Author: Merrianna

Story: Christmas Sorrow: 1 of ?

Series: Speed-Burn

Disclaimer: I don't in any way own the series CSI. Those are the sole property of Anthony E. Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS and Paramount Home Entertainment.

Mac didn't know how he got talked into going to Stella's apartment. Well that wasn't quite true; he knew, but he just didn't want to admit that he also hadn't wanted to be alone with only his memories of Claire. Christmas time had been her most favorite time of the year. She would go all out: from trimming a tree, to handing out presents, and even making a full Christmas dinner. The last few years they'd included Stella in their holiday festivities. It seemed only natural, then, that Stella had invited him to her place, even with her rule about no men in her apartment.

He'd been to Stella's apartment before, but that was when Claire was with him. He remembered a particularly long shopping trip that they had dragged him on so that he could carry a number of packages for them. Both had tried on at least a hundred different outfits, which they had 'Oohed' and 'Ahed' over in the dressing room, not once coming out to show him. They had then proceeded to pile boxes and bags on him. He'd put up with it even if he'd grumbled at the time; he'd enjoyed himself immensely, seeing both women getting carried away with buying. It was at Claire's insistence that they went to Stella's place, which was closer, and did a little fashion show for him. Claire's enthusiasm had been infectious which had Stella agreeing without any trouble.

Little had changed, excepted now as he entered Stella's apartment it was only the two of them; a man still in mourning for his wife and a woman grieving for the loss of a friend and the widower which remained.

"Mac? Mac, you can take off your coat," Stella ordered as she set the bag of take-out on her dining table; her eyes, though, were on her partner. As she shrugged out of her own coat she inquired, "What should we have with this?" Stella moved with grace as she went about gathering plates and utensils.

"Anything," came the mumbled reply.

Stella sighed inwardly as she opened a cabinet door and found that she had a bottle of red wine, a twelve pack of beer, which only had ten cans left, and half a container of Irish whiskey left over from the last time he and Claire had been over.

"Well, how about some red wine with dinner?" Stella asked, which only got her a silent nod in agreement.

That's how it started: a glass of red wine with the Chinese meal; they finished the bottle off before the meal was over. Stella had also gotten a desert and with that they started on the beer; they had by then moved over to the couch in front of the television. It was during the cheesy sci-fi movie about rampaging grasshoppers that they went through the last of the ten cans.

As the credits appeared on screen Mac shifted his gaze out of Stella's apartment window. The blaze of flickering lights of the Christmas trees in the opposite building brought up memories that he had been avoiding: the image of a blue-eyed little girl with loose brown curls standing in front of a Christmas tree, smiling up at a woman with joy and laughter.

"Mac?" He turned back to his companion. Her slender hand came up to stroke his cheek, which he just realized was wet.

"Stella, did Claire and I ever tell you why we came to New York?" the dark-haired man's voice was rough with sadness, and his eyes didn't seem to be focusing on anything.

Stella swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat at the pain in her friend's face. "No, you didn't."

Without conscious thought he downed the last of his beer, "You know it would be Maggie’s fourth Christmas this year."

"Maggie?" Stella's eyebrows were knitted together in confusion over what Mac was talking about. Who is Maggie, and how does that pertain to why Mac and Claire moved to New York City?

Mac was lost in his own thoughts, not hearing his partner's query, but just continued to talk, "Claire would buy things for her every year. Not toys, really, more like keepsakes. It was something she had mentioned that day... she was planning on seeing if there was anything out... She hadn't been able to buy something for her this year." More tears appeared moving down into his day’s growth of stubble.

Stella just sat next to him letting him ramble even when she could barely follow what he was saying. To have him say anything was a Christmas miracle in itself.

"I've this picture in my head of what it would have looked like on Christmas morning: this impatient little girl with sleep tossed curls jumping into bed with Claire and me; both of us a little sleep deprived from trying to get her into bed the night before and also from staying up to put the gifts from Santa Claus under the tree while trying to be quiet; the excitement in Maggie's voice as she enlightens us about all the presents under the tree."

Mac never noticed Stella getting up, though he barely acknowledged the removal of the empty beer can, which was replaced with a glass of whiskey. The brief thought went through his mind that he shouldn't try to 'drown his sorrows' in alcohol but at that moment he didn't really care. The pain of the loss of his wife coupled with that of his daughter were almost choking in their intensity. He knocked back the dusky brown liquid, feeling the sharp kick of the alcohol but ignoring it.

"We... Claire and I, we couldn't handle being in Chicago anymore without Maggie. Stella, she was so small when she was born. I was terrified that I'd break her. She... she had... been only 36 hours old when she was kidnapped right out of the Chicago hospital. Practically stolen right out of Claire's arms." Mac couldn't contain the sob that erupted from deep inside his chest.

Stella sat watching, a little unsure what she could or should do for the desolate man before her. After only a moment’s hesitation, she went with her instincts; wrapping her arms around the blue-eyed man, she pulled him down into a comforting embrace. The sobbing increased even as Mac made a half-hearted attempt to get away. Stella held on giving her grieving partner all the strength she could without succumbing to the tears that threatened to overflow from her own eyes.

