Chapter 11 - Out of Control
"Running through the night

To my master

With thoughts of destruction in my brains

Out of control

I can hear the warlord calling :Give your soul."

"Out Of Control" by Warlock.

Five Days Later.

Keeter was getting used to picking up messes, it seemed that was exactly what the CIA had hired him for once they saw he was more than just a pilot. With Mac, work had been easy, simple. She took the lead and never really made any mistakes, keeping cool and collected.

The only time control had slipped had been that one day when they'd almost slept together after consuming too much wine. That was once and it never happened again. She had kept her emotions on a tight leash, lived for her work and was damned good at it.

Why the shootout had happened was still a mystery he was trying to unravel and the last four days had been spent babysitting one Naval Commander that was more out of consciousness than he was in. Keeter had asked Toronto Detective Anthony Marx for assistance in the form of a qualified doctor that came to check on his friend.

Marx was sitting at the table having coffee with Keeter while Dr. Emily Adler checked on her patient. She was the woman Marx went to when things went a bit sketchy, a former high school friend that he kept out of trouble in more than one occasion. Adler had arrived almost an hour after Mac had left several days prior and began to repair her handiwork, starting with opening the wound.

"She could have killed him." Dr. Adler had said to Keeter who more or less explained what had happened. The hair stood up at the back of his neck at that little piece of information. It saddened him to believe that Mac probably wouldn't care if Harm died.

He surmised that she was too far gone now and really didn't know how to get her back. Surely seeing Harm hurt would have struck a chord? Instead she was distant, uncaring and unfeeling. The look in her eyes spoke volumes and he realized it wasn't an act.

This icy persona was now all of her. Shreds of the old Sarah MacKenzie barely remained. If he was honest will himself, Mac scared him. When she was upset it seemed like she could snap at any moment and he'd be the next casualty. "Thanks, Doc." Keeter said and stepped away from the gore.

Dr. Adler had cleansed the wound, started Harm on antibiotics and made sure infection didn't set in. She hadn't asked any questions as favors for Marx were usually of the hush hush variety. She also visited daily, in the morning before her shift at a clinic and after hours.

"He's doing fine now." Dr. Adler declared, noting Harm's skin was back to normal and any infection had been staunched. "You can take the IV out once the drip is done. He's lucky it wasn't any worse." The wound was on his left flank and he was lucky it hadn't penetrated much at all or nicked anything vital.

Keeter snorted. "Luck has nothing to do with it. Harm's got more lives than a cat." And a guardian angel in the form of his father who keeps him in the land of the living, he thought ruefully. "And the wound?"

"Healed pretty much, Commander Rabb can start moving around once he wakes up." She covered up Harm's torso and made an adjustment to what was left of the IV bag.

Grabbing her things, she went over to Marx and raised his head up with her finger. "You owe me dinner and a few other things, Tony." She said cheekily and waved at Keeter as she made it out of Mac's loft.

"Tony?" Keeter said with a snort and watched as Marx blushed. There was a story there, he knew but, decided not to dive into it. "What were you able to find out?"

"Nothing. Just as quickly as the ambush happened, those responsible have disappeared." He scrubbed a hand over his face and nervously napped his foot against the hardwood floor. "Just a thought...What if they were after MacKenzie?" It was the more plausible out of all the possible scenarios. Chadwick just wasn't important enough to be attacked and killed, he may have been just a casualty of something bigger. "I've tried to get through to the agency but, ever since Webb's death, the usual suspects aren't biting. I'm practically out in the cold here."

Keeter slid a small note across the table with a phone number and a word scribbled onto it. "I was supposed to meet with my contact in Buffalo, that kinda went to shit when MacKenzie left me to deal with her little problem." He motioned to Harm and shook his head. "Here's his code name and number. I have a feeling something big is going on."

Marx took the paper and finished off what was left of his coffee. He needed something stronger but, the itch would just have to wait until he made it to Buffalo. "I'll get in contact with you as soon as I hear something." Casting a glance towards Harm, he frowned. "Rabb seemed real anxious to see MacKenzie."

"They have a history." It was a simple truth that was likely much more convoluted than Keeter could imagine. He hadn't really spoken to Harm or Mac in years and his partner hadn't been forthcoming with any information. In fact, just bringing up Harm's name had brought up a hostility in Mac that was irrational.

