A/N: Well, here's the epilogue to Time Passages. Sorry for the long delay - RL jumped in with both feet, making it difficult to get any writing done. Hope you enjoy.
Epilogue
Friday Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 0720 Local
Mac slowly opened her eyes and stared at ceiling. She was back in the twenty-first century but she wasn't experiencing the elation that she thought she would. Avis was dead and so were Avril, Josiah, Corinna and Deacon. Mac angrily scrubbed at her eyes. It wasn't like they'd all been snatched away in some massive catastrophe but that's what it felt like. Determinedly, she told herself that it was foolish to be grieving over people who'd been dead for close to a century.
She sighed and looked around the sparse and sterile-looking room. The overpowering smell of disinfectant had told her she was in a hospital even before she opened her eyes, as did the thin mattress, hard pillow and stiff, heavily starched bedsheets. Outside her closed door was a constant cacophony of sound. Voices talking, the rattle of carts, the hum of machines, ringing of phones and the constant buzz of fluorescent lights. If she didn't already have a headache, she would surely have had one soon. Irritably, she shifted and inhaled sharply at the pain from her leg. Damn, that had hurt. She looked accusingly at the IV attached to her arm. She would have thought they'd have given her some sort of painkiller.
Mac closed her eyes again. Last night was hazy, to say the least. She only had vague recollections - fleeting, disconnected images of Avis, Josiah and Harm. She was fairly clear about everything up until Caine had smacked her in head. For some reason, she was pretty sure he was dead and not from old age. Trying to ignore the pounding in her head, she attempted to arrange the little bits and pieces that were floating around into some sort of coherent order. Had she seen Annabel last night? Her hand went automatically to her neck and then her eyes flew open in a panic. Where was it?!
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself upright. Goddamn hospital! What the hell had they done with that necklace? They had no right! The little nightstand next to her bed was depressingly empty. Where would they have put her clothes? Looking around the room, she spotted a narrow door. A closet? Maybe... Squinting against the headache that had just intensified, Mac eyed the distance she would have to travel. If she used the bed for support, it would only be a couple of steps on her own. She could manage that. However, there was the bed rail and the IV to deal with. Carefully, she eased herself to the side of the bed and rolled her eyes downward. Her head was much happier when she kept it on an even keel. The IV was on a portable stand - perfect. Now all she had to do was slide the rail down. With a little care, it shouldn't jolt her too badly. The rail didn't want to go down without a fight, but she finally managed it. Mac took a moment to catch her breath. Then she pulled the covers off and set her jaw - moving her injured leg was going to hurt. She slid her good leg off the bed and gingerly prepared to shift the other.
The door opened at that moment and Harm walked in. He stopped dead, taking in the scene, and then he glared at her, "Mac, have you lost your mind? What the hell are you doing?"
"Annabel's necklace. I need to find it." Mac kept her jaws clenched, her leg did not want to be moved.
"What?" Harm hurried to the side of the bed. Mac still seemed determined to get out of bed. He put his hands on her shoulders, "Mac, stop it. You're going to wind up on your face and you'll probably rip your stitches out. It's not that important."
"Yes, it is!" Mac flared and then winced. She ran out of steam suddenly and sagged against his hands, "You don't understand." She let Harm reposition her on the bed.
He got her settled and then raised the head of the bed so she would be upright. Brushing the hair off her forehead, he let his hand linger on the side of her face. "Why don't you explain it to me?"
Mac reached up and grasped his hand, bringing it down to her lap and holding it in both of hers. "I'm not sure I can," she kept her eyes focused on their hands, willing her head to stop aching. At an encouraging sound from Harm, she took a deep breath, "Well... you know how long I was gone?" Harm stared at her, "Of course I do. Dear God, Mac, that was the longest week of my life. There was absolutely no trace of you anywhere. I was going out of my mind worrying."
Mac looked up, startled, "A week? Harm, I was there for three months. It was days before I believed it was anything more than a very vivid nightmare. When I realized... when I accepted... that it was real, I didn't know how I was going to get back or if it was even possible. That necklace became my only link with my life here. Something tangible that I could hang on to whenever I felt overwhelmed with everything that was happening. I've held onto it through hell and high water, literally, and now it's gone." She stared at Harm anxiously, "I have to find it. I need to return it to Annabel. She saved my life when she gave it to me."
