said it all.
"I don't blame you," Stella said. "It's a great show; very funny. We're only two of the many caught up in Housewife Fever."
"We don't have to watch it, you know. It's a repeat."
"It's the pilot episode; I missed this one when it first aired."
Mac and Stella watched as a clean-cut Bree Van De Kamp entered the Young's home on the screen, hair straight and chillingly unmoving, holding two dressed-up baskets and leading her glum-looking family inside.
"Oh, God, she never quits," Stella muttered.
As Bree explained to Mr. Young which basket was for him and Zach and which basket was for the guests, Stella had to battle back a fit of laughter, knowing there was something coming. Finally, Bree said:
"Of course, I will need the baskets back once you're done."
"And therein lies the punch line!" Stella exclaimed.
"Wait 'till you see Edie later," Mac said.
Sure enough, about halfway through the episode, Edie Britt was ambling up Mike Delfino's walk, pushing her way past Susan Mayer.
"I suspect some flirting," Stella said, looking at Mac. "Am I on the right track?"
"Shh…listen."
She waited.
"Mike, you're a plumber, right? Do you think you could come by later and…take a look at my pipes?"
Both exploded with laughter. When she regained her breath, Stella saw Mac lifting another spoonful of the Italian wedding soup into his mouth. "Do you like it?"
He nodded and swallowed. Stella did the same as Mac, but didn't notice the small piece of spinach caught at the corner of her lips. She turned to Mac, who immediately said, "You have something…" He pointed to the offending leaf.
Stella quickly put her spoon down, but wasn't quick enough because Mac's hand was already there. He brushed the spinach away with his thumb.
Stella stared at him, perplexed by what he had done, as well as the fact that his hand lingered and his fingers were lightly touching her cheek. When he finally pulled his hand away and wiped the spinach on a napkin, Stella looked dazed and touched the spot where his hand was. Her skin tingled. Something had just been ignited within her…
"Stella?"
Stella shook her head and returned to the real world, offering him a small "thanks".
Lab coat-clad and hair tied into a messy ponytail, Aiden leaned over a layout table with every piece of evidence she had collected from Peter Cunningham's apartment. It was at times like this that Aiden always hoped for some sort of brain blast to hit her so she'd know where to follow up. Not this time.
After minutes of searching through everything, Aiden cursed, "Damn it!" She kicked one of the table's legs, causing the structure to wobble slightly.
"Hey, hey, don't take it out on the table, girl!" Danny grinned, entering the lab.
"You want me to take it out on you?"
He backed off. "Now that you mention it…"
Aiden chuckled.
"What's got you all riled up?" Danny asked.
"Mac's case," she said, sighing. "I sent the drugs Stella and I found off to Trace. I didn't need to, of course, growing up in that kind of neighborhood and knowing it was coke, but Stella's the boss right now…" She clenched her fists.
"Stella's under a lot of stress, Aiden. She has to run the unit as if Mac were still here and take care of the big man himself. Will you let her off easy?"
Aiden's hand flew to her temples. "When she's stressed, she's bossy, and that's what gets me pissed."
"Well, allow me to ease the pain a little. I did background searches on Jane and Doug Walker. Jane, believe it or not, prior to being employed here was a lab tech at New York Downtown Hospital – the same hospital Cunningham works at."
"Go on…"
"This may not be so cool. I typed in Walker's name and all I got was his previous place of employment, date of birth, et cetera, but nothing probative. I can't get to his address, his phone number – hell, I don't even know where he works now, because those particular files are locked."
"I couldn't open Cunningham's phone records for the same reason."
"Yeah, and I stayed up into the late hours of the night thinking of passwords. No luck, obviously."
Aiden shook her head in disgust. "This bastard's covering his tracks, and he's somewhere in this station, right under our noses."
"Yeah." They went silent as business buzzed on around them. Danny finally spoke, touching her shoulder and saying, "Hey, Budweiser on me after shift?"
"Make it a Corona Light and you've got the right idea."
TBC
