Bethesda Naval Hospital

Bethesda, MD

0030 hours

Mac sat in the hospital chapel. She wasn't an atheist, but she wasn't particularly devout either. Tonight, however, Mac prayed like she rarely had since that dark May night, when he was nearly lost attempting to return for her ill-fated wedding to Mic Brumby. They had overcome, now without difficulty, the disaster that began with Harm's return to flying. But not, their friendship, which had seen them through some of the darkest periods of their lives was little more than professional civility. The question of what had gone wrong had haunted her since the Admiral's call. It would be easy to blame the CIA and that damned trip to Paraguay, but it started with the dead Lt. Singer and Harm's rogue investigation in order to protect his brother. Why had he not trusted her? That lack of trust was what led her to ignore his pleas not to go the night she left. And now he was petitioning for custody of a teenage girl. For months he'd gone without telling her until he needed her help.

If she was honest with herself, she had given him reasons for doubt; from her marriage to Chris to accepting Mic's proposal two days after he asked her to wait. And when he seemed ready to talk, she left for duty in Indonesia and worse; after he had given up the thing that had defined his life to save her and she hadn't even thanked him. She owed him more than that. She may have abandoned the idea of a romantic relationship with him; she would fight with everything she had to salvage their friendship and if testifying for him would help, then she would do so gladly.

However, he had to survive first. She had called Webb to request the records Cpt. Hollis had asked for.

Clayton Webb's apartment

Alexandria, VA

2330 hours

Clay had hoped to be home in time to see Mac, but events in Iraq had delayed his return. When he entered the apartment, he immediately headed for the kitchen, seeking the bottle of scotch that had become his favorite pain reliever after the torture he suffered in Paraguay. He started to pour his second drink when his phone began to ring. He considered letting the answering machine pick it up, but hoping it was Mac, he picked it up instead. "Hello?"

"Clay, it's Mac."

He was happy to hear from her for the first time in two weeks, but his happiness was short-lived as Mac relayed the details of Harm's accident.

"The doctors need access to his medical files during his time with the CIA."

"Sarah, those files are highly classified, I have to get clearance from the director for that."

"Wake his ass up if you have to, they're Navy doctors, they can handle classified information."

"I'll do what I can, but it will take at least a day."

"Thank you, Clay."

Clay knew he had no choice but to do as she asked. Harm had been one of the few true friends. He has saved his life more than once and he also knew his relationship with Mac hurt him more than Harm would admit. He also knew, despite her denials, Harm would always hold a larger place in her heart than he or anyone else ever would. He would never understand why the two of them had never acted on the feelings that were obvious to those who knew them. He was a realist; what Mac felt for him was an obligation for protecting her, guilt for the injuries suffered doing so, but not the love he felt for her. He had won by default; this was the least he could do.

The call with Webb had gone better than Mac had hoped. Clay made no secret of his jealousy of Harm, and his initial reluctance to help made her question if it was the ingrained habit of a career or his jealousy, but he had agreed to help and now Harm would get the help he needed and that's what mattered.

Mac left the chapel torn between her heart, which didn't want to leave his side, and the voice in her head that mocked her with reminders she forfeited the right to stay. Harm has gone to the ICU; visits have been limited to fifteen minutes. She was trying to give herself reasons not to stay, but she needed that time to see for herself that we were alive and let him know he wasn't alone.

The sight of his pale, bruised face hooked to a respirator, made her want to run. Instead, Mac sat beside him, instantly holding his hand as if it was a normal act, and began to talk. She knew it was a long shot, but she hoped what was left of their tattered connection would bring him back.

"Harm, I know you hate to lose an argument, especially to me, but this is ridiculous. Come on, flyboy, where is the smart-ass comeback?" Mac began to tear up and her voice cracked as she continued to speak. "I'm sorry, Harm, I should have known how hard it was for you to ask for help from me after Paraguay and you can hate me if you want as long as you live. Your parents need their son, our godson needs you to spoil him and teach him to fly. JAG needs its big brother and troublemaker to take the heat for the rest of us, and hate me or not, I don't want a world without you in it…."