"Mac, I'm sure it's okay. The hospital took it for safekeeping," Harm kept his voice soothing although he was becoming a bit worried about her overreaction to what was typical hospital procedure. Hell, it wasn't like they'd never been in one before. Bethesda probably had standing room reservations for them. And Mac thought she'd been missing for months? Annabel had said as much but he was having a hard time accepting it. He was having a hard time accepting the whole thing.
Harm was beginning to doubt what he'd seen last night, or at least, the context in which he'd seen it. It was so far-fetched. Time travel via some mysterious fog? Impossible. Sitting in the dismal little waiting room while they worked on her leg had given him time to construct his own theory about what had happened. In between the initial calls to the Admiral, the Roberts and his parents (all of which he kept decidedly brief: Mac's found, she's injured, we're at the hospital, no word yet), he had worked out the angles of his scenario.
Mostly, it involved an elaborate con and some local survivalist nuts. The only part he figured was true was that Mac had had a car accident that night. Then, either the survivalists had found her or she stumbled across them. Being paranoid, they'd hung on to her. They must have kept her drugged while they decided what to do. (Mac's distorted time sense supported that theory.) The massive search effort probably had them thinking they had a tiger by the tail. Couldn't keep her, couldn't just let her go. Obviously, if they'd meant to kill her, they'd have done it immediately. Looking for a way out, they had approached Annabel.
Some of his suspicions had been aroused last night after the arrival of the local EMS unit and the sheriff. Typical of small towns (Belleville was the same way), everyone knew everybody else to the nth degree. They were all well acquainted with Annabel and no one queried her about finding Mac. It was eerie, in a way, how they skirted around any question of how she had known when and where to look. No mention was made of any bodies being found either. Even the man Annabel had shot had disappeared about the same time the fog did. Harm had to admit, he hadn't been paying strict attention. Gunny had broken out the first aid kit and they had busied themselves working with its limited contents until the professionals arrived. Mac hadn't been very coherent. The paramedics confirmed that she had a concussion.
Once the EMTs had Mac, Harm had walked over to Annabel to see if he could offer any legal support while she talked to the sheriff. It was then that he noticed the fog was gone and so was the body. When he reached her, it turned out she was inquiring after the health of Sheriff Small's family. Not a word was mentioned about all the shooting and if the Sheriff noticed the gun-shaped bulge in Annabel's coat pocket, he never said a word.
Harm had just about decided that the whole thing had been staged for his and Gunny's benefit. The two days Annabel made them wait had let the conspirators gather information on himself to make the con believable. The drawings, the journal and Annabel's spooky, psychic performance created the atmosphere. They'd been primed for the dark foggy night on the mountain. Except that things had not gone as planned. Mac had obviously staged an escape attempt and damn near gotten herself killed. Harm doubted that the plan had called for them to actually rush into the fog. These people hadn't reacted well to the surprise, opting to shoot first and that had gotten a number of them killed. Of course, there were some unanswered questions. What had happened to the bodies? How had they made it appear like a full moon was out and how had they found someone who could be his father's double on such short notice?
"Harm? What's wrong?" Even after an absence of three months and a head that felt like it was being used as a bowling alley, she knew when Harm was hedging about something. "Is Annabel okay? What aren't you telling me?" The doctor walked in at that moment and Mac almost growled with frustration. Something was definitely not right. Harm gave her a quick smile and reassuring squeeze of her hand as he got up and stood beside the bed. Mac was beginning to think he was angry about something. She was relieved that he seemed unwilling to let go of her hand. At least he wasn't mad at her.
Doctor Bradley pulled the chart off the end of the bed and smiled cheerfully at Mac, "Good to see you awake, Ms. MacKenzie. How are you feeling?" He looked over at Harm, "Would you excuse us?"
Mac tightened her grip on Harm's hand, "No, he stays." The doctor looked at her in surprise. Squinting a little, Mac glared at the man. Cheerful doctors usually made her want to throttle them, "And I feel lousy. My head is about to explode and my leg hurts like hell."
"That's to be expected," Dr. Bradley seemed unaffected by her attitude. He pulled the bedcovers away to look at her leg, "You've got a concussion. It's not severe or, obviously, we wouldn't be having this conversation but it's nothing to trifle with either. However, there's no skull fracture and that's good. Your leg is going to hurt for a while but you've been pretty lucky. The bullet missed the bone and had it hit the back of your leg instead of the front, it probably would have severed your Achilles tendon. That would have been a problem."
