Title: The Spider and the Fly II

Author: Nan

Rating: PG

Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, a shipper story.

Spoilers: Tangled Web

Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web



Harm was in that twilight zone between sleep and full awareness. He was awake enough to realize that the dim forest was brighter. It was moments before dawn. He was lying on the forest floor spooned tightly with Mac. His face was buried in her reddish brown hair with one arm around her waist and the other across her chest. She smelled of sweat and dirt but he found the earthy, musky scent intoxicating.

Don't move a muscle, he told himself. Despite the obvious pleasures of his present position, the lumpy spot on the unrelenting earth was not comfortable. And he knew the moment he moved, every stiff muscle, bruise and bump on his battered body would complain.

So he willed himself not to move. His mind wandered to Admiral Chegwidden. Hey, AJ or what ever the hell I'm supposed to call you now, see me here with Mac? Bet you never thought I'd be lying on the ground holding Mac, now did you? Not Mic. Not Dalton. Not even Webb. But me.

The Admiral in his mind answered back. Yah, Harm, I see you. But I also know you. What did she say last night? She just said 'I'm sure.' What the hell did that mean? It will bother you all day. You will wonder if she was sure that she wanted you. Or was she just sure she wanted you for the one night. Kind of like that kiss she gave Webb. A thank you for rescuing her yesterday. Maybe that is all she meant.

Admiral Chegwidden went on. You don't know how to keep her. You don't even know how to talk to her.

His mind continued to wander. He was standing at The Wall. Soft flakes of snow were falling gently through the cold night air. Harm could hear Christmas carols dimly in the background. He was staring a card in his hand. It was a Christmas card that had been jammed in a crack in black marble near his father's name. On the outside were the words

'To Harmon Rabb Sr.'

He opened the card slowly and read

'The father I never knew.'

Automatically, he lifted his eyes. Standing in front of his was Sergei and Clayton Webb. "Thanks, Webb," was all he managed to mumble as emotions threatened to overtake him.

Webb! Admiral Chegwidden! Harm's eyes popped open. I need to get to civilization. I need to let them know what is going on.

Harm had not been entirely truthful to Mac yesterday. Well, he had been truthful but her exhaustion and crying spell meant that he never told her the entire story of Admiral Chegwidden.

It was true that Chegwidden had accepted his resignation an hour after his reckless decision. But Mac didn't know that when he went back to the Admiral's office, there was a visitor waiting for him. Retired Rear Admiral Thomas Boone sat in the leather chair beside the fireplace. Harm shook his hand briefly, bristling at the implications of Boone's visit.

It was obvious that they were trying to talk some sense into Harm. But neither man was surprised when this second assault on the illogic of Harm's resignation failed. Boone walked Harm to his office and helped carry his personal belongings to his corvette.

"Harm," said Boone. "I want to buy you drink." And he gestured to Benzinger's Bar down the road.

Harm shook his head. "I don't have time."

"Make time for this one." Without waiting for an answer, Boone opened the passenger door and sat down.

At Benzinger's, Boone wasted no words. In his terse and short way of talking, he outlined a plan to provide Harm some backup. They discussed a regular call-in schedule and a list of code words to keep idle listeners from guessing Harm's true purpose. Boone made Harm talk through possible scenarios and listened to proposed solutions. He also promised Harm that he would work some old contacts.

As they parted, Harm asked. "What are you going to do if I don't make a scheduled report?"

Boone pursed his lips. "Don't know. But I'm having drinks with Chegwidden tonight. Who knows, maybe that question will come up."

"The Navy JAG can't involve himself with an unofficial operation of the CIA," said Harm.

"He won't. But you can never tell what twists a story like this will take. Maybe there will be a time when the Navy JAG should step in. But we will keep it quiet until then. Be safe, Harm. Bring her home."

Harm's eyes went bright. "Thanks, Tom."

After Harm had met Gunny in Ciudad del Este, he phoned Boone. Using oblique phrases, he hoped that Boone had gotten the gist of where he was going and what he was doing. Boone expected to hear from him last night.

Mac stirred in Harms arms. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold and watched as she turned her face towards him. She smiled sleepily.

"No cappuccino in bed this time either?" she asked referring once again to the adventure long ago with the poachers.

"We never drank the thermos of tea last night," said Harm. He rolled to one side and sat up. He flexed his shoulder and winced. Ow, that hurt. He felt around his back with his hand until he came to the fleshy part under his arm towards his back. It was warm and swollen. He glanced over to Mac. She was studying him.

Without saying a word, she kneeled behind him. She stripped his shirt and studied the wound. There was an eight-inch splinter of metal embedded deep in his muscle. There wasn't much blood but the area had an angry bruised look to it. She knew it was already showing signs of infection.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Not much, just a dull throb," he answered.

"It needs to come out."

"Not by you," he said. He grabbed his shirt and gingerly pulled it back on. "I'm okay."

"Not for long, if it doesn't come out," she said.

"It's okay. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Sore and bruised. But okay."

They ate the rest of Mennonite farmer's lunch in silence. Harm sorted through the items in emergency kit. He grabbed the flare gun, knife, matches and small roll of Tylenol. He slung the canteen of water over his uninjured shoulder.

"There is no one here to see a flare," said Mac.

"That's not the only way to use a flare gun. As I recall, you used it pretty effectively last time," Harm said.

Mac remembered the poachers. Unarmed, she had pointed the flare gun directly at the attacking man. The flare embedded in his chest. She had gunned him down as efficiently as with a shotgun.

"Got any theories on which way we should head?" said Mac.

"The easiest walking will be down one of the powerline right-of-ways we saw. I was attempting to aim for one as we descended. Overshot it and landed in the forest on the other side. So let's go that way." Harm pointed to the crude path of stripped trees the biplane had created.

Within 20 minutes they were standing on the edge of the right-of-way. Mac looked up and down. "Makes sense that we should descend this hill. Maybe there will be a village or road in the valley."

"Lead on," he said.

They walked for three hours. Deadfall and tree stumps meant for a slow pace. Mac attempted to get her numbed mind to work. She willed herself to stop the endless loop of images from the last three days. It would take a lifetime of nightmares to forget this experience. Summoning all of her Marine discipline, she forced herself to think about the present.

She silently listed the features of this particular situation. A road, a farm or any remnant of civilization had so far eluded them. No sign of the terrorists so far. For that matter, no sign of anyone so far. The canteen of water from the Mennonite farmer was almost empty. Harm needed medical help or possibly surgery on a large metallic splinter impaled in his teres major muscle on his back. Did she miss anything?

Once they hit a road, which direction should they head? They had told the Mennonite farmer that they were flying to a hospital in Pozo Grande. Did Gunny and Webb end up in Pozo Grande? If Gunny had enough time, he would head to Asunción. Health facilities in this country were generally poor except in the capital.

She wanted to avoid Ciudad del Este and the CIA chief, Edward Hardy. She agreed with Harm's assessment. He was definitely a coward and likely a traitorous coward.

The American Embassy in Asunción was their safest bet. She sighed. Once they hit a road, if they got a ride, they were at least 4 hours over dubious roads until the reached the embassy.

They approached the top of a small ridge. Harm, a few yards ahead, stopped. Mac caught up with him and followed the direction of his gaze. In the valley below was the Rio Verde. The tall metal hydro towers over the bush-covered right-of-ways were leading to a large power plant/dam. Leading from the facility was a paved road. Parked at the deserted dam parking lot was a grey Chevy Astro van, similar to several owned by Saddiq Faud. Similar also to the van Harm had left with the Mennonite farmer. Was there someone waiting for them at the dam? Who was it?

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