Hey all! So many apologies for the two-week wait! I had a vacation from college, and was watching my year-old niece for that time, so writing/updating was near impossible. Then, what little I had written, I left at home while I moved back to college! So it was one big screw up, but, alas, here it is!

I hope this lives up to all the amazingly gorgeous reviews y'all have left me. I cant thank you all enough!

One thing I do have to mention though, any names or places that are non-canon are purely coincidental if similar to outside sources. I havent named Natalie or Connor after anyone, nor are they based purely on one person.

I'll leave you in peace now ;)

Mac,

I hope everything is okay. I know you said it might be a while until you could get in touch again, but you know how I worry sometimes.

Not a lot to report on this front. The rookies, Natalie and Connor, turned out better than could be expected. They're young enough to do all my running (you know how I loath to run) but experienced enough to know their jobs. I think at least one of them will be a worthy replacement for Aiden, if not both.

What else…

I think that's my lot. And I see I really have to get out more if that's all I have.

We all miss you. Stay safe soldier,

Stella

---

"Okay, okay, I'll give you the 'Godfathers'," Connor surrendered, "but I still stand by 'Reservoir Dogs'" he drank the last of his beer with a smirk.

Danny grinned, feeling very good for himself as he said "Goodfellas"

"Oh, classic"

"Boys, boys," Natalie intercepted, "who's up for another round?" she held up her empty glass.

It had quickly become a regular thing: drinks in Sullivan's after work at least once a week. Not only was it a staple that anyone in the New York Law Enforcement know the bar intimately, but it gave Stella and Danny a chance to get to know their new colleagues better. And vice versa.

Stella, recently, had become a reluctant participant. It wasn't that she didn't try, or even turn up, she'd just been increasingly distant of late. Everyone knew the reason, although none verbalised it with her: Mac hadn't been in touch for over a month.

Danny motioned to a standing Natalie that Stella hadn't touched her last drink, so probably wouldn't want another just yet. Connor said he'd help her with the order, excusing himself while Danny tried to bring his supervisor back to the land of the living.

He twisted in his seat, assessing the situation. The steady rise and fall of her chest with the occasional blinking of her eyes was the only movement she exhibited, although you knew, in that brilliant mind of hers, it was working overtime and then some. Her arm was bent over the back of the pew seat, her head resting on her balancing hand. She gazed out of the window, not quite focussing on anything, not quite caring either.

"Stel? Stella?"

Hearing her name snapped her from her reverie. She turned to look at Danny, feeling a grapefruit-sized crick in her neck. She kneaded it with her hand, apologising as she went. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" She noticed that Natalie and Connor were missing, but noted their jackets still over their chairs – they mustn't be far.

"How long?" Danny asked, ignoring her question in favour of his own.

"What? How long?"

He didn't answer, didn't flicker from her eyes.

Stella sighed as she answered, "4 weeks, 2 days."

"You know he's alright, Stella."

"Yeah…yeah I do, but…"

"But he's still not been in touch for 4 weeks and 2 days."

"Exactly." She sipped at her wine.

"Listen, okay? Mac…is a fighter. He's over there, somewhere, thinking the exact same thing: that he needs to get in touch. He said in his last email that he didn't know when he was going to be able to next, but he'll be just as antsy as you are. If … if anything had happened you'd know by know. Mac is fine. He won't back down from a fight until he's won."

Danny's speech didn't quite have the desired effects. "That's what worries me."

Xx

It wasn't long after Danny's pep-talk that Stella excused herself from the party. She wasn't much company, and hated feeling that she might be bringing the other guys down with her. When she got out of the bar, she searched the street, hoping to a bright neon sign telling her what to do; where to go; who to see.

No such luck.

The streets were relatively empty, and the impending dusk was casting eerie glows against the asphalt and buildings. She braced her bag between her knees and slipped her brown leather jacket across her shoulders. Okay, that killed some time, but a destination now was still an issue.

Home? Curl up on the sofa with a George Clooney movie and a pint of Phish Food?

Office? Finish some of the never-ending paperwork (How does Mac do it?) and maybe crash with her head on the desk and a crick in the morning? Again?

Mac's? Water the plants; turn some lights on so the outside public didn't know it was empty? He also needs his mail organising…and his fridge clearing out…and…and…a million other things. Yep, Mac's it is.

Stella turned on her heel, walking a little distance before a cab pulled up. She gave the driver Mac's address and sat back, watching as night slowly encroached deeper on to the city.

Xx

Stella was stood on the front step, mail under her arm as she searched for the right key on the fob. She could barely remember what most of them were for, but finally spotted Mac's and slipped it into the lock and opened the door.

The first port of call was the heater. Empty house plus New York weather was a killer.

She dropped her things on the kitchen table and crossed to the fake cupboard, pipes rattling as it booted up.

She added the new mail to the pile, skimming through it in case anything urgent turned up. Nothing did.

She sighed, at a loss of what to do now that she was there. Her reasoning of clearing out the fridge was specious (she'd done it a few weeks ago), and the organising of the mail had already been done. So now what?

She crossed to the living room, turning the TV on at the set as she went.

Although the latest episode of some inaccurate crime show was on, Stella's mind was racing ten-to-the-dozen.

What was she doing? Why was she in Mac's place when Mac wasn't even there? Was it really because she needed to collect the mail?

If it was just to collect the mail, why hadn't she gone now? Mail was collected, yet she'd turned the TV on, settled herself on the couch and took off her boots. What was she hoping to find?

What was with her the last few weeks too? Yeah, sure, Mac hadn't been in contact, but he was at war for God's sake. It isn't like there's an internet connection at every turn. But…well, she'd seen this kind of behaviour before. The lonely wife skulks and scorns until the reappearance of her loved one. That was the thing, though… 'wife'… 'loved one'…

She'd been friends, hell, best friends, with him for so long, had those feelings really…evolved to…love? Or, a more possible explanation, is she just missing him a hell of a lot?

If it was…love…well, that would explain why she wanted to be around his things: his home, his clothes, his couch. Not 'his clothes' in a stalker kind of way, but seeing his winter jacket hanging on the banister gave her a spell of comfort and peace, quickly reduced to fear and loneliness again.

It would make sense to a lot of other things too. The fact that people had always congratulated her on how well she'd 'helped' Mac after the 'incident', and said they didn't know if they could have done the same 'if I didnt…well, y'know'. She didn't know, then.

And how if she was invited anywhere, she was always told 'Bring Mac, if you want.' She'd always thought it was just because he hadn't been out much since Claire's death. Had they known? Been trying to push them in the right direction? Was it even the 'right' direction?

What if it was wrong? What if it was one-sided, if it was sided at all? What if Mac wasn't ready?

What if? What if? What if?

Stella snapped herself back to reality when a low grumble sounded from her stomach. She reached over to the table for the phone, punching in the number for the Chinese restaurant. Ordering her usual, correcting Chen when he said he'd send it over, and asking for a special favour of a bottle of wine from the store next door. If she wasn't such a good customer, he would have told her where to go and how fast to get there.

Chen knew Mac's place, so it wasn't long before the take-out arrived, wine in tow. She thanked him, gave some lame excuse and watched him drive off back to the restaurant.

Stella locked the door, turned off the outside light and settled into the couch for a night of Chinese and George Clooney, even if it was in a different house.