Mac gritted her teeth and hung on to Harm's hand as Dr. Bradley poked and prodded her leg. He finished up by checking her vitals and making a few notes on her chart. He was out the door before either one of them could form a question. Harm looked over at Mac. Amazement and aggravation were receiving equal time if her expression was any indication. Leaning down, he heard her grumble, "And if a maniac with a chainsaw had shown up, he probably would have severed your head from your shoulders. That would have been a problem."
Solemnly, he said, "I've heard Marines can live a week with their heads cut off."
Mac stared at him in surprise and then leaned against the pillows with a half smile, "Always living life on the edge, aren't you, Rabb?"
Harm dropped into the chair and gave her a smug grin, "It's part of my charm."
"Too true," Mac agreed, shutting her eyes for a few moments. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, "Harm? Will you tell me what's bothering you?"
He stared at her silently, marshaling his thoughts. He should have guessed that Mac would not only pick up on his mood but would pursue the reasons with a bulldog tenacity. Harm was equally certain that he would have to spring his theory on her gradually. It was pretty obvious that she was still confused enough to buy into the whole 'Trip to the Past' scenario and equally obvious that she thought Annabel had played a major role in rescuing her. Meanwhile, she was waiting for some sort of an explanation. Finally, he said, "We're going to have to tell Admiral Chegwidden something. How much do you remember of last night?"
Mac frowned, "Bits and pieces after Caine bounced that revolver off my head." She stared at Harm, "He's dead, isn't he? I seem to think he is but I can't really remember. You were there... and... and Gunny Walters?" She bowed her head and gingerly rubbed her temples, "I can't believe how much it hurts just trying to remember something."
Alarmed at how pale she was becoming, Harm put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into the pillows, "Stop trying and relax. It'll come back when it's ready. Hang on a sec." He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth. Folding it over, he placed it on her forehead and smiled when he heard her sigh and mutter 'Thank you.'
"Just one of the many services I offer," Harm said lightly. He turned more serious, "Mac, I gave the Admiral an abbreviated version of last night. You were trying to get away, the men holding you tried to kill you and Gunny and I got there in time. When I talk to him in a little while, I'm going to tell him that you've had some memory loss from the concussion and that it's possible we may never have a full picture of what happened."
Mac frowned and lifted the washcloth up to look at him, "I don't like the idea of misleading Admiral Chegwidden. That sort of thing always comes back and bites you."
Harm leaned back in the chair and spread his hands, "What do you want to tell him? What CAN you tell him? The whole thing's so incredibly implausible. Honestly, Mac, I think a little discretion would go a long way right now. You start talking about running around in the past and your next stop will be a psych ward."
Mac dropped the washcloth back with an exasperated sigh, "You think I haven't considered that? It's one of the things that had me up nights after Avis said she thought she could get me back to this century." Harm was silent and she lifted up a corner to peek at him. The look on his face spoke volumes. Mac pulled the washcloth off and stared at him, "You don't believe me? ... Oh god, you don't! ... Harm, you were there! I remember that much!"
"Mac, calm down." This wasn't going well at all.
"Calm down? You think I'm making all this up! Harm, you had to have seen Josiah Rabb. I know he was there."
Harm sighed, "Yes, I saw a man that looked like my father but how do you know it wasn't some sort of set-up like what Palmer did?"
"For godsakes, that really was Josiah Tyler Rabb, your great-great-great grandfather." Mac gave an exasperated sigh, "Look, I spent weeks talking with the man. He's serving with Sheridan in the Shenandoah Valley and commands a brigade. He was widowed in 1862 when his wife Cassandra Seville Rabb and his youngest son Michael died of fever. In 1864, his oldest son William is a Second Lieutenant in the Union Army, his next son, Alexander, is at the Naval Academy and his daughter, Molly, is home with her aunt and his parents in Pennsylvania." She glared at him, "Exactly how many people have access to that particular piece of information?"
"Mac, I don't know if there was a Josiah Rabb or not and, frankly, neither do you." Harm paused for a moment while he considered how to phrase this so she wouldn't go completely ballistic. He leaned forward and stared at her intently, "I want you to know that I believe that everything you've told me is exactly how you remember it."
"But... " Mac's voice turned deadly quiet and Harm had to force himself not to flinch.
