Mac tossed his keys on the kitchen counter as he walked tiredly through the door of his apartment. It had been a long shift and he was looking forward to catching a few hours of shuteye before his next one began in the morning.
"Or later this morning," he corrected himself out loud, glancing ruefully at his watch. He shrugged off his coat and dropped it into a chair, wandering into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes and into something more suitable for sleeping.
Attired in his favorite pair of sweat pants and an old Marine Corps sweatshirt, he went back out into the living room and plopped down on the couch, flipping on the TV to try and find something to take his mind off his latest slew of cases. As he channel surfed, he discovered an old, cheesy, made-for-TV movie that made him smile. It was the kind of movie that Stella would have turned on then proceeded to mock had she been there, making Mac grin like an idiot or even coaxing some laughter from his lips.
He sat back on the couch and allowed his smile to soften, his mind's eye picturing Stella beside him making fun of the movie. He could see her bright eyes and bouncing curls, hear her cheerful laughter, could almost feel her skin against his as she reached out for him in his imagination. He found himself grinning and discovered that his cheeks were becoming warm, a phenomenon that didn't occur very often. Self-consciously turning his attention back to the television, he draped his arm along the back of the couch, idly wondering how it would have felt to wrap that arm around Stella. He pictured her curled up next to him, her head leaning against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest.
Mac suddenly wanted very badly for Stella to be there, practically aching for her presence, and was almost overwhelmed by the feeling. He sat straight up and ran a hand over his face, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I just saw her," he told himself out loud. "How can I be missing her so much already?"
Before the words were even out of his mouth he knew the answer, and he shook his head again.
"No," he said, trying to be emphatic but failing miserably. "I am not in love with her."
But even as he spoke he knew the statement was untrue.
A giddy feeling began to wash slowly over him, his lips twitching into a reluctant grin as he allowed thoughts of Stella to re-enter his mind—how smart and quick witted she was, how dry her sense of humor could be, how her eyes flashed when she was hot on the trail of evidence. He desperately wished she was there with him, wanting nothing more in the world than to hold her, to kiss her, to love her.
He sighed, the grin still plastered on his face. "Okay, I give up. I admit it…I love Stella."
Mac chuckled in an embarrassed way, combing his fingers through his hair as he rose from the couch and moved toward the phone.
"I know she's up," he told a lamp as he passed it. "She just finished the same shift I did, and I have to see her."
He reached for the phone, pulling it off its cradle to dial Stella's number, but paused midway, catching a glimpse of a photograph sitting in a simple gold frame next to the telephone. It was the only photo he had in the apartment of Claire, the one Stella had convinced him to put out where he could see it when the pain of his grief had receded to a more bearable degree.
He picked up the picture and dropped into the nearest chair, still holding the receiver of the phone. His eyes focused on the photo, staring intently at the only woman he thought he'd ever love, and just as quickly as the giddy feeling had appeared, it fled, replaced by intense pangs of guilt.
"Claire," he whispered, "the love of my life…how could I ever be with anyone else?"
He sat for a long time, holding both the picture of Claire and the telephone in his lap, his eyes moving from one to the other, trying to force himself to chose between his dead wife and his best friend.
"I can't do it," he confessed hoarsely. "I can't love Stella because that's betraying Claire, but I can't live in the past forever either…"
He sighed again, heavily this time, placing the phone and photograph back in their original positions. Standing motionless, he continued to stair at the two objects for a moment longer before finally tearing his gaze away.
"Nothing in life is ever easy," he frowned. But he knew that wasn't true.
Loving Claire had been easy.
Loving Stella, no matter how much, would not be.