Envy: zilevo, fthono

Stella Bonasera walks towards an empty row and reflects on what she has just done. She knows she hasn't been entirely honest with either one of them and wonders why she bothered doing it in the first place. Out of habit, probably. The only thing her foster families had in common was this, and thus it grew to become something of a second nature to her. Thriskeia made her believe she belonged.

She sits down and ponders why she feels like the world's biggest hypocrite. She thought she was a good person overall. She cared for those who were victims, and helped capturing those who did wrong. Granted, she had killed people, a big no-no, but it was part of the job. She wasn't a dolofonos. And a way of staying alive, a voice whispers inside her head, shivering when she remembers Frankie. All the atonement in the world is going to help dealing with that one. And back in the more mundane world, neither has therapy, but she ain't telling that to either source.

Deep down she knows why she's feeling the way she's feeling. It has to do with the guilt of an unconfesed sin. And the enochi burdens her like nothing she had experienced before.

Stella Bonasera is a bad person. A good person wouldn't envy those around her. A good person would feel eftychismenos for their accomplishment and their own personal happiness and not envy that it was them and not her.

She is consumed with envy at everything that surrounds her. When she sees a family, she longs for the one she never met. When she sees lovers, she misses the ones she had but had gone away. When she sees mothers with their kids, she mourns for what will never be. She envies the small unimportant things in life, like blue boxes from Tiffany and fur coats and limo drivers and private jets ready to leave for Italy at a moment's notice.

She envies all the people that will go through their lives without ever having to see even one hundredth of the pain and destruction she sees on a day to day basis. She envies those who had had a peaceful death, unaware of what had happened, for she knows her death will be anything but. She even envies those who work with her.

She envied Flack's sense of destiny, having never questioned his calling in life, and being damn proud of who he was. She envied his perifania.

She envied Mac's anger at life's injustices, and how he worked on making things better and not just wallow in his pain. She envied the way he worked around his timos.

She envied Lindsay's resilience and the way she moved in such calmed fashion even in the worst situations. She envies her melancolĂ­a and how she doesn't let it get the best of her.

She envies Peyton's drive. She knew what she wanted and she went for it, she waited for it, she worked for it. She envies her afierosi for the man she loves and the job she adores.

She envies Shel's hunger for knowledge and justice, and how he'd patiently wait for you to figure things out rather than pointing them in the first place. She envies his peina for the truth.

She envies Danny's "devil.-may-care" attitude, how he goes for what he wants without hesitation. She envies his pathos for life.

Her list could go on and on, and she's not sure her papas would even try to understand her. He'd probably tell her she thinks too much about the things that she shouldn't be thinking about. He'd probably tell her that she is a good person, a good woman, a good cop… a good Orthodox, even. He'd probably listen to her in confession and move his head in disbelief and disagreement and sent her out to do her penance. Atonement for her sins. A new beginning with a clear conscience.

So she settles to do just that. And just before she kneels down on her favourite pew, she reflects on what she heard earlier that day, that maybe envy wasn't such a bad thing, not when it moves us to be better people every day. And she wonders if she'll ever be as good as those who surround her. The least she could do was try.

And she could begin right there and then. Simply by asking for guidance and forgiveness like she has done many other times: Pater imon o en dees ouranees, agiatheeto to onoma sou. Eltheto ee vasilia sou, os en ourano, keh epi tees ghees. Ton arton imon ton epioosian dos imeen seemeron...

o o o O o o o

A/N: Well, it's done now. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed researching and writing it. To answer some of your questions:

I'm not going to translate the words used that were written in other languages.

With the exception of Danny, everyone else is saying "The Lord's Prayer".

The languages used were (in order) Italian, German, Irish Gaelic, Scots Gaelic, French, Dutch and Modern Greek. Some of the choices were obvious cannon, the others were based on surname origin research

I TRIED writing each chapter in a different tone, to give each character a different voice. Notice the usage of the verb "try".