Gamely, he pressed on. They needed to clear this up and quickly. The fact that she had been held hostage for a week and then been injured trying to escape was already going to guarantee her at least one psych evaluation before she could return to duty. He'd talked to the doctors this morning about a blood analysis to see if there were any drugs lingering in her system. It was the main reason that they'd been so chary with the pain medication. They didn't want any adverse reactions until they knew what they were dealing with. Apparently, they had stitched her leg wound using a local anesthetic. Harm felt bad enough that she'd been hurt, it was hard not to feel guilty knowing he was responsible for her continued suffering. "Mac, isn't it possible that what you experienced - what you thought you experienced - was the result of being drugged? That these people who were holding you, kept you in a highly suggestive state and then convinced you that you'd somehow wound up in another century?"
She stared at him silently, disappointment plainly written on her face. It was almost enough to make him abandon his current course of action. Almost. Dammit, he was doing this for her own good, surely she could see that? "C'mon Mac, no one's blaming you for believing anything. It was out of your control. Ingenious, really, when you think about it. There's no point in escaping if you're still in the wrong century. Where would you run? They might have gotten away with it if you hadn't actually tried to escape. It might have still worked out if they hadn't panicked and started shooting."
Mac continued to stare at him, "And that's what you think happened?" He nodded warily. She sank further into the pillows and closed her eyes, "Would you please leave?"
"What?" Harm gave her a startled look, "Mac... "
She cut him off, not opening her eyes, "I'm tired, Harm, and my head hurts too much to try beating it against that monumental ego of yours. Stop talking and go away."
He stared at her uncertainly and then got up with a sigh, "I'll be back in a couple of hours, Mac. Try to rest."
Quietly, he walked out of the room. Mac opened her eyes when she heard the door shut and then closed them again. She should have guessed that he would try to find a rational explanation for something completely irrational. She couldn't even swear that if positions were reversed, she might not have done the same thing. Unfortunately, it still hurt and now she'd feel leery of sharing any of her experiences with him. Damn, this was just what their relationship needed - more items on the 'Don't Talk About It' list.
Harm stood outside Mac's room and shook his head, frowning. That had certainly gone well. Now she was feeling lousy and pissed. He bit back a groan when he saw Gunny Walters escorting Annabel down the corridor.
"Morning, Commander," Gunny Walters smiled at Harm. "How's the Colonel feeling?"
"She's having a rough morning," Harm replied, nodding to Annabel as he answered the Gunny. "I'm not sure she needs any more visitors at the moment."
"I understand, sir." Walters swallowed his disappointment. After dropping Rabb off at the hospital this morning, he had gone to have breakfast at the White Horse Grill. He'd had a fascinating conversation about last night with Annabel and Anthony Wade and he'd hoped the Colonel wouldn't mind talking about her experiences.
"Well, I'll only be a minute," Annabel sailed past a surprised Harm and Gunny.
Harm managed to get a hand on her arm just as she reached the door. "Mrs. Simpson! She's resting."
Annabel shook off his hand, "If Sarah doesn't want to talk to me, she'll let me know. The woman's not shy." With that, she marched into Mac's room.
Harm stood looking at the door and then turned as Gunny stopped beside him. Walters raised an eyebrow. The Commander's reluctance to enter Colonel MacKenzie's room probably meant he'd put his foot in it again. Despite the fact that the two officers managed to act like an old married couple, it was obvious that Rabb had never grasped one of the basic tenets of being a husband. There were times when it was best to just shut up and listen, no matter what your opinion was. He glanced at Harm again, trying to decide if it was out of line to say anything. Mentally shrugging, he decided what the hell, and cleared his throat, "The Colonel mad at you, sir?"
"What?" Harm gave him a startled look.
"You're out here, sir," Gunny pointed out.
Harm sighed, he didn't really want to get into this with anyone other than Mac. On the other hand, Gunny was a potential ally. He would be well aware of the ramifications to Mac's career if they didn't nip this delusion in the bud. Finally, he said, "She's being stubborn about what she thinks happened. I tried to explain how everything probably went down and she got angry. It's not helping that she's still hurting from the leg wound and her concussion," he added ruefully. "I guess I made a handy target."
Gunny was silent for several seconds. Carefully, he asked, "What do you think happened last night, sir?"
Harm glared at him, "I think someone went to a lot of trouble to con us and the Colonel into thinking that time travel is possible."
Poker-faced, Gunny stared back, "Permission to speak freely, sir?" Irritably, Harm waved a hand. Taking a breath, Walters plunged in, "Sir, I think the only explanation for last night is the one you're finding impossible to believe."
