Title: Letter To A Baby Girl
Author: StarrySkies
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own anything CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, or Alliance Atlantis own. I had to recap part of an episode to fill in a certain section. That is definitely not mine. (Don't sue 'cause I ain't got no money.)
Spoiler: contains recaps of "On the Job" mixed with post-ep.
Summary: It's the only connection she's ever had to someone she's never known.
A/N: The date I used is Melina's real birthday. I thought it was important that "Stella" have the same. :) And the name used at the end is actually one of Melina's friends. It's the only Greek name I could think of.

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All she has is a crumpled envelope that is hidden in the back pages of her Bible in the top drawer of her nightstand. Somewhere back between Corinthians and Revelations. It's a dingy white color with red and blue stripes around the outside edges. There is no address from which it came. Nor, is there a name for whom it was meant. No postmark, no stamp. Nothing. It was handed to her the day she turned 18.

Sister Miriam was seemingly already knowledgeable of its contents, even though the back was sealed, because she handed it to her with an apprehensive smile. "For you," she had said. "It's from your mother."

"I don't have a mother," she responded dryly and went back to straightening the blanket on the same pathetic bed she'd been sleeping on for years.

"Stella…" the nun crooked her head to the side, the letter still in her outstretched hand. She wasn't exactly the biggest fan of Stella's cynicism. So headstrong at such a young age. "Take it. She wanted you to have it."

She eyed the paper before accepting it. "Thanks." She nonchalantly tossed it onto her dresser without giving it a second look and began changing her pillowcase. Sister Miriam sighed and turned to leave. The girl could be so difficult sometimes. She made it to the doorway when Stella called out to her in a meek voice.

"Do you… remember her?"

She stopped mid-step and turned around slowly. "Very well." She looked across the room at Stella. She'd told her this story many times over the years. And Stella always pretended like it was the first time she'd asked. But she knew it was important to her, so she pretended too. "She was 17 years old. She had dark, curly hair, just like you. Lovely olive skin, just like you." Stella closed her eyes and smiled. "The same nose… and the same sad eyes." Seeing Stella standing there was almost like staring straight into a memory. Though the cause of the sadness was from different heartache, it was still very much the same. "She brought you to me when you were two days old." She noted the pain in Stella's heart as it swept across her face. "Don't be mad at her, my child. She said she wanted you to have more than what she could give you."

"And what's that?"

"That's not really for me to say. I'm sure she had her reasons," she added, looking toward the still unopened letter on the dresser a few feet away. Stella looked in the direction and smiled nervously. "Well, I'll leave you to your bed," she announced and turned once again to leave the room. "Remember, your birthday dinner will be ready in an hour. Don't be late."

"I won't… Hey… Thanks for… that, you know."

"You're welcome, child."

It's been read so many times that the creases in the paper are starting to wear tiny holes.

Stella once thought about asking Dr. Giles to run a DNA profile from a cotton swab she used to run over the adhesive from the envelope – assuming, that it would still work after all these years – and even went so far as to rubbing a swab on the inside of her own cheek in hopes of matching the results. Just so she would have something that is undeniably true within her reach. But it would have to have been done off the record without names or a case number, so no one could find out what she was doing. Not a very good chance of that. She assured herself that it was nothing more than a waste of time and ended up throwing the samples in the trash before she even made it to his office.

Ignorance is bliss, so she tries to tell herself every time she considers using her job to investigate her own past.

"If that child needs anyone right now, it's you." Mac. She heard that one sentence over and over again as she drove to the hospital when she got off of work. Like some old 45 with a scratch across the vinyl. And she somehow convinced herself that what Mac had told her was true.

She picked the infant up from the hospital crib she'd been laying in for the last 48 hours. "Hey. It's Stella. Remember me?" She held her as the baby cooed. Pressed her cheek against the baby's soft, fine brown hair. She had smiled when Daniela grabbed her finger and started to chew on it. A particularly odd feeling, Stella thought, but a good one.

"Detective Bonasera?" a voice called from behind her. Startled, Stella spun around and saw the woman nod, signaling that it was time to return the child. She held her close for another moment, breathing in her scent, secretly wanting to keep her as her own, and then had to do what she knew was right. The baby left her arms, leaving Stella the most alone she'd ever been as far back as she could remember.

"Tell the parents I'll be right there," she managed to force from her lips.

"Take your time," the social worker said and carted baby Daniela out to her "parents." Stella was angry and sad and helpless all at the same time. That title shouldn't have been given to them. Not them. Not two people who waited until their schedule permitted them to pick up their daughter after their nanny had been murdered two days prior.

