She pulls the door open, and steps aside to allow the party on the other side to enter the house. He steps inside, and surveys his surroundings. He tilts his head to the side.
"It's eerily quiet," he points out.
"Harm's mother came to pick her up about an hour ago."
"How are you feeling?"
"As if my head bounced off a concrete floor," she responds.
"Can we talk?"
She nods, and leads him into the kitchen. They each take a seat at the kitchen table. Mac sits at the head of the table, and he sits to her right.
"I feel as if I should explain myself," he begins.
She shakes her head, "You don't have to."
"I reacted poorly."
She touches his arm, "It is okay."
"No, it's not."
"I understand."
"I don't think that you do," he argues.
"I know what happened to your wife, and daughter. I understand your reservations."
"I have tried to move on."
She grins, "Three more times."
"Apparently I am not marriage material."
"Maybe you just weren't ready to let the past go," she suggests.
"You sound as if you've had some experience with that."
"More than I care to recall."
"I want to be involved," he explains.
"Okay."
"You're okay with that?"
"Gunny, I am okay with whatever you want to be involved with."
"What are you expectations?"
"That you will show up on time," she answers.
He grins, "Once a marine…"
"…Always on time," she giggles.
"I am more than willing to let you lead on this one. Your rules, your expectations."
"How do you want this to work?"
"I barely know you, and…" he struggles to find the right words to finish his thought.
"You knocked me up, and now I'm having your baby?"
"Yeah."
"You investigated me for murder. I am fairly certain that you know more intimate details about me than I share with most. You know about my career history, my financial history, my educational background, and my past marriages. You also know that I've been accused of murder more than once. You learned how I take my coffee. What more do you want to know?"
"What made you choose to retire?"
"I have been career focused since I was nineteen years old. I've been married, and widowed twice. I am not interested in a billet at the pentagon, or consulting for a private military contractor. I just want to get to enjoy my life. I don't want to miss all of the important moments in my children's lives."
"You have no plans to go back to work?"
"No."
"You don't want to go into private practice?"
"Nope. I've been there, and done that. I just want to stay home."
"Would you ever get married again?"
"Not particularly," she admits.
"You didn't like being married?"
"I am not a great wife. The first time I was married I was young, and stupid. I married someone who was all wrong for me. We went our separate ways, and I tried to put it in the past."
"You didn't succeed?"
"He showed up unannounced, and ended up dead."
"And the second time?"
"I had no doubts that I was marrying the right person. Somewhere along the way I became consumed with having a family, instead of paying attention to my marriage. It started crumbling around me, and I didn't even know it. All I could focus on was having a child. I neglected my husband, and our relationship. I couldn't give him the emotional intimacy that he needed. How many times have you been married?"
"Four."
"You've been divorced three times?"
"I thought marrying again would help me move on with my life."
"It didn't?"
"They all wanted to change me. They thought I could be fixed."
"Wouldn't be nice if you could just fix all of the broken pieces, instead of having to learn how to deal with them?"
"I guess that I've spent a lot of time looking in the rearview."
"You're not the only one."
"The thought of having another child seems completely surreal," he admits.
She breaks eye contact. She stares at her growing stomach. He shifts his glance to her abdomen. She wears a grey v-neck t-shirt that clings to her stomach.
She nods, "I know what you mean. The thought of me gestating one seemed completely impossible until a few months ago."
"How did you react to that?"
"Not well. As I recall there were many choice words used. I am not a spring chicken, and this was not supposed to even be a remote possibility."
She eventually returns to a state of consciousness. She finds herself in the back of a moving ambulance with Agent Gibbs sitting in silence to the right of her. She blinks. She looks down at her chest. A bright purple bruise on her sternum catches her glance. She takes a deep breath, and then looks over at him. He meets her glance.
"What did I miss?"
"You were telling me that you were pregnant, and that you didn't use you dead husband's sperm, when you passed out," he explains.
"Oh."
"We should be at the hospital any minute."
"You didn't have to come," she insists.
"I just want to make sure that you're okay."
"I'm fine," she insists.
"Is there anyone that I can call?"
"No."
"Do you want to have someone meet you there?"
"No," she tells him.
"What about the father?" His breath hitches.
She swallows hard, and tries to decide which road to take. She carefully considers the ramifications for all of about two seconds before she lands on stretching the truth. She takes a deep breath, and allows for her non-verbals to demonstrate a sense of honesty, and candor, instead of the deceit that she's about to spew from her mouth.
"He's not in the picture," she responds.
"Okay," he decides to leave it at that, afraid what she might say if pressed for further details.