Epilogue
Friday Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 0720 Local
Mac slowly opened her eyes and stared at ceiling. She was back in the twenty-first century but she wasn't experiencing the elation that she thought she would. Avis was dead and so were Avril, Josiah, Corinna and Deacon. Mac angrily scrubbed at her eyes. It wasn't like they'd all been snatched away in some massive catastrophe but that's what it felt like. Determinedly, she told herself that it was foolish to be grieving over people who'd been dead for close to a century.
She sighed and looked around the sparse and sterile-looking room. The overpowering smell of disinfectant had told her she was in a hospital even before she opened her eyes, as did the thin mattress, hard pillow and stiff, heavily starched bedsheets. Outside her closed door was a constant cacophony of sound. Voices talking, the rattle of carts, the hum of machines, ringing of phones and the constant buzz of fluorescent lights. If she didn't already have a headache, she would surely have had one soon. Irritably, she shifted and inhaled sharply at the pain from her leg. Damn, that had hurt. She looked accusingly at the IV attached to her arm. She would have thought they'd have given her some sort of painkiller.
Mac closed her eyes again. Last night was hazy, to say the least. She only had vague recollections - fleeting, disconnected images of Avis, Josiah and Harm. She was fairly clear about everything up until Caine had smacked her in head. For some reason, she was pretty sure he was dead and not from old age. Trying to ignore the pounding in her head, she attempted to arrange the little bits and pieces that were floating around into some sort of coherent order. Had she seen Annabel last night? Her hand went automatically to her neck and then her eyes flew open in a panic. Where was it?!
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself upright. Goddamn hospital! What the hell had they done with that necklace? They had no right! The little nightstand next to her bed was depressingly empty. Where would they have put her clothes? Looking around the room, she spotted a narrow door. A closet? Maybe... Squinting against the headache that had just intensified, Mac eyed the distance she would have to travel. If she used the bed for support, it would only be a couple of steps on her own. She could manage that. However, there was the bed rail and the IV to deal with. Carefully, she eased herself to the side of the bed and rolled her eyes downward. Her head was much happier when she kept it on an even keel. The IV was on a portable stand - perfect. Now all she had to do was slide the rail down. With a little care, it shouldn't jolt her too badly. The rail didn't want to go down without a fight, but she finally managed it. Mac took a moment to catch her breath. Then she pulled the covers off and set her jaw - moving her injured leg was going to hurt. She slid her good leg off the bed and gingerly prepared to shift the other.
The door opened at that moment and Harm walked in. He stopped dead, taking in the scene, and then he glared at her, "Mac, have you lost your mind? What the hell are you doing?"
"Annabel's necklace. I need to find it." Mac kept her jaws clenched, her leg did not want to be moved.
"What?" Harm hurried to the side of the bed. Mac still seemed determined to get out of bed. He put his hands on her shoulders, "Mac, stop it. You're going to wind up on your face and you'll probably rip your stitches out. It's not that important."
"Yes, it is!" Mac flared and then winced. She ran out of steam suddenly and sagged against his hands, "You don't understand." She let Harm reposition her on the bed.
He got her settled and then raised the head of the bed so she would be upright. Brushing the hair off her forehead, he let his hand linger on the side of her face. "Why don't you explain it to me?"
Mac reached up and grasped his hand, bringing it down to her lap and holding it in both of hers. "I'm not sure I can," she kept her eyes focused on their hands, willing her head to stop aching. At an encouraging sound from Harm, she took a deep breath, "Well... you know how long I was gone?" Harm stared at her, "Of course I do. Dear God, Mac, that was the longest week of my life. There was absolutely no trace of you anywhere. I was going out of my mind worrying."
Mac looked up, startled, "A week? Harm, I was there for three months. It was days before I believed it was anything more than a very vivid nightmare. When I realized... when I accepted... that it was real, I didn't know how I was going to get back or if it was even possible. That necklace became my only link with my life here. Something tangible that I could hang on to whenever I felt overwhelmed with everything that was happening. I've held onto it through hell and high water, literally, and now it's gone." She stared at Harm anxiously, "I have to find it. I need to return it to Annabel. She saved my life when she gave it to me."
