Title: Simple as That

Author: Banana Tooth

Rating: K

Classification: Mac/Stella

Disclaimer: I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.

Author's Notes:

1. I wanted to try Mac's POV this time. Let me know what you think.

2. Peyton? Peyton who?

I never thought it could be that simple.

It's the end of a long day, and I sit on my sofa, watching the news, waiting for our story to come on to see how they would get it wrong this time. I don't know why I even watch the news anymore…it's always wrong, and I always know more than they do. I guess I just want to see what other people see. Maybe it makes me feel like a normal person.

It's too quiet here. It always is. That's another reason I don't like to watch TV—it reminds me that I don't have anyone to watch it with. I can forget about that, most of the time, when I'm working. Maybe Stella doesn't know that, maybe she thinks I just don't know how to let go and relax once in a while. I do. I just get tired of being alone.

Now I'm doomed. I've let her cross my mind, and now I can't help but return to the thought I have nearly every night. I wish Stella was here. I look at the empty spot beside me on the couch and imagine her curled up beside me, her head on my shoulder, her hair tickling my face. I reach my arm along the back of the couch and picture myself reaching around her shoulders, pulling her closer…

And then, all I see is an empty seat. I turn off the TV and walk around the apartment, and at last I lean against the wall, dejected. I have to face the truth: I miss Stella.

It seems silly to say that, when we just finished a ten-hour shift together. We were with each other nearly every minute all day, working the case, and still I didn't want to see her leave. You'd think we would get tired of each other. I'm sure she gets fed up with me and is only too happy to go home, but I'm never tired of her. Even when we're fighting. She's beautiful when she's mad.

I force myself to admit what else is at the back of my mind. I've felt this way before. I could never get enough of being with Claire. I would crave her company, miss her as soon as we said goodbye. But that was because I loved Claire…

I sit back down, my face in my hands. It occurs to me that if I were gone, I wouldn't want Claire doing this. I would want her to try to find happiness again. It's easy to say that, but I mean it. And it hurts to admit it, but I know she would want the same for me.

A year ago, I thought it was time to let go and move on. And I did try, with a little prodding from Stella. But I know now that I hadn't really let go. It still seemed like I was being unfaithful, going out with other women. It seemed to mean forgetting Claire.

I'm not going to forget Claire. She was my first love. But she's gone now. There's no way to change that.

I feel light. Even free. It's as if I have her permission…

I go out the door, locking it behind me, and down to the street. I get a cab and give Stella's address before I can change my mind. And then I'm at her door, and I hesitate. I shouldn't have done it like this, I should have called. What if she's out? Or busy? Or has company? I press the doorbell.

She's barefoot, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and so beautiful. She's surprised, but she seems happy to see me. She stands aside to let me in and shuts the door behind me. "What is it, Mac?"

Just tell the truth. "I missed you," I say simply.

She doesn't point out the obvious, that I haven't even had time to miss her yet. "I always miss you," she says quietly.

Holding her gaze, I move toward her slowly, taking her hands in mine. I lean down just a little—she's shorter than I am without her heels—and kiss the corners of her mouth, and then the hollow of her chin, and then her lower lip. I pull back a little to see her face, to make sure this is all right, and she pulls her hands from mine and slides her arms around my neck.

I'm not really sure what happens after that, except that she's in my arms, and she's kissing me and I'm kissing her, with everything we've got. She breaks for air and I kiss her forehead and eyes and the bridge of her nose until she impatiently brings her mouth to mine again, her hands in my hair, pulling me in to her as if she'll never let go.

After a while we grow quieter. My heart is pounding—I'm getting too old for this, I think. She leans against me, her breath coming in little gasps.

"Come and sit down," she says finally, and pulls me to the couch. I sit down and can't help but grin as she settles into my lap. It's surprising how well we fit together. She gives a little sigh of contentment and kisses my chin, and then leans her head back against the arm of the couch, looking up at me.

"I've been waiting for years for you to do this."

I stare at her. She has? "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She sets her hand along my face. "We weren't ready, Mac," she says gently.

I nod. She's right, as usual. But does she mean us, or does she mean me? I realize she's never pushed me, never told me to move on. She did ask once why I still wore my wedding ring, but she accepted my answer, such as it was. There was no lecture about how it had been nearly four years by that time, that it was time to let go.

"Do you think we're ready now?" I ask her.

She laughs, and pulls my face down to hers and kisses me again. "Judging by tonight…I think so."

I must admit, I think so too.

She's growing sleepy, and I watch as she drops off in my arms, her face partly hidden against my sleeve. Watching her sleep, I start to feel drowsy myself…

When I wake up, it's six in the morning. Funny how I hardly ever sleep through the night in my own bed, but sitting up on a couch with a beautiful woman on my lap, I seem to have no problem.

It's a long time before she stirs, nestling closer. "What time is it?" she mumbles, still half-asleep.

"Almost seven," I say, and she suddenly sits bolt upright, almost bumping her head on my chin.

"In the morning?" she exclaims, pulling her arm from behind me so she can see her watch. She scrambles off my lap. "Oh my goodness, Mac, are you all right? Are you stiff?"

I'm laughing at her. I can't help it; she's adorable. "I think I'll be fine."

She sits beside me, brushing back her hair. "I can't believe I did that."

"So, did you sleep well?" I tease her.

I don't think I've ever seen her blush before, but she does now. "Apparently," she answers.

"So did I," I tell her. I pull her to me for a kiss, and she leans back on the couch, pulling me down with her, kissing me hard.

"Do we have to go to work?" she murmurs.

"I'm afraid so." I hate to be a killjoy, but we still haven't wrapped up the case. I disentangle myself and get up. I am a little stiff, after all. "I'm going back to my place to change."

She gets up too, and wraps her arms around my waist. "I guess I have to keep my hands off you at work, don't I?"

"It might be a good idea."

"Oh well…I've managed up till now…"

I never thought it could be that simple.

It's almost a year later now. Our wedding is next week. I'm reminded of all this as we sit on my couch, watching the news, watching them get it all wrong again. Only now, I look forward to watching the news because we make fun of it, trying to guess what they'll do to the story this time.

It seems a long time ago now: the nights alone, the unnecessarily long hours of work just to stave off loneliness, the empty seat on the couch.

Her left hand lies in my right and I rub my thumb over her ring. It sparkles as it catches the light from the TV. She turns her face against my shirt. "Don't let me go to sleep, Mac. It makes my neck hurt."

"Hey, I can't help it if my company puts you to sleep."

She snickers. "Well, you don't have to let me sleep the whole night."

I grin as she promptly drops off. I'll wake her up in a little while. Right now, I just like sitting with her. It's as simple as that.