Marx snorted, "History, huh?" He said with air quotes and received an annoyed glare from Keeter. "Lucky bastard to have any kind of history with her." With that, the detective stood. "I'll contact you as soon as I can."

Montreal, Canada

Mac pressed herself against the stone walls of the lavish mansion that made up the summer home of CSIS' Minister of Public Safety, Marguerite Cloutier. She used the darkness and the shadows to move across the expansive estate.

The home itself was built like a castle, the product of old money and lavish tastes. It seemed more like a 500 year old Chateau in the French countryside with a well manicured lawn and intricate gardens that circled around a massive fountain.

From the moment Mac began spying on CSIS, there had been talks of visiting Cloutier's estate and the over the top parties for select members just to show off.

Pulling out a small map, she studied the plans for the home that the CIA had dug up months earlier, specifically a small room in the guest house adjacent to a library, a panic room with a hidden latch where it was thought that Cloutier held certain information.

Within the months that Mac had been stationed at CSIS, she had scoured the whole building including Cloutier's office finding that nothing much was out of the ordinary. Part of her assignment had been to take information from CSIS for the CIA to analyze but, as the months trickled on, chatter came over the lines and a photo emerged of Cloutier having an affair with a former Russian liaison.

The CIA was on high alert and concerns that Cloutier could be leaking information became a priority along with infiltrating Chadwick's now defunct group. She suspected the two were linked, despite the money that Chad had attained, Mac highly doubted that he conducted his business without outside help.

Mac pulled a small Maglite from a pouch at her hip and turned it on, holding it steady in her mouth as she set to work on opening a window on the ground floor of the guesthouse. She did so effortlessly and then disabled the alarm sensor.

She squeezed through the window and lowered herself into a crouching position, pressing her back against the wall as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Mac remained silent for several long minutes listening for anyone that may be inside the guesthouse. Satisfied that she was alone, Mac stood and turned her flashlight back on so that it emitted a red light. She used it to find her way around as she moved down the hallway to the library.

Mac pressed her fingers to a specific spot on a wooden frame hearing a lock disengage and a shelving system crack open. Inside, an overhead lamp flickered a few times before emanating a luminescent glow that bathed the 12x12 room in light.

One wall was lined full of monitors that alternated images of the mansion and its grounds. She stared at them for a moment, noting that the only guards were at the front of the property inside a guard shack. Satisfied that no one would suddenly sneak up on her, Mac turned away from the monitors to a laptop which sat atop a small desk. This is too easy. She thought to herself after firing up the machine and copying all of its files to USB drive.

Just in case, she moved through the small space, checking every crevice and corner finding only survival items like a first aid kit, food, water and blankets. There was something odd about the flooring, a bowing when she walked over that had Mac pull back a rug to find a trap door. She pulled at the latch and once it opened, pulled at a metal door that opened a compartment.

From inside Mac pulled out a metal briefcase that was locked. It took several tries but, Mac managed to pick at it, opening the case to find wads of cash in different currencies along with passports to match the currency. Each had pictures of the same man. Not just any man, Mac deduced, it was the Russian she had seen in the pictures with Cloutier.

She also found another, larger briefcase inside which were various vials with a liquid, orange substance. Grabbing a small digital camera, Mac took snapshots of each case and then carefully placed them back in their hiding spot.

The lack of security made it easy for Mac to slip out of the guesthouse and back to the main mansion. Once she was back in her room, she fired up her laptop and plugged in the USB to see the files she had copied. To the untrained eye, the drive had nothing but junk, family photos, bookmarks of web pages with favorite recipes, music and movies.

It was the junk folder where the goods were and Mac was able to pull up blueprints for several US interests in Canada including the Consulate in Toronto and the Embassy in Ottawa.

There were folders for the US personnel in each location along with pictures, addresses, bank accounts, birth dates and phone numbers. Troubling was the fact that some of the folders had pictures of spouses and children. "Shit." Mac said out loud when she opened a final folder one with information on nuclear power plants in both the US and Canada.

She needed to get back to Toronto ASAP.

Mac's Loft
Toronto, Canada

"So, what the hell are you doing here, Keeter?" Harm asked once he was awake for longer than a few minutes at a time. Adler's IV cocktail had kept him asleep for most days. He was now seated on the sofa hungrily devouring most of the pizza that Jack had ordered for them.