"Mac, I'm sure it's okay. The hospital took it for safekeeping," Harm kept his voice soothing although he was becoming a bit worried about her overreaction to what was typical hospital procedure. Hell, it wasn't like they'd never been in one before. Bethesda probably had standing room reservations for them. And Mac thought she'd been missing for months? Annabel had said as much but he was having a hard time accepting it. He was having a hard time accepting the whole thing.
Harm was beginning to doubt what he'd seen last night, or at least, the context in which he'd seen it. It was so far-fetched. Time travel via some mysterious fog? Impossible. Sitting in the dismal little waiting room while they worked on her leg had given him time to construct his own theory about what had happened. In between the initial calls to the Admiral, the Roberts and his parents (all of which he kept decidedly brief: Mac's found, she's injured, we're at the hospital, no word yet), he had worked out the angles of his scenario.
Mostly, it involved an elaborate con and some local survivalist nuts. The only part he figured was true was that Mac had had a car accident that night. Then, either the survivalists had found her or she stumbled across them. Being paranoid, they'd hung on to her. They must have kept her drugged while they decided what to do. (Mac's distorted time sense supported that theory.) The massive search effort probably had them thinking they had a tiger by the tail. Couldn't keep her, couldn't just let her go. Obviously, if they'd meant to kill her, they'd have done it immediately. Looking for a way out, they had approached Annabel.
Some of his suspicions had been aroused last night after the arrival of the local EMS unit and the sheriff. Typical of small towns (Belleville was the same way), everyone knew everybody else to the nth degree. They were all well acquainted with Annabel and no one queried her about finding Mac. It was eerie, in a way, how they skirted around any question of how she had known when and where to look. No mention was made of any bodies being found either. Even the man Annabel had shot had disappeared about the same time the fog did. Harm had to admit, he hadn't been paying strict attention. Gunny had broken out the first aid kit and they had busied themselves working with its limited contents until the professionals arrived. Mac hadn't been very coherent. The paramedics confirmed that she had a concussion.
Once the EMTs had Mac, Harm had walked over to Annabel to see if he could offer any legal support while she talked to the sheriff. It was then that he noticed the fog was gone and so was the body. When he reached her, it turned out she was inquiring after the health of Sheriff Small's family. Not a word was mentioned about all the shooting and if the Sheriff noticed the gun-shaped bulge in Annabel's coat pocket, he never said a word.
Harm had just about decided that the whole thing had been staged for his and Gunny's benefit. The two days Annabel made them wait had let the conspirators gather information on himself to make the con believable. The drawings, the journal and Annabel's spooky, psychic performance created the atmosphere. They'd been primed for the dark foggy night on the mountain. Except that things had not gone as planned. Mac had obviously staged an escape attempt and damn near gotten herself killed. Harm doubted that the plan had called for them to actually rush into the fog. These people hadn't reacted well to the surprise, opting to shoot first and that had gotten a number of them killed. Of course, there were some unanswered questions. What had happened to the bodies? How had they made it appear like a full moon was out and how had they found someone who could be his father's double on such short notice?
"Harm? What's wrong?" Even after an absence of three months and a head that felt like it was being used as a bowling alley, she knew when Harm was hedging about something. "Is Annabel okay? What aren't you telling me?" The doctor walked in at that moment and Mac almost growled with frustration. Something was definitely not right. Harm gave her a quick smile and reassuring squeeze of her hand as he got up and stood beside the bed. Mac was beginning to think he was angry about something. She was relieved that he seemed unwilling to let go of her hand. At least he wasn't mad at her.
Doctor Bradley pulled the chart off the end of the bed and smiled cheerfully at Mac, "Good to see you awake, Ms. MacKenzie. How are you feeling?" He looked over at Harm, "Would you excuse us?"
Mac tightened her grip on Harm's hand, "No, he stays." The doctor looked at her in surprise. Squinting a little, Mac glared at the man. Cheerful doctors usually made her want to throttle them, "And I feel lousy. My head is about to explode and my leg hurts like hell."
"That's to be expected," Dr. Bradley seemed unaffected by her attitude. He pulled the bedcovers away to look at her leg, "You've got a concussion. It's not severe or, obviously, we wouldn't be having this conversation but it's nothing to trifle with either. However, there's no skull fracture and that's good. Your leg is going to hurt for a while but you've been pretty lucky. The bullet missed the bone and had it hit the back of your leg instead of the front, it probably would have severed your Achilles tendon. That would have been a problem."
