A/N: A quickie Chapter 37. Hopefully by staying up really late and writing this, I will be able to focus on the tasks I must get done before the end of the weekend…well, that's the goal anyway. Thank you to my readers and reviewers!

Delicate

Chapter 37: Stay Here

1701 Local (PST)

United Flight 2282

Somewhere over Nevada

Mac leaned her head back against her seat's headrest. She knew she should try to get some sleep; it was going to be a long flight, she had nothing better to do than worry, and time would pass more quickly if she were completely oblivious. Unfortunately, between the pounding headache she had lied to Clay about not having and the utter helplessness and terror she felt for Harm, she knew there was little likelihood that the sandman would find her. She sighed heavily. She felt her seatmate shifting toward her and his hand cover hers.

"He's going to be okay, Sarah." Clay squeezed her hand and started to let go but Mac quickly halted him, clenching his fingers in hers.

"You don't know that." There was no rancor in her voice; to her she sounded dull and lifeless, monotone. The turmoil inside her was only expressed in the desperate way she clung to Clay's hand. He returned her grasp in kind, then opened his mouth to speak.

"No, I suppose not, but I do know Rabb and there is no way he would leave you without fighting with every last breath in him. If anyone can make it through this, it's Harm."

Mac didn't even bother to wipe away the tear that tracked down her face. "Thanks, Clay."

They both sat in silence for a while, Mac's eyes closed and her hand still in Clay's. She had the sense that he wanted to say something more to her as she felt him fidget in the seat next to her. Without opening her eyes, she called him on it. "Spit it out, Clay." His movements stilled, and she felt more than heard his sigh over the hum of the jet engines.

"Sarah, I'm sorry."

"For what, Clay?"

"For dragging you into this. For dragging you down to Paraguay. For nearly getting you killed. For coming between you and Harm. For—"

"Clay, stop it. I went willingly. You nearly got killed protecting me. And as for Harm and me…we messed up plenty of times without your help."

"Probably…but I feel like I should have done more for you two. I should have, I don't know, made you talk to each other. I could see it. I could see that you loved him. Every time you asked about him, I knew it. I should have called you on it then. And I shouldn't have…Sarah, I'm ashamed to admit this, but I wasn't shy about mentioning you whenever I saw Harm. I…I rubbed it in that we were together."

"Clay…"

"That wasn't all. Harm wasn't cut out for the 'brotherhood.' He's such a boy scout. The ambiguities of this job, the questionable morality, even knowing certain actions were and are necessary…eventually it would have destroyed Harm. I knew the missions he went on…and I knew when we offered him a job it would involve more than just being a pilot. I was certainly familiar with Harm's particular skillsets; I knew we could use him in other capacities. And though I also knew what it would do to him, I let it happen. After one of his last missions, the look in his eyes…he was so haunted…I was afraid for him. But I let my jealousy override everything and I…well, let's just say I was not a good friend."

Mac had opened her eyes and had long since pulled her hand away from Clay's. Anger had coursed through her veins, but as she turned toward him, she could see the deep regret in his eyes and could only forgive him. She and Harm had come together despite Clay's actions, her actions, Harm's own actions, and at this point it would do no good to throw anymore blame around. She reached for Clay's hand again and gave him a soft smile. "It's okay, Clay."

The relief was clear in his eyes and in the way his shoulders relaxed. They all had scars from Paraguay, but it was time to let them heal and fade. However, Clay's revelation about the state of Harm's psyche tore at her heart. "Clay?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened…what did Harm do? I know that something horrible went down, but he won't tell me…"

"He really can't, it's classified." He smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry."

"Clay…Harm might…die. He might already be…please, tell me…"

Clay's expression was one of sympathy. "If he does…would it really help you to know what he went through? Do you want that to be part of the memories you have of him?"

Mac couldn't stop the freefall of tears. She shook her head, her control crumbling. "Clay…I can't—I can't—if he—I can't lose him." The dam burst then, and she, not even caring that the whole of first class was witness to her breakdown, found herself pulled into Clay's arms. She cried against his three-piece suit, the inane thought that she was ruining a four-thousand-dollar garment running through her head. Clay didn't seem to mind; he held her tightly and let her sob until she was spent, until she finally gave herself over to the sleep she didn't expect to find.

0148 Local (EST)

United Flight 2282

Descending into Dulles International Airport

Mac leaned her head against the cool glass of her window. She had slept for a total of three hours and…well, at the moment she didn't know and didn't really give a damn. Her head still hurt, but the pain had at least dulled, and she was grateful for the few hours of peace she had. Clay was dozing beside her, so she remained alone in her thoughts.

They had just started their descent into D.C. and she was that much closer to Harm. That much closer to landing and being able to turn her cellphone back on. That much closer to learning if he was still alive or if he had succumbed to his injuries. Mac still clung to the belief that her body, her soul, would know if he were dead. It kept her sane, though she knew that her feelings on the manner could very well be wishful thinking rather than any psychic connection.

