TITLE: What Happens Here Stays Here

RATING: PG-13

PAIRING: Harm/Mac

DISCLAIMER: I do not own JAG.

Author's Note: I thought I would never write this. Wow. Thanks to Elvis Presley and Nicholas Sparks for being my muses. I don't know why, but I write better when I listen to Elvis. Anyway, from difficult schedules to finding time on the computer, I've finally finished the next section. Thanks to everyone for their kind words and wonderful reviews. Enjoy this section! Reviews always welcome. This is a big update, that's why it took so long, as well.

Chapter Title: Husband and Wife.

Mac's Apartment

Georgetown

1920 EST

Nights came quickly this time of year, the apartment turning darker by the minute. Mac, sitting on the couch, decided to review a few case files after work while she waited for Harm to come home. She already changed her clothes to something much more casual, jeans and a red sweater Harm had given her for her birthday. Though the furnace turned on slightly, warming the apartment because of the cold chill outside, Mac felt a need to light a fire, more for the affect than the warmth. The flames now danced aimlessly in her fireplace, sending shadows across the ceiling and walls. Intending to do work turned quickly futile as her eyes became weary from staring at the same page for an hour. Again she turned her gaze from the files to the window, for the hundredth time, searching.

Mac worried about him now. Her Harm. Her worry overwhelmed her so, for two reasons. The first reason was plain and simple; Iraq. Harm would be devastated, angry, upset to hear Mac would be traveling to such a dangerous place. Sure he knew it wasn't her fault, it wasn't her schedule. She truly had no power over where she was assigned and what she was assigned to. Harm knew this. They both did. The anger and devastation came with the question of why. Why Mac was chosen. Why she had to go. And despite the knowledge that the investigation would not take more than a week, Mac couldn't help but be a little worried herself, not to mention how Harm would react. She knew why she was, why Harm would be. The second reason ...

The second reason.

After returning from Norfolk that afternoon she overheard a conversation in the break room, one that surprised and angered her all at the same time. She didn't expect to hear Harm's name on the lips of every officer, the story spreading in a shocked, hushed whisper across the bullpen. The story quickly caught on, no one believing Commander Rabb's ability to lose it in court. Never did he act so. And why did he? No one believed the case had anything to do with his problem. The problem, according to many different sources, forced him into a mad dash towards the bathroom. The word he shouted, simply 'no', frustrated those who heard the story. It gave no special window into his problem whatsoever. Though his mind clearly gravitated to a completely different time, to a different universe, a reaction to something much bigger than anyone could fathom.

Mac felt surprise just as everyone else, surprised Harm would let himself act out, unable to control his emotions. In court of all places.

There was also anger. Anger. Harm insisted he didn't have a problem, Mac satisfied to finally have evidence to the contrary. Now he would have to tell her. He couldn't escape. Yet Mac couldn't help but feel betrayed, lied to. Why didn't Harm tell her? Did he not trust her?

Sighing, Mac finally placed the files from her lap to the coffee table before her, officially giving up. Hot tea quickly replaced the files previously in her hands, the warm steam filling her nostrils, covering her face in a lovely blanket. She took a sip, allowing the warm liquid to assume its rejuvenating affect. Long days, just like this one, strained her muscles, her shoulders, her neck. Dealing with the strain was easier ten years ago, now Mac feeling her body unable to handle the stress and pain with the same ease. She longed for simpler days, days characterized by her children playing in the backyard, watching them from the porch swing while arms encircled her with affection.

The dream, however, wouldn't come true if Harm didn't trust her. He tended to retreat from personal conversations, only sharing the bare minimum with certain subjects. Some topics he talked of constantly, such as his family, his father, and Mattie. Others, including his feelings and deeper problems of the soul, he kept mainly to himself. Mac shared quite a bit with Harm, often including him in many aspects of her life. Truthfully, she knew there were some things about herself that she didn't share with him, maybe out of fear. Fear of his reaction, or knowing that such a light had never been shown on that part of her life before. Illuminating such secrets may reveal too much, more than she was ready to face. She just wasn't ready.

Not ready.

Perhaps Harm was feeling the same way.

Maybe she shouldn't convict him before she heard more.

However, only anger claimed her heart. Maybe she wasn't ready, but she wanted to be. She was trying to fulfill the role that came with their decision, a role that promised each other someone to come home to, even disregarding all others. When she lived with Mic she never had this problem. Yet the relationship with Mic then never edged close to what she has with Harm now. There was no denying how close they were, how intimate they had become. After talking night after night before they moved in, why, then, couldn't they talk now?

"Hey." Mac turned to see Harm smiling as he walked into the apartment, his voice raspy with exhaustion. By his face, she would guess he just returned from a dangerous mission. One in which he almost didn't make it home.

"Hey." Though she had a million things to say, nothing else seemed appropriate.