Mac gritted her teeth and hung on to Harm's hand as Dr. Bradley poked and prodded her leg. He finished up by checking her vitals and making a few notes on her chart. He was out the door before either one of them could form a question. Harm looked over at Mac. Amazement and aggravation were receiving equal time if her expression was any indication. Leaning down, he heard her grumble, "And if a maniac with a chainsaw had shown up, he probably would have severed your head from your shoulders. That would have been a problem."
Solemnly, he said, "I've heard Marines can live a week with their heads cut off."
Mac stared at him in surprise and then leaned against the pillows with a half smile, "Always living life on the edge, aren't you, Rabb?"
Harm dropped into the chair and gave her a smug grin, "It's part of my charm."
"Too true," Mac agreed, shutting her eyes for a few moments. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, "Harm? Will you tell me what's bothering you?"
He stared at her silently, marshaling his thoughts. He should have guessed that Mac would not only pick up on his mood but would pursue the reasons with a bulldog tenacity. Harm was equally certain that he would have to spring his theory on her gradually. It was pretty obvious that she was still confused enough to buy into the whole 'Trip to the Past' scenario and equally obvious that she thought Annabel had played a major role in rescuing her. Meanwhile, she was waiting for some sort of an explanation. Finally, he said, "We're going to have to tell Admiral Chegwidden something. How much do you remember of last night?"
Mac frowned, "Bits and pieces after Caine bounced that revolver off my head." She stared at Harm, "He's dead, isn't he? I seem to think he is but I can't really remember. You were there... and... and Gunny Walters?" She bowed her head and gingerly rubbed her temples, "I can't believe how much it hurts just trying to remember something."
Alarmed at how pale she was becoming, Harm put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into the pillows, "Stop trying and relax. It'll come back when it's ready. Hang on a sec." He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth. Folding it over, he placed it on her forehead and smiled when he heard her sigh and mutter 'Thank you.'
"Just one of the many services I offer," Harm said lightly. He turned more serious, "Mac, I gave the Admiral an abbreviated version of last night. You were trying to get away, the men holding you tried to kill you and Gunny and I got there in time. When I talk to him in a little while, I'm going to tell him that you've had some memory loss from the concussion and that it's possible we may never have a full picture of what happened."
Mac frowned and lifted the washcloth up to look at him, "I don't like the idea of misleading Admiral Chegwidden. That sort of thing always comes back and bites you."
Harm leaned back in the chair and spread his hands, "What do you want to tell him? What CAN you tell him? The whole thing's so incredibly implausible. Honestly, Mac, I think a little discretion would go a long way right now. You start talking about running around in the past and your next stop will be a psych ward."
Mac dropped the washcloth back with an exasperated sigh, "You think I haven't considered that? It's one of the things that had me up nights after Avis said she thought she could get me back to this century." Harm was silent and she lifted up a corner to peek at him. The look on his face spoke volumes. Mac pulled the washcloth off and stared at him, "You don't believe me? ... Oh god, you don't! ... Harm, you were there! I remember that much!"
"Mac, calm down." This wasn't going well at all.
"Calm down? You think I'm making all this up! Harm, you had to have seen Josiah Rabb. I know he was there."
Harm sighed, "Yes, I saw a man that looked like my father but how do you know it wasn't some sort of set-up like what Palmer did?"
"For godsakes, that really was Josiah Tyler Rabb, your great-great-great grandfather." Mac gave an exasperated sigh, "Look, I spent weeks talking with the man. He's serving with Sheridan in the Shenandoah Valley and commands a brigade. He was widowed in 1862 when his wife Cassandra Seville Rabb and his youngest son Michael died of fever. In 1864, his oldest son William is a Second Lieutenant in the Union Army, his next son, Alexander, is at the Naval Academy and his daughter, Molly, is home with her aunt and his parents in Pennsylvania." She glared at him, "Exactly how many people have access to that particular piece of information?"
"Mac, I don't know if there was a Josiah Rabb or not and, frankly, neither do you." Harm paused for a moment while he considered how to phrase this so she wouldn't go completely ballistic. He leaned forward and stared at her intently, "I want you to know that I believe that everything you've told me is exactly how you remember it."
"But... " Mac's voice turned deadly quiet and Harm had to force himself not to flinch.