They stayed in that position for a long time, once Mac finally let go of his tightly held control; Stella then provided a safe port in the storm of emotions that had been released. The momentary loss of restraint had the ex-marine feeling foolish and more than a little embarrassed at how he broke down in front of his best friend. His red-rimmed eyes briefly met the sympathetic green ones; he was relieved when there wasn't a trace of pity in them, only the endless amounts of kindness.

Stella gave him an encouraging, watery smile and waited, patiently, knowing that the weary man would finish his story if only to relieve himself of some of the burden that he had been bearing for the last few months.

Several minutes passed with neither of them saying a word. Mac eventually continued not wanting his friend to think that he and Claire had abandoned the search. "I still keep in touch with the detective that has her missing person case open in Chicago. I still ask myself... 'Who would take someone else's child?' What makes a person so desperate?"

"I know the experts say there are several reasons for but you know it really doesn't matter what the reason is. What they did is wrong, and they will be caught and punished for it. And I know that you'll find your daughter... yours and Claire's. It won't matter how long it takes, Mac. I'll be here for whatever support you need." Even with the revelations that Stella had unconsciously reveled that night she felt that Mac had more that he wasn't telling, but she wouldn't push.

Mac was getting uncomfortable with what had happened to alleviate it, "So, Stella, do you have any other bad movie to go with this." He gestured toward the bottle of whiskey.

A little taken aback but willing to change the subject, Stella pursed her lips, "What do you mean ‘bad movie’? That one was a sci-fi cinema classic. You want a bad movie I'm sure I can comply with a horrid bit of film called 'Mitchell' but to not be totally bored I have it in the Mystery Science Theater 3000 version."

Deciding that the movie would make a great drinking game, Stella made it that whenever the hecklers of the film said the main character's name they would have to take a drink. By the end of the movie the bottle of whiskey was gone.

"Hmm, thank you for everything, but I think it's time I went home." Mac sounded almost coherent. It wasn't until he stood that the complete effect of all the alcohol showed. He made it only to the stairs where, due to the wavering in his vision, Mac completely missed the step and fell down on his butt. Stella, who had been watching from her couch giggled a little even as she sympathized with his predicament.

"Oh, Mr. Taylor, I don't think you're going anywhere," Stella stated through fits of giggles. She also got up, swaying slightly. She steadied herself, getting used to the difference between sitting and standing, then she walked cautiously over to her partner. "Come on, Mac." She tried to help him up.

He held up his hands, which she took, trying to get leverage on the big rug. Stella pulled, but at the same time Mac pulled, causing her to lose her balance, toppling on top of him. "Oh, ouch!" Mac's voice came out in complaint at the fact that Stella's knee, hit him in the thigh and an elbow came down on his head. They were pressed together awkwardly, with the green-eyed woman's legs between his and his face squashed just below her breasts.

Struggling to get upright, Stella continued laughing, "Well it serves you right for pulling me down." There was more awkward shifting until the slender Greek woman was once again on her feet. She contemplated her partner, who made quite a picture: hair mused, clothes askew, sprawled on the floor, like a little boy who had played himself into exhaustion. The curly-haired woman’s lips twitched then spread into a full-blown smile at the sight.

Mac looked up, seeing the smile on the green-eyed woman’s face and was tempted to tug Stella back down onto the floor next to him to get even. "Is this how you help a friend in need?"

The question brought forth more amused giggles; it wasn't the question itself but the way in which it had been expressed with a sulky, puppy dog look and just the slightest whine in Mac's normally commanding voice. "My dear Mr. Taylor, I'm letting you stay the rest of night... however much that might be. Besides it wasn't me who put you on the floor." The equally drunk woman stated as she reprimanded him by wagging a forefinger in his direction.

Mac watched said finger before taking action. With marine reflexes he grabbed the offending appendage, and, bringing it to his face, he placed a gentle kiss on it. "For which I am truly grateful, Stella Bonasera."

With that said Stella gave the dark-haired man a sloppy grin and got down to the business of helping him stand. There were more missed steps and bumping into furniture as they also turned off lights as they went before they finally made it to the bedside.

Mac incredibly was able to actually sit down without ending back on the floor. "Look we made it," the blue-eyed man cheered, throwing his arms wide.

"Ha um, Mac, lets get this shirt off." Stella was lucid enough to settle him in her bed, leaving him in pants and undershirt. Gazing down at her friend, the solemn-eyed woman just shook her head, curls bouncing, at the drunkenness of the man. She moved to bring up the blanket to cover him when he grabbed her wrist and maneuvered the startled brunette, dragging her down and across himself so that in the end they were laying with Mac's face laying on Stella's stomach. "A very good friend," Mac murmured sleepily. The warm vibration sent a pleasant tingle down the green-eyed woman's spine. From her position it was impossible to move out from under the large man, especially since he had fallen asleep and had his left arm wrapped around her hip, using her as a pillow.

With mild irritation Stella reached across the side of the bed grasping for one of her fluffy pillows, deciding to make herself comfortable. Her slender fingers stroked through the wavy brown curls that were usually so short as to be non-existent. "Hmm, Merry Christmas, Mac." she sighed sleepily as she too drifted off to sleep.