Title: Compromise

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.

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I'm walking down the hall after leaving Mac's office, scolding myself. Why didn't you hug him? He needed a hug. But as usual, I had just set my hand on his arm as I left.

It happens all the time. Whenever I touch his arm or his shoulder, it's a substitute for hugging him tightly, offering him comfort and encouragement when words fail, trying to show him that he's not alone.

Pretty much anything I do around Mac is a substitute for something else, I muse as I scan in the prints I lifted at the scene this morning. He probably wonders about my obsession with his ties, but I know what I really have in mind: when I loosen his tie, it means I want to nuzzle his neck. Mac has the nicest neck of any man I know. I want to kiss it and nibble at it until I find the spot that makes him shudder with pleasure. I know I could.

These prints are taking forever. The trouble with boring tasks is that they give my mind too much opportunity to wander. I think about when I touch his face, an impulse I rarely give in to because he gets all shy and embarrassed. But not so much as if I did what I really want to do: push him against the wall and kiss him until he can't breathe, and keep going until he kisses me back.

And when I loosen his tie and unbutton his collar, it's because I want to rip his shirt right off him, to feel his muscles rippling beneath my hands, to kiss my way down his chest.

This line of thought is not helping. And neither is it going away. I close my eyes and remember the time he slowly slid out of his shirt right in front of me.

And he thought I was looking at the scar.

Note to Mac: Get a clue.

Then, of course, I had felt guilty for thinking like that, when he was injured and Flack was near death. But I really wasn't in control of my thoughts at the time; I was grasping for any distraction to keep from sobbing in relief.

Mac comes in then, putting away his cell phone. "Lindsay says the girlfriend has the same blue substance on her shirt."

I stare at him and have to give my head a little shake before I comprehend what he just said. Mac looks at me curiously. "You okay?"

"Yeah." This is why you don't daydream in the office. "That just means she's been in contact with him, doesn't it?"

"Depends on what it is. It might help us find the primary scene."

I've finally finished scanning, and I leave the computer running through AFIS as we start processing the victim's clothes. Or at least I start processing. I know without even looking up that he's watching my hair again. It's good to know I'm not the only one who can't keep my mind on my work. Intent on my tape lifts, I lean my head just a little so my hair falls forward, and then tuck it behind my ear. Might as well give him something to look at, I reason, and grin inwardly when he swallows and looks back down.

Stop teasing him, my inner voice says.

Why? I ask myself. He's welcome to do whatever he likes about it.

Even the way I wear my hair is a compromise. It would be much more practical to wear it up or pull it back. It would stay out of my way, and be much cooler in the brutal summer heat. But whenever I have it up, I have a fantasy of Mac coming up behind me and setting his lips against the back of my neck, murmuring about lab results or whatever he came to tell me as his lips slide up behind my ear… I'm so easily distracted by this that it's better to just leave my hair down.

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Our shift is finally over. My thoughts continue to race all the way home, and I realize that Frankie was my biggest compromise of all.

I was desperately lonely, Mac was still grieving for Claire, and then I met Frankie at a party. He was exciting, and different from any boyfriend I'd ever had, and he said he loved me. And shortly after that, when Mac seemed ready to move on, he started seeing Rose. So I stayed with Frankie, settling for second best. And look where it got me, I think.

That's not fair, I tell myself as I take the elevator to my floor. He could have just as easily been a nice guy, like all the other men I've dated, but eventually, like all the others, I would realize it just wasn't working, and we'd break up. It happened every time. Because none of them were Mac.

This is silly, I think a little angrily as I unlock my door. If I know what I want, why do I keep settling for something less? Why do I settle at all?

I go into the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. As I look at myself in the mirror, it hits me.

This is not who I am.

Since when do I accept substitutes instead of going for what I want? I didn't get where I am now by doing that. I could have been like so many of the girls who grow up in the system, ending up on drugs and on welfare, living in poverty, sleeping around just to support a habit. I had made up my mind early on that none of that was going to happen to me. It took backbreaking work and tears and determination, but it was worth it in the end. If something is worth having, it's worth working for.

Mac is definitely worth having.

So, go for what you want, I tell myself. But this time, it's not just about me, it's about two people. I'm not going to throw myself at a man who isn't interested in me. I need to find out if Mac is interested.

Yeah, whatever, my inner voice rebels. I don't notice him staring at Lindsay's hair.

The only way to find out is to ask him. I go to work the next morning with renewed resolve. No more fooling around.