Gamely, he pressed on. They needed to clear this up and quickly. The fact that she had been held hostage for a week and then been injured trying to escape was already going to guarantee her at least one psych evaluation before she could return to duty. He'd talked to the doctors this morning about a blood analysis to see if there were any drugs lingering in her system. It was the main reason that they'd been so chary with the pain medication. They didn't want any adverse reactions until they knew what they were dealing with. Apparently, they had stitched her leg wound using a local anesthetic. Harm felt bad enough that she'd been hurt, it was hard not to feel guilty knowing he was responsible for her continued suffering. "Mac, isn't it possible that what you experienced - what you thought you experienced - was the result of being drugged? That these people who were holding you, kept you in a highly suggestive state and then convinced you that you'd somehow wound up in another century?"
She stared at him silently, disappointment plainly written on her face. It was almost enough to make him abandon his current course of action. Almost. Dammit, he was doing this for her own good, surely she could see that? "C'mon Mac, no one's blaming you for believing anything. It was out of your control. Ingenious, really, when you think about it. There's no point in escaping if you're still in the wrong century. Where would you run? They might have gotten away with it if you hadn't actually tried to escape. It might have still worked out if they hadn't panicked and started shooting."
Mac continued to stare at him, "And that's what you think happened?" He nodded warily. She sank further into the pillows and closed her eyes, "Would you please leave?"
"What?" Harm gave her a startled look, "Mac... "
She cut him off, not opening her eyes, "I'm tired, Harm, and my head hurts too much to try beating it against that monumental ego of yours. Stop talking and go away."
He stared at her uncertainly and then got up with a sigh, "I'll be back in a couple of hours, Mac. Try to rest."
Quietly, he walked out of the room. Mac opened her eyes when she heard the door shut and then closed them again. She should have guessed that he would try to find a rational explanation for something completely irrational. She couldn't even swear that if positions were reversed, she might not have done the same thing. Unfortunately, it still hurt and now she'd feel leery of sharing any of her experiences with him. Damn, this was just what their relationship needed - more items on the 'Don't Talk About It' list.
Harm stood outside Mac's room and shook his head, frowning. That had certainly gone well. Now she was feeling lousy and pissed. He bit back a groan when he saw Gunny Walters escorting Annabel down the corridor.
"Morning, Commander," Gunny Walters smiled at Harm. "How's the Colonel feeling?"
"She's having a rough morning," Harm replied, nodding to Annabel as he answered the Gunny. "I'm not sure she needs any more visitors at the moment."
"I understand, sir." Walters swallowed his disappointment. After dropping Rabb off at the hospital this morning, he had gone to have breakfast at the White Horse Grill. He'd had a fascinating conversation about last night with Annabel and Anthony Wade and he'd hoped the Colonel wouldn't mind talking about her experiences.
"Well, I'll only be a minute," Annabel sailed past a surprised Harm and Gunny.
Harm managed to get a hand on her arm just as she reached the door. "Mrs. Simpson! She's resting."
Annabel shook off his hand, "If Sarah doesn't want to talk to me, she'll let me know. The woman's not shy." With that, she marched into Mac's room.
Harm stood looking at the door and then turned as Gunny stopped beside him. Walters raised an eyebrow. The Commander's reluctance to enter Colonel MacKenzie's room probably meant he'd put his foot in it again. Despite the fact that the two officers managed to act like an old married couple, it was obvious that Rabb had never grasped one of the basic tenets of being a husband. There were times when it was best to just shut up and listen, no matter what your opinion was. He glanced at Harm again, trying to decide if it was out of line to say anything. Mentally shrugging, he decided what the hell, and cleared his throat, "The Colonel mad at you, sir?"
"What?" Harm gave him a startled look.
"You're out here, sir," Gunny pointed out.
Harm sighed, he didn't really want to get into this with anyone other than Mac. On the other hand, Gunny was a potential ally. He would be well aware of the ramifications to Mac's career if they didn't nip this delusion in the bud. Finally, he said, "She's being stubborn about what she thinks happened. I tried to explain how everything probably went down and she got angry. It's not helping that she's still hurting from the leg wound and her concussion," he added ruefully. "I guess I made a handy target."
Gunny was silent for several seconds. Carefully, he asked, "What do you think happened last night, sir?"
Harm glared at him, "I think someone went to a lot of trouble to con us and the Colonel into thinking that time travel is possible."
Poker-faced, Gunny stared back, "Permission to speak freely, sir?" Irritably, Harm waved a hand. Taking a breath, Walters plunged in, "Sir, I think the only explanation for last night is the one you're finding impossible to believe."