Took a couple of minutes, but she composed herself before heading out of the nursery. In the hallway, she went through the procedural information giving to the Myersons. All things she could recite in her sleep: Your daughter will be fine. An arrest has been made. The police would like to speak with you. I hope everything is resolved for you soon.

She had to leave after she looked in Daniela's eyes for the last time. Stella blew the baby a kiss, and the precious little girl smiled. "You have a beautiful daughter," she said and rushed to the elevator.

She cried beneath her arms, resting on her SUV's steering wheel. Tears for herself. Tears for Daniela. Tears for the people who gave birth to that baby and didn't realize how cherished she should be.

She shouldn't have picked her up. Shouldn't have held her close like that. Felt her heart beating. That way, she wouldn't have gotten attached. But if she didn't, who would have? Someone had to make sure she was safe. She couldn't just let her lie there, wondering where her Mommy and Daddy are, why she wasn't in her own home, why she wasn't seeing the dark woman who took her to the park everyday.

Stella and she were the same for those two days. Neither had parents nor anyone to hold onto. Only each other. They connected that way, whether Daniela knew it or not. Mac had seen it in Stella's eyes that she needed that baby just as much as Daniela needed her. He had that way about him, knowing instinctively what Stella needed, never out-right telling her, but gently nudging her in the right direction. She had always been grateful for that.

She began to wonder if she had reacted as Daniela did when she was discarded at the orphanage. Whether her own mother was affected the way she was when she had to let her go. Stella doesn't remember ever seeing her mother's face. She was just too young. And maybe Daniela won't remember seeing her in the nursery, but that is as it should be, Stella believes. Though, Stella will always remember her.

When she got home that night, she headed straight for that drawer and retrieved the Bible. Those sad eyes took in every word on those 3 pages of lavender stationary. They contained the closest thing to a family tree that she'll ever know.

"Stella,

I've asked the Sisters to give this to you on your 18th birthday if you're still with them. By then, you will be old enough to understand what I'm going to write here. I will understand if you're not ready. In which case, you can wait to read the rest whenever you are.

I am 17, a year younger than you are today. You were born on April 23, 1967, and you were named after my grandmother who came over from Greece. You weighed 6 lbs. & 8 oz. You were the most beautiful baby I had ever seen! (Of course, I may be a little biased because you were my very own.)

My mother and father have said all along that I was not allowed to keep you. We moved here so that I could have you, and afterward, we will be moving back home, where everyone else will forget about me ever being pregnant. That is the plan -- my father's plan. (I won't forget you.) Since I am not old enough to make my own decisions, I have no choice but to send you to St. Basil's. But I know they will take good care of you. They will be able to give you everything that I can't. And you deserve so much more than me. So much more. I hope they will love you and make sure that you get a good education and that you will turn out better than I did.

I want you to know that I didn't give you away because I didn't love you. Because I did love you. I only got to spend 2 days with you in the hospital, but I knew I loved you even before you were born. And I am sorry for you having to go through this. It was never my intention. I wish you a happy life and enough love to fill ten lifetimes, and I am sorry that I cannot be there to experience it all with you.

Seh agapo.

Love,
Your Mother,
Katina"

She tries to imagine her, just a kid, sitting down to write this to a child she knew she would have to give up, and how hard it must've been for her to just walk away and let everyone pretend like it never happened. Like she never happened. Where is "back home"? Why wasn't my father mentioned?

"Bonasera" is Italian. She researched it. The other half of her heritage. She had spent all of her free time in college taking extra language courses in both Greek and Italian. As if somehow, through reading all of these books about the countries her ancestors came from and speaking their languages, that she would be just a little bit closer to being a more complete person, fill in all of the pieces she had been missing.

And she had cried in the library all alone when she found out that "Seh agapo" meant "I love you" in Greek.

It would be difficult to find "Katina" without her last name, considering the fact that her grandfather never wanted her born, it wouldn't be likely that her mother be allowed to marry her father. Maybe that was the point of withholding her last name from the letter, so she wouldn't be as easy to find. She had a feeling that Sister Miriam had known it. But she passed away when Stella first started working for the department in Brooklyn North. Maybe one of the others knows.

But Stella isn't ready to look. She convinced herself that is the way her mother would have wanted it because it's been 38 years, and she hasn't come looking for her daughter either. There are so many more things Stella still wants answered, but for now, the letter will be there on days like that when she needs it until her mother can be.

The End.

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