Title: The Spider and the Fly VI

Author: Nan

Rating: PG

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

Spoilers: Tangled Web

Summary: Speculation Fic - conclusion to Tangled Web



True to his naval training and its centuries old tradition of watch keeping, Harm woke four hours later. They were still wandering downstream. In the dim light of the moon, Harm could see that the raft had emerged from the gorge. The river was now winding through gently undulating terrain of fields and pastures.

"Let's stop here," said Harm pointing to a small copse of trees by the riverbank. "I don't want to be on the river when the sun rises. Saddiq will be waiting for us."

Picking up an oar, he guided the raft over to the muddy flats. Mac jumped nimbly out and grabbed a rope. Harm joined her and they started to pull the raft up the bank toward the trees.

"Wait," said Mac. "This raft is a homing beacon with its yellow color. Why don't we let it drift down the river as a diversion? Maybe it will keep Saddiq busy for a while. We can continue on foot."

"Good thinking," said Harm. He grabbed the small pack, knife and shoved the raft back into the current. They watched as it drifted away swallowed up in the darkness.

They both scrambled up the small rise and onto a farmer's pasture. Harm pointed to a shadowy structure in the distance. It was a small lean-to near the river filled with hay and animal feed for the occupants of the pasture. "Let's sleep there for a couple of hours."

Mac collapsed into the sweet smelling hay. Harm joined her, hesitating briefly before wrapping his arms around her. Tonight he could hold her. Tomorrow? It may be denied him forever. He pulled strands of hay over them as concealment. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair.

Harm first heard a distinctive click as ammunition was loaded into the chamber. His sleepy mind took a few seconds to register the noise. His eyes sprang open and he was instantly aware of a man standing over them. The barrel of a shotgun was pointed at his head. Beside him, Mac stifled a small scream.

"Who are you?" the man said in German.

He could feel Mac relax slightly beside. No terrorist was this man but one of the Mennonite farmers in the valley. It could have been worse.

"Americans. Tourists. We were rafting on the river and lost our boat. Can you help us?" Mac replied in her schoolgirl German. "We are unarmed."

The man studied them for a while. He motioned for them to stand. He dropped the barrel of gun but his finger remained on the trigger. His eyes traveled over their bloodied and torn clothes.

In perfect English, he spoke, "I want no trouble here. We live in this valley with an assortment of 'neighbors.' They don't bother us if we don't interfere with them."

He was referring to the Paraguayan drug lords and their connections to the underground. People like Saddiq.

Mac replied, "We just need to make a phone call to the American Embassy. Or perhaps borrow a car? We need to get to Asunción. My companion is hurt." Harm jerked slightly with surprise then grabbed his shoulder.

"Over there." The man pointed with the barrel of his shotgun to an assortment of buildings in the distance. Mac and Harm started to walk as the farmer followed. It was early morning and the pasture was wet with dew. No words were exchanged as they plodded along.

Instead of taking them to the main farmhouse, the German farmer led them to a windowless shed off to one side.

"Wait here," he said. They stood in the open farmyard. There were vehicles on the Chaco Highway in the distance. Harm and Mac looked at one another. They were so close.

Emerging from the farmhouse fifteen minutes later, the farmer was carrying a covered tray and a set of keys. He unlocked the deadbolt lock on the door to the shed and motioned them to go inside. It was an empty garage of sorts, with mechanic tools hung around the edge. Switching on a light, he set the tray down on the bench.

"Some breakfast for you. Hungry, right?" he said and walked out of the door. Mac lifted the yellow gingham towel over the tray. It was filled with pastries, muffins, cheese and homemade bread. A pitcher of apple cider rounded out the meal. She looked at Harm and smiled. He rolled his eyes and smiled back.

The farmer entered the shed again. This time he had two towels, a bucket of hot water, soap and two clean pressed shirts. "I thought you might like to clean up a bit," he said pointing to their ruined clothes.

Before they could thank him, he had exited again, locking the deadbolt on his way out.

Harm looked sideways at Mac. "I think he wants to keep us here."

"Yeah," she said. "But why?"

"Maybe he is hiding us from his 'neighbors'?"

"Maybe he is keeping us for his 'neighbor.'"

"A neighbor like Saddiq, maybe?" said Harm.

Mac felt a prickle of fear run down her spine. Why indeed, would the farmer lock them in this shed? Out of the blue, she felt tears spring to her eyes. They hadn't come this far just to be placed back in the hands of that madman. She tried to prevent it but her mind wandered to that outbuilding on the compound with car battery and wires. Could she face that again?

Harm reached for the pitcher and pored a glass of cider. He could read the fear in Mac's eyes. Somehow, someway he had to prevent them from landing in the hands of Saddiq Faud.

"Here is some cider," he said. "Non-alcoholic. I tested it myself."

She forced her mind back to the present. "Thanks," she said, knowing her appetite was gone. Gathering all of her strength, she forced herself to act normally. "I'm starving," she lied.

A flash of admiration appeared briefly in Harm's eyes. This indomitable spirit of hers was a side of Mac that he would always love. Marine training? Maybe, but he suspected that she always had it, even before she joined the Corps.

He picked up a muffin and wandered over to the clothes that the farmer had left. He threw the smaller shirt toward Mac. "Why don't you use the bucket first? I'll turn my back."

"A gentleman to the end," she said without thinking. She quickly looked up at Harm. He was looking at her with an expressionless face. "Poor choice of words. I'm sorry," she retracted quickly.

"It's okay," he said turning his back.

Her hair was slicked back and her face was cleaned of blood and dirt, when Harm finally turned around again. The large T-shirt was cinched at the waist with a knot.

"How do I look?" she smiled at him.

"Pretty good for marine," he said.

He gingerly stripped his shirt feeling the light cloth pass over the wound on his shoulder. He glanced at her. Before she could speak, he started, "I know what you are going to say. You can change the dressing after I finish cleaning up."

He lathered the soap, working the lather over his face. He had a two-day beard growth. Wonder if the farmer would lend him a razor? He washed his arms and chest. He poured the remaining water over his head, rinsing the soap away. He almost felt human again.

Mac had dug the first-aid kit out of the pack. She sat down behind and began to tear off the old bandage.

"Harm?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"If you don't return to JAG, have you given any thought about what you are going to do next?"

"A little," he said.

"There is number of law firms in DC that would love to hire you."

"I guess," Harm replied. "But I don't see myself representing some military contractor in court against the Navy."

"Okay, next guess. A flight instructor."

"Maybe. Sounds a little routine," said Harm.

"A commercial airline pilot," said Mac.

"Sounds very routine, yeeech." Harm frowned.

"A Jazz guitarist in a Georgetown pub?"

"Now you are getting closer. You think someone might pay me to play the guitar?" Harm sounded hopeful.

"Well, you better think of something. You are still paying off the corvette, right?" She patted him on the back. "All done. It is healing nicely. I did a pretty good job with it, all things considered."

Harm shrugged on the clean chambray shirt. "Don't quit your day job," he quipped.

"Now if I quit my day job, where would that leave the admiral with both of us gone?" she said.

"A lot happier?" he said. They sat down side-by-side together sipping cider.

"Harm?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for all did," she said.

"You mean crashing a plane and ending up in the hands of a farmer who is about to give us to God-knows-who?"

"No, I mean quitting your job, going against orders just to rescue Webb and myself," she said.

"You are welcome," he said.

Outside, there was the sound of a vehicle crunching on gravel and men's muffled voices. Mac turned to Harm. She hadn't expected this so soon. Was it Saddiq?

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