Title: Like We Never Loved At All
Author: StarrySkies
Rating: K+
Pairing: Mac/Stella
Disclaimer: Characters and title do not belong to me.
Summary: "I, uh, think your friend is waiting."
Author's Notes: Just a ficlet – shorter than I originally intended, but the story had other plans. Inspired by the Faith Hill song of the same name. AU.
She walks down the street, lost in the crowd, lost inside her own head, running through a song she used to know a long time ago. Streets are glistening from fresh rain; warm breath turns visible in the night air. Suddenly, she looks up, and there he is. There he is after all this time. She stops abruptly, and an older woman walking behind her is unaware of the change in traffic flow and bumps into her. Stella catches herself and apologizes to the woman who is more polite than she has come to expect in this city.
"I'm so sorry," she says.
"That's all right, dear. I wasn't watching where I was going."
Stella steps back towards the shop she's standing in front of and lets the woman pass, watching her walk a few steps before she remembers and tries to find him on the other side of the street. He's standing still for a moment, watching her, dressed in a black trench, hands deep in his pockets. He's heard the commotion. She feels embarrassed for a moment, considers running but can't do more than stare back. He looks good.
He nods to her, one of his unspoken salutations. She takes a sharp breath and raises her hand to wave timidly. He turns back to his friend. A woman, who is now looking at her too. Stella wishes she had seen her before she waved. Damn it, she says to herself. She covers her face with her hand and scratches her eyebrow, watching through her fingers. They're talking. The woman is looking. He's crossing the street alone.
"Stella," he says. His voice is timeless. Like he'd just seen her yesterday; no, five years hadn't passed at all.
"Mac," she replies.
The reunion is clumsy; an awkward hug ensues.
"How are you?" he asks.
She isn't sure he wants the truth. He won't be getting it anyway. "I'm good. You?"
"Really good."
She's sure he's one-upped her due to the reason across the street. She feigns a half-smile. "You're back." More of a statement than a question.
"Yeah… They transferred me again."
"When?"
"Two weeks."
She nods.
"Hey, listen. I got this great job. I'm head of the Crime Scene Unit, and I'm looking for a couple of replacement staff members. You should come by. Are you still working Narco?"
"No, I--" she starts. "I'm kind of on sabbatical. Long story." She tries to see if she can catch a fleeting look of their own long story in his eyes. Nothing. "I, uh, think your friend is waiting."
He looks away. "Yeah. She's… my wife."
"O-oh," she stammers, searching for a ring. His hands are still in his pockets.
"She's from Chicago. You'd like her."
She feels queasy as she forces a tight-lipped "Mmm-hmm" from her mouth.
"I should've called you." He's noticed the uneasiness of her demeanor.
"No," she corrects. "You shouldn't have to check in with me. It's your life." It's not our life anymore, is what she doesn't say.
He shrugs his shoulders and throws a glance toward the woman.
"I should let you… get back to her," she says. "I've got to -- I've got somewhere to be."
"Yeah, I should… go too."
"It was nice to see you."
"You too." He smiles that thin-lipped smile of his. "Come by about that job."
She nods once.
They part ways in the middle of the sidewalk, both fighting urges to look back.
End.
