Hey folks, busy day tomorrow so I'm posting this one a little early.

Now for those of you who have memorized every episode of the show you might notice a little difference between the way Claire describes her ending up preganant with Reed and giving him away and the way Mac describes it to Reed in season three. There are two possible explanations for this.

1. I had not seen that episode before I wrote this but had formed a different story in my head and, after seeing the episode, decided that I liked my version better because it wasn't such as much of a cliche.

2. Mac lied to Reed in order to protect him from certain facts (like his grandmother being a total bitch, for example, at least she is in this story). Maybe "lied" is a little too strong, "oversimplified things" is probably a better way to put it. After all, he'd only just met the kid, he didn't want to freak him out too much.

Feel free to make your mind up, I'm just flagging it because I really don't want a bunch of reviews just pointing out my little continuity error when I alreadyknow it exists (it's not like CBS have never mucked up the continuity before). Anyway, author rant over. Please enjoy this chapter, it's one of my favourites.

Jill xx

Chapter 10: Confessions

His face has coloured slightly at the memory and the other man gives him a moment.

"What happened in Beirut?" he asks after a while.

"Hm?"

"Your scar, how did you get it?"

Unthinkingly his hand brushes the spot on his chest.

"Attack on a military base, took some shrapnel."

"You hurt bad?"

"A lot of others were worse."

"I see. Do you sleep much?"

He frowns.

"No. Why?"

"Just wondering. It ever bother Claire, your not sleeping?"

"A little I guess, to start with."

***

He felt her moving on his chest, trying to nuzzle herself back to sleep but failing. With a little sigh she lifted her head, blinking at him.

"What time is it?" she wondered groggily.

"It's just gone four o'clock. Go back to sleep," he whispered, kissing her forehead gently.

"Four o'clock? What the hell are you doing awake?" she asked, pulling herself up into a sitting position, keeping the sheet close around them both, making Mac smile at her modesty.

"I don't sleep much," he told her gently. "Don't worry about it."

But she was frowning at him in concern.

"I'm a Marine, Claire," he added. "I'm supposed to be in a state of constant vigilance."

"Even when you should be asleep?"

He smiled slightly.

"Even then."

She rolled her eyes.

"That's dumb," she muttered.

"Mm, come here."

He pulled her close, kissing her warmly before letting her settle against his chest once more, her nose caressing the side of his throat.

"How long will you be away?" she asked in a small voice.

"A few months, about five probably."

Her arms tightened around him for a moment and Mac stroked her hair.

"Can I write to you?"

He craned his neck to look down at her.

"You want to write to me?"

"Of course I do," she said indignantly and then grinned up at him. "After all I wouldn't want you forgetting about me and taking up with some Eastern beauty."

He laughed and hugged her closer.

"Fat chance. It would be nice if you wrote though."

Normally the only people who wrote on a regular basis were his mother and Tucker. The thought of receiving even occasional letters from Claire made him feel deliriously happy.

"Good, because I'm going to write to you once a week whether you like it or not."

"I look forward to it," he said, kissing her forehead once more. "Now go back to sleep, you have work in the morning."
She gave a small groan but complied, closing her eyes and snuggling down as he continued to stroke his fingers through her soft hair.

***

He spent the next night with her too, wanting to keep her in his arms for as long as possible, memorising the feel of her skin, the shape of her body, the sweetness of her kisses. He watched her sleep, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest and the steady beat of her heart against his own.

As he lay there it occurred to him that they only had one more day before he had to leave and the thought weighed heavy upon him. He'd never felt this bad about leaving before, not since the first time he'd gone away to training camp, his mother fighting the tears as she waved him off. He'd felt sick then, and uncertain, but now he felt strangely hollow, as though a part of himself were preparing to remain behind with Claire.

Claire called in sick that day and they went to the park, walking hand in hand in the October sunshine. Later they went back to his mother's house so that he could pack. Claire sat on the edge of his bed, alternately watching him and looking around the room.

"Is that your guitar?" she asked, pointing to the instrument that sat in the corner.

"Yeah that's Lucille."

"You named your guitar Lucille?" she asked with a giggle.

He gave a small shrug.

"It was good enough for B.B. King."

She laughed and threw a pair of rolled up socks at him.

"Am I interrupting anything?" said Moira from the doorway.

Mac shook his head.

"I was just introducing my girls," he said, indicating the guitar.

Moira chuckled softly at him.

"Come on downstairs, lunch is ready," she said.

Tucker swung by late that afternoon and they sat in the living room, talking and laughing. Moira made dinner for all four of them and Claire helped so Mac and Tucker washed up before Tucker went home.

"Hey, keep in touch man, you hear me?" said Tucker, pulling Mac into a hug.

"I will. Listen, keep an eye on these two for me," he said, indicating the two women behind him. "I don't want them causing trouble while I'm gone."

"No worries bro."

They hugged tightly once more before Tucker finally took his leave, waving from the gate as he turned down the street towards home.