Harm discussed the Phonebook with Jack and what little bits and pieces of information he got from Clayton Webb. He let his friend know that the spy was still alive although he did not delve into Webb's whereabouts or his plans to stay in contact through Marx. It bothered him to see Keeter so unfazed about the news and suspected they were prepared for something like this.

"I think Webb made sure she was working with me as a way to keep Mac safe. She's had a few close calls though, she hasn't exactly gone into many details. I hate to say that this kinda thing suits her." Keeter said with a rueful expression as he made his way through a bowl full of chicken wings making Harm cringe when he dipped each wing more buffalo sauce.

"She's resourceful, smart." And was usually the easier of the two to slip into a cover. Mac had a knack for it and Harm suspected it was a sort of artform, the facade she wore to fit in to society in order to hide her past. But, this was more than just an act and Harm knew it. There was a tension between them at the club, an icines to her tone as she excused herself. And her eyes, they couldn't hide her anger at seeing him there.

Harm had hoped that it was the shock at seeing him after over a year apart but, he knew something was off. He could feel it and the thought of Mac joining the 'darkside' scared him. The way she treated him days prior when he found her in the bathroom bleeding was troubling. She had taken a defensive posture and Harm knew she would have lashed out.

It was still Mac but, it was as if a different version of her, someone who had shut down to do her job. He had seen parts of that woman in the past when she tried to shut her emotions off to get through a case.

"Mac seems a bit...distant." This time, it was like it consumed her and the idea troubled him. Maybe Webb had been right when he warned Harm that Mac was not the same? "Webb told me she was different."

"She is different." His friend sighed at his words and stood up, walking to a large wooden globe next to an armchair. The top opened up on hinges exposing various bottles of hard liquor and a few glass tumblers. Keeter poured himself a bourbon and offered one to Harm who declined. "I never believed something like that really existed outside of the movies, you know? I thought she was just in the zone. But, after an assignment we went out to dinner, one bottle of wine turned into two and…"

"Mac drank?" Harm felt the hair rise on the back of his neck and chill through thought his spine. He glanced around the loft, noticing the subtleties that were very much Sarah MacKenzie, his eyes dropping back to the bar and the liquor. None of the bottles were full and he began to panic. "She doesn't drink, Jack."

"Yeah, right." Keeter snorted, finishing the bourbon and refilling his glass. "Could have fooled me."

Standing up, Harm walked to the bar and confirmed his suspicion, there was no vodka - her drink of choice - the liquor she consumed during her youth. "Mac's an alcoholic, she's been one since she was fifteen." He hated betraying her trust but had no choice, he needed to know how far her cover went.

At Keeter's confused expression Harm clarified. "She had a rough upbringing… She was clean, sober and now…" Just how much of herself had she given up to the agency? How much more was she willing to risk and for what? Harm felt sick at the thought of them using her, but it was worse to think that she had allowed them to for him.

Dejectedly, Keeter sank into the sofa next to his friend and placed the rest of his drink on the coffee table. He stared at the amber liquid and recalled a night so many months ago when too much wine was consumed and he almost slept with Mac. "I don't think she started drinking again until I pushed it on her." He admitted on a sigh. "We finished up a rough assignment. I urged her to let loose some… I didn't know." The feeling of Harm's eyes on him was almost too much to bare and he shamefully brought his head down not because of the alcohol consumed but, because of what nearly happened. "I'm sorry."

Jealousy was an ugly trait, one that Harm seldom indulged in his past with his former lovers. It was with Mac that it reared its ugly head turning him into an absolute jerk sometimes. "Son of a bitch." He couldn't help the rage, the anger, the want to pummel his friend to the ground. Harm's fist connected with the side of Jack's face. "You son of a bitch, how could you?"

"I never slept with her!" Keeter defended, moving quickly away from his friend with his hands raised in defense. But, Harm was stalking him, moving like a jungle cat about to pounce on his prey. "I swear it, Harm...It almost happened but..." Back then, Jack wanted it to happen as the alcohol had fully stoked his desire for Mac. It was on that very sofa that she pushed him into. Mac had straddled him, kissed him and made Keeter forget who they were for a moment until she called out a name.

"But what?" Harm demanded. "Tell me."

