Hello everybody! This story is NOT dead, I promise. I just keep having either no time or no mood to write. So here is another short addition to keep the storyline going for now :) I promise at least one more update this week! God bless, stay safe.

Mac was lying curled up on her side. Her eyes were closed, her face was pale and Keeter could see little tremors shaking her from time to time.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"Hardly," she breathed out and opened one eye. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"For?"

"Ruining today."

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged his shoulders and unceremoniously plopped down on the bed beside her. "I've played paintball enough times. It's a common activity. Seeing a Marine get her period during paintball on the other hand..."

He laughed and barely escaped her arm that swatted at him. The sudden movement jolted her insides and she buried her face in a pillow, groaning.

It was not just the ugly "Aunt Betty" tormenting her. Her whole body was weary and tired and aching. She had overestimated herself. How stupid was she? After months of wasting away, she thought she could just jump right in the middle of an adrenaline sport and it would be OK. It was not. It took about ten minutes for her to realize her mistake. Her breathing was laboured, she was sweating, her muscles were hurting. She was slow and quickly became dehydrated. She should have just ended, admitted defeat, but her stubborn nature pushed her through another hour of the game. She spent most of it hiding, cursing and missing all of her targets. Keeter went wild, took everybody else out only to find her crouched under a tree, hugging herself a little later. By that time she had felt the familiar cramps, which were getting stronger by a minute.

One agonizing car ride and confused tampon-buying stop later she was back at the hotel and Keeter was both laughing at her and taking care of her.

"You really didn't plan this well, did you?" he said teasingly.

"Please. Don't tell me you are one of those guys who think women actually have power over their periods," she answered. "I can't turn it on or off. Not to mention..." she paused.

"Not to mention what?"

"Not to mention it has been... a while since I've had one. I guess I kinda... forgot."

"How can you just forget?"

"Just leave me here to die in peace," she said and determinedly closed her eyes again. She was NOT discussing her irregular period cycle or any other part of her reproductive system with Keeter. It had been humiliating enough to explain what kind of tampons he had to get her and that the colour was NOT the only thing to keep in mind. And NO, it did not matter how PRETTY the box was either.

"No can do, sweetcheeks. Rabbster would kill me. And you look like death twice warmed over. What can I do for you?" His mirth was still there, but his tone was gentle. His presence calmed her. He was not Harm. Nobody would ever be Harm. Nobody would ever make her feel like there was nothing but her and him in the entire universe and so nothing could hurt her. But Jack was a good, steady man and she trusted him. She had trusted only a few men like this before. Her uncle. AJ Chegwidden, once. Even John Farrow, though she knew from the beginning her relationship with him was a mistake. Jack Keeter was like a brother.

"Reverse the past two years of my life," she suggested half in jest, half with painful longing. She expected some clever jab, some ironic comment and was astonished when instead he took her hand in his and squeezed it.

"You can talk to me if you want. You know that" was all he said. They were quiet for a few minutes.

Unlike Harmon Rabb, Jack Keeter was a patient man. Crazier perhaps, less introverted and introspective for sure. More realistic. They kept each other honest when they were at the Academy and ever since, even if months and years have passed between meetings. Jack Keeter loved all women and didn't love any at the same time. But he knew his friend and the moment he saw him wrap his arms around Sarah Mackenzie in an Iranian desert, he knew Harm was in love. Two days with her in the same desert made him see why. And understand. And perhaps he was even a bit jealous. If he were ever to settle down, he would need a woman like Mac, but he suspected there were not many out there. During his work for the CIA he had seen the ugly, tortured and dark side of human existence and came to cherish his friendship with Harm - and with Mac - as some of the bright sparks in all that darkness. He would be damned if he was going to let anyone put those sparks out. Not on his watch. Right now it seemed both his friends were in the clutches of something dark. He was both decisive enough and patient enough to help them out.

His patience was rewarded when Mac finally whispered: "You know what is cruel? The fact that I even have a period. That I will keep having it for years. And it will be nothing but pain and bother without any reward."

She waited for a question, an explanation. Keeter did not push, just squeezed her hand once more.

"I can't have children," she said then, even more quietly. "I can never give Harm children."

He wanted to answer. Say something comforting. But he was dumb-struck. Of all the confessions he had heard none was as unexpected. And somehow more painful. He had just decided to stay silent because silence is sometimes the best thing one could give.

But there was a knock on the door.

Warily, Mac drew herself up to a sitting position. Keeter grabbed his gun before opening the door.

"There is no need for that. I believe we are all civilized people here," the voice Mac would know anywhere came to her. She froze.

"Some of us, perhaps," Keeter answered.

"In any case, I have come alone and unarmed, as you see," the voice spoke again. "I need to speak to Sarah."

"She may not want to speak to you."

"I'm afraid she will have to. You see, it is not just her and Commander Rabb who are in danger anymore."

Keeter weighed the decision for a moment, then stepped aside, his gun never leaving his hand.

Elegant as ever, Porter Webb stepped into the room.