Mac came back into the hallway to find Claire reaching for her coat.

"I guess it's time I was heading home too," she said quietly.

"I'll walk you," he said eagerly but she shook her head, glancing back at Moira.

"No it's okay, you stay here."

"I appreciate the thought," said Moira, gently laying a hand on Claire's shoulder. "But you two go on. I'm not so selfish as to keep him to myself on his last night."

Kissing his mother and promising to be back in the morning to pick up his bags and say a final farewell Mac grabbed his own jacket and took Claire's hand, leading her out of the door as Moira stood, smiling fondly after them.

***

They practically fell in the door of Claire's apartment, his fingers already seeking the fastenings of her coat, her hands on his belt buckle, pulling him closer to her hungry lips.

Their moans were loud and uncontrolled as they rolled together on the bed, the need to touch finally boiling over; oblivious to everything but each other and the swift and steady march of the hours towards the morning.

His breath ragged in his chest, his voice a dull rasp against her damp skin, he whispered "I love you Claire," over and over again as she shivered in his arms, her tears mingling with sweat until eventually exhaustion came and the darkness claimed them.

It was still dark when Mac awoke, but when he stretched slightly there was no comforting weight on his chest and when his eyes adjusted to the meagre light he saw that Claire was gone.

Worried, he rose, pulling on his pants and making his way to the living room. There, her knees up under her chin, clad only in his discarded undershirt, she sat, staring out of the window in the darkness.

"Claire?"

He stopped in the doorway, afraid that if he spoke too loudly she would disappear, so ghostly did she appear the in the pale white light of the streetlamps outside her window.

She looked up at him and he saw the tear tracks that glistened on her face.

"Claire what's wrong?" he asked, finally approaching her, slowly.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said in a small voice. "I just wanted to think."

"You didn't wake me," he told her gently, nearing her side. "What's going on?"

She took a deep breath and looked at him with eyes still brimming with tears.

"There's something I want to tell you, but I'm not sure if I can."

He knelt beside her.

"Claire honey, you can tell me anything."

Her head dropped to her knees.

"I want to tell you but I'm afraid you might hate me, and I couldn't stand for you to hate me. I was going to tell you before, but I thought it might spoil things and now you're going away and you said you loved me and I love you too, and I just couldn't live with the thought of you being so far away and not knowing, or finding out from someone else…" she was rambling but managed to stop herself, drawing in another breath which was really more of a sob.

"Claire please," he begged, reaching out to touch her shoulder, "tell me what's wrong."

She raised her head once again, looking him in the eye.

"I have a son," she said.

It took several seconds for Mac's brain to process the information she was giving him.

"What do you mean?" he asked dumbly.

"A little over a year ago I had a baby, a little boy." She bit her lip. "I had a baby and I gave him away."

She swallowed hard and Mac could only continue to stare at her, his concern for her battling the vague sense of horror that seemed to have arisen at her confession.

"What happened?" he managed to ask after a little while.

"I met up with an old boyfriend from high school one night and we both got a little drunk and I got a little careless and then a couple of weeks later I found out I was pregnant."

Mac nodded, urging her to continue.

"I'd just moved into this apartment," she continued softly. "I didn't even have a job. My best friend had left town to go to university and there was no way the father was having anything to do with it. I freaked out, went to my mother for help. She suggested I had an abortion but I just couldn't go through with it. Then I decided I would just keep it; God did she ever hate that idea. As far as she was concerned I would never get a good job or a good husband if I kept it. She kept at me for months until she wore me down. There was no one else I could go to, no one I could talk to so, in the end, I gave in. I let her put my little baby up for adoption. She didn't even let me hold him."

She choked back another sob and Mac could feel his heart breaking for her. No wonder she didn't talk to her mother. All that confidence she showed was just an attempt to fill in the cracks left by an experience she was still really too young to have to undergo.

Mac let his arms slide carefully around her as she continued to weep, cradling her.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's okay."

Still sobbing she climbed out of the chair and into his lap, her arms going around his neck.

"I love you," she told him. "I couldn't not tell you."

"I know," he murmured, rubbing her back. "But you have told me, and everything's going to be alright."

She buried her face in his neck.

"I love you," she repeated.

"I love you too," he said, hugging her tightly.

They sat like that for a little while longer until Claire's sobs lessened and she pulled away slightly, looking up at him.

"Can we go back to bed?" she asked and he nodded.

"Sure."

He stood, still cradling her in his arms and carried her back through to the bedroom, laying her down gently before climbing in beside her.

"I've got mascara on your shirt," she whispered apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," he told her. "In fact, you can keep it, it looks cute on you."

That drew a small smile and Mac felt a little surge of victory for having achieved it.

"Can I come with you to the airport tomorrow?" she asked, fighting a yawn.

"I'd like that."

"Thank you."

He wrapped his strong arms around her protectively.

"Go to sleep," he told her gently and she nodded.

He lay, stroking her hair and listening to her breathing in the darkness.

"I love you," he whispered one more time before he fell asleep too.