Stella's seen Mac really, truly drunk only three times during their entire friendship.
Once was after Claire died.
Another was after they brought Aiden's killer to justice.
And a third is right now; with him still in the suit, he wore to bury his wife's only child.
"Mac, come on let's go home."
Mac ignored her, staring straight ahead like he didn't even see her. He had a bottle in one hand, it was almost empty, and his other hand clutched a bouquet of flowers from the funeral, "He was 23 years old, Stel. 23. He was all that was left of her in the world and I let him die."
"You didn't let him die, Mac. You tried to warn him," her words were caught off when Mac sent the bottle slamming into a nearby headstone.
"I should have saved him. I should have locked him up. I knew he wasn't thinking straight. I knew he wasn't….he was Claire's son, Stella. I should have done anything, everything to protect him."
Stella remained silent, not really knowing what to say, and understanding on some level that Mac had to get this out.
"When he came and found me it was like…it was like she was here again. My wife hadn't really died because she'd left a child behind. It didn't even matter that he wasn't mine, he was hers. He had her eyes."
Stella nodded, her own eyes filling with tears as she thought of her lost friend.
"Now, now, he's dead and for nothing, he's just gone and it's…"
"Don't think of it like that," she said, coming closer and laying a hand on his shoulder, "He's not gone, Mac, he's just with his mother now. He's there and he's waiting for you, they both are."
Mac could not contain the tears a moment longer and laid his head on her shoulder, crying for the loss of Reid, the loss of his wife, and the loss of hope in the future.