Mac thought with embarrassment about her collapse on the Burnetts' veranda. Clay had managed to catch her and gently lower her down and she came to fairly rapidly. Clay kept her from becoming hysterical and finally managed to break through her panic and grief to tell her that Harm was still alive. The only question was for how long.

Harm had been found in the storage unit where he housed his 'vette. The car had been running, the roll up door to the little garage down, and Harm had been found unconscious, pinned under the heavy shelving unit he put in there. There had been a lot of blood, but the admiral and whomever Clay talked to were unclear as to the type and extent of his injuries. They didn't know how long he'd lain there; it was just dumb luck that Sturgis had decided to take the car for a spin and to give it a good wash and wax as a thank you to Harm for letting him use it a few times during Harm's TAD. Sturgis had shut the car off and dialed 911, then worked desperately to free Harm.

As soon as the ambulance had left to carry Harm to Bethesda, Sturgis had called the admiral who had just departed from Harm's apartment. Chegwidden had utilized the poorly hidden spare key and let himself in when Harm hadn't' answered and found nothing really amiss. Harm's sea bag lay by the door, likely dumped as soon as its owner walked in. An opened but nearly full bottle of beer sat on the island of the kitchen, its contents close to room temperature. A quick survey of the remainder of the loft showed more evidence that its occupant had been their recently but also gave no indication as to where he was.

Admiral Chegwidden had just locked up and was heading back toward the stairs when his phone rang. It was Sturgis.

That had all gone down several hours ago, and as the plane taxied to a stop by the gate, Mac pulled her cellphone from her purse. She turned it on, noticing that the now awake Clay was doing the same. It took some moments for the phone to come alive, and when it did she saw that there were a couple of messages from her commanding officer. With great trepidation she put the phone to her ear to listen to them.

Mac felt Clay's eyes on her as she lowered her phone. A few tears had escaped but there were no hysterics. As of ten minutes ago, Harm was still alive. He was still unconscious, probably in part related to a combination of anesthesia and another concussion, but he was alive.

She was shaking from relief that her flyboy was still with them, but she knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. He had obvious carbon monoxide poisoning which seemed to be a recurring theme, as well as another concussion and a gunshot wound to his left shoulder. There had also been a laceration along his hairline above his right eye and there were now numerous and varied bruises and abrasions adorning the posterior of his legs and lower back.

Mac appreciated the detailed message the admiral had given her, but very little was going to really register until she actually saw the rise and fall of Harm's chest, the ocean blue of his eyes, and his beautiful mouth curving up into her favorite smile. She felt Clay's hand on her arm.

"You ready? Once we get out of here, there'll be a car waiting to take us to the hospital." Mac nodded and they moved from their seats, heading out of the plane and down the jet bridge to the terminal. Neither of them had any luggage, carryon or otherwise, so there were no delays in getting out of the airport. Very quickly Mac found herself sitting with Clay in the back of a dark luxury sedan headed toward Bethesda. Toward Harm.

0304 Local

Bethesda Naval Hospital

Bethesda, MD

Mac and Clay rushed down the corridor to Harm's room. Visiting hours had long since ended, but a flash of Clay's badge, Mac's marine presence, and the fortuitous arrival of the admiral after a visit to the coffee machine curbed any argument from the nursing staff. Clay had taken her arm and had led her down the hall while the admiral spoke to the personnel at the nurses' station, their steps quickening the closer they got to his room. Soon they were standing outside the half-open door, and Mac could hear from there the steady beat of Harm's heart monitors. It was at once comforting and terrifying—comforting in that the sound was a reminder that Harm still lived, terrifying because they needed the monitors to tell them that.

Before she could go in, Clay pulled her in for a quick embrace, kissing her cheek. "I'll give you two some time alone. Call me if there's any change, okay?" Mac nodded, pulling him back toward her.

"Thank you, Clay," she whispered in his ear, then stepped away. She hesitated a moment before turning around to cross the threshold of Harm's room, nervous about what she might find beyond it and wishing that their reunion didn't involve only one of them being conscious, the other fighting for his life.

Harm's room was illuminated only by the light from his monitors and a rather dim light above the sink, but as she pulled up a chair next to his bed she could still see how pale he looked, how vulnerable. She reached for his limp hand, held it to her cheek and kissed his palm. The familiar roughness of it brought forth her never-ending supply of tears again and she leaned forward, burying her face into his good shoulder. She brought her other hand to his chest, letting the gentle, even rise and fall of it under her palm comfort her as she cried.

Her tears tapered off after a few minutes and the bizarre thought ran through her mind that with all the sobbing and weeping she had been doing over the last several months, she should probably get herself a saltlick. Shrugging the inane thought away, she lifted her face toward Harm's. He looked almost peaceful, but the deepened vertical lines of his forehead belied that. She ran a finger over them, then rose out of her chair a little to first kiss him there before she softly and oh-so-briefly kissed his lips. She sat back down, holding tight to her sailor's hand, and began her vigil.

End Chapter 37