"She didn't want me. In her mind, it wasn't me she was with, it was you... Mac called your name clearly. I guess the alcohol made whatever control she had slip." He settled back next to Harm on the sofa. "I know you have a thing for her. If I hadn't been drinking, I would never… You know that." Keeter grabbed the drink off the table and finished it with one swallow, he wanted to toss the glass across the room and smash it against a wall. "It was the only time she's said your name since we've been working together… She won't talk about you. If she does she calls you Commander." It disturbed him to hear her voice so calloused the few times she spoke about Harm which was not much at all. She had warned him to cease all conversations about his friend.

"It can't be that bad." Harm said more to himself although he sensed it, the notion that she wasn't his Mac anymore. And she'd done it for him. "Jesus Christ, Keeter. She did this to keep me in the Navy."

As if on cue, the sounds of the tumbler turning on the door lock echoed through the loft. A small suitcase was wheeled into the space and one very pissed off former Marine stood at the entrance.

The moment she stepped up to the door of the loft, Mac knew that The Commander was still there. She held her key with shaky hands willing herself under control again as the headaches began their slow torment. 'There will never be an us.' She pushed the thought into her mind with emphasis and it calmed her shaking hands but, the headache was still there. The ache grew exponentially when she stepped inside to find the Commander and Keeter sitting on her sofa.

Without a word, she grabbed a pair of jeans, underwear and a long sleeved shirt from her dresser and then disappeared into the bathroom. She showered with the hottest water that her skin could stand hoping to ease the pain in her head. Only it kept pounding over and over, never abating. When she stepped out, the Commander and Keeter were still in the same spot staring at her wordlessly. It was absolutely unnerving.

Mac pulled out the USB drive from the slacks she'd been wearing when she entered and tossed it at Keeter. "What we need is there." She said and then made her way to the globe, pulling out a bottle of bourbon and one tumbler. "What is The Commander still doing here, Jack?"

Harm stared at her as if seeing a different person not the woman he'd been friends with for over seven years. "You don't drink." He stated as she swallowed the drink in one gulp and then refilled the glass. "Mac!"

For reasons unbeknownst to her, all Mac could do was laugh at his words. She wasn't sure if the Commander was concerned or admonishing her, likely a little bit of both, but she really didn't care. The Commander had no claim on her life and never would. "I told you to get him out of here."

"Mac, I couldn't. I had to bring someone in to clean up the mess you made." Keeter said, eyeing her cautiously as she moved away from the bar and went to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets to pull out a protein bar. There was a calculated grace to her movements as Mac propped herself up on a barstool. "Webb's alive. The Phonebook was stolen. Maybe those men were after you, not Chad."

She snorted at his words. "Right. Someone would have told us."

"It's the truth, Mac… Webb's alive. I spoke to him, in person." Harm managed to find his voice again and stood making his way cautiously towards her. "You're in danger."

"Stay away from me." She warned him, turning to look at The Commander with a look that would kill. Mac hopped off the stool leaving her protein bar half uneaten as she moved towards Harm. "I don't want or need you here, Commander. You need to go home. You have to go back to Washington." 'There will never be an us.'

"I'm not leaving without you." His voice was soft but firm. There was a flash in her eyes, an acquiescence for the briefest of moments. "Sarah, listen to me, please." He took one of her hands in his and felt her tremble at his touch. Mac's eyes were cast down, her breathing uneven and he believed that he'd broken through her walls. "Sarah, look at me."

There will never be an us. The war within Mac was real. From bumping into him at the club, she knew his touch would fracture her control. How she let him get this close was a wonder but, she would put a stop to it once and for all. "Stay away from me, Commander."

With her free hand, Mac pulled out a small pistol from the waistband of her jeans. She had grown accustomed to always carrying a piece at home and having weapons close by, at the ready. It had been one of several tips that the agency and Webb had ingrained into her. 'There will never be an us.'

Her finger was on the trigger when she raised her arm up, pointing the pistol at the Commander. Her hand shook for a moment and although the headaches never ceased, the warm metal in her palm helped her slide back into control. Mac's mind raced with the command, a simple command that told her to shoot him. It would be easier that way, with him out of the picture and the incessant headaches ceasing altogether. Messy but, easier to deal with.

Keeter could always clean up the body while she went on with her job.