Harm peeled off his coat and hung it on the coat rack next to the door. His motions were slow and steady, his mind clearly not thinking of anything Mac could guess. As he turned around, Mac noticed his uniform coat fully unbuttoned, one lapel not folded over completely. He walked gingerly to the couch and sat heavily next to Mac, setting his hands on his thighs. The handsome face Mac was so used to now dawned wrinkles at the edge of his eyes. Tonight he looked his age for the first time she could remember.

Settling his head back against the couch, Harm slouched a little, one hand reaching to his temples to rub the pounding headache away. Though Mac wouldn't admit becoming impatient, she quickly concluded that if she were going to learn anything about today, she needed to ask. In a round about way, of course. Subtly. It couldn't be obvious, scaring Harm back into his shell before the conversation even began. If she coaxed him a little, eased him, maybe he would share.

"How was your day?" she finally asked. Yes, the question was a normal one. Stereotypical even. But it needed to start somewhere.

Harm shrugged. "Fine."

"How was court?"

"Good."

"Nothing unusual happened?"

"Nope." Harm's throat felt raw, tight, the day's events finally catching up to him. Speaking in court never caused his throat to hurt, no matter how much talking he did. Yet he knew the pain in his throat had nothing to do with talking, more like yelling, perhaps even crying. Harm rarely cried much, either. Trying to remember the last time he cried became quickly difficult. If he didn't count this evening, of course. In his office. When everyone was gone. He sat in his office then.

By himself.

And he cried.

For his Sarah.

Mac knew he was trying to escape, to hide. Hearing the rumors frightened her slightly, everything finally coming to a point where something needed to be said. Letting it go before was Mac's own fault. And the mistake was hers. Not forcing him to share before this may have given him more reason to hide under his rock. If she didn't love him enough to make him tell her, why would he feel reason to think she would want to know now? This new setting, living together, strained the relationship somewhat, particularly in this area. Sometimes Mac wondered if they made a mistake, if they rushed to this stage a little too quickly.

"Are you sure?" she asked quietly, lightly.

Harm turned toward her then, suddenly aware of her persistence. Did she know something? He couldn't help but conclude she did, according to her questions, the worry shading her beautiful brown eyes. Of course she worried about him lately, especially considering his mood and strange behavior. For him, hiding his problem seemed the best solution, only because of its delicate nature. It was up to him to protect her, his responsibility. He needed to carry this burden for her after everything she has suffered in the past year. The last thing Harm wanted was for Mac to take on more problems, especially when they were his. The dream was just that, a dream. He was convinced there was nothing more to it. Yet the sickness he felt today, the unexplainable fear, dared to prove him wrong.

However, he knew he needed to continue to play the role he began until it was obvious she knew about his current problem. Being strong for Mac was also something he took very seriously, a responsibility he had in the relationship. He wouldn't falter here. "Are you sure you are okay?" he repeated back, sitting up on the couch.

Mac wondered then if she should say something, tell him of Iraq. His reaction, above everything else, might give her an opening to discuss his real problem. Maybe he would feel a need to tell her knowing she was leaving for a while. Yet Mac didn't think of this possibility as a reason to say something to him concerning her next case. Deep down she wanted him to find out, wanted to tell, see his face, have him worry just as much as she worried for him recently. No matter how much love survived between them, Mac still felt distant to him. Right now she felt like she lived on another planet.

"I'm fine," she lied lightly.

Harm huffed. "You don't look fine."

"Neither do you," Mac shot back.

Silence quickly filled the air, suffocating both as they stared endlessly at each other. Both were hiding now, both knew it. Why each felt a need to hide, neither would know. Yet the silence was becoming too much for Harm. Like the constant tick-tock of a clock, so was the pop and crackle of the fire, distracting, rhythmic, intensifying the moment.

Harm knew she sensed something. Of course she suspected. Without having anything meaningful to say, Harm finally whispered, "I don't want to argue tonight."

Mac smirked, seeing the image of a man begging for a life preserving after just being thrown off the ship. "Fine," she began, deciding to turn towards him, propping her leg up on the couch between them to do so. "Let's just talk."

Harm quickly decided then to change the subject. "So you're day was fine?" His eyes brows shifted up slightly, trying to act casual, waiting for an answer. Sweat already began to dampen his back in anticipation of this conversation growing much worse. Yes, Harm thought, Mac didn't want to let it go. He hoped she would give him space to deal with the dream the way he saw fit, but that seemed highly unlikely.

Mac didn't bite, asking instead, "What happened to you in court today?"

She knew!

How could she know?

Maybe Sturgis said something?

Actually, he realized then the action of leaving court so abruptly, him of all people, would make JAG office front headlines. Mac learning of it would be no difficult feat. She obviously believed them, as well. She had no reason not to believe, especially when she knew his strange behavior as of late. He had no intentions of talking about it tonight, and he still didn't. Standing, he walked around the couch and headed towards the kitchen, saying as he left, "It was nothing."

Mac smirked, watching him leave into the kitchen. Harm probably assumed it would be enough to deter her from inquiring further. Yet he knew better. Mac hoped he did, especially considering the length of time they have been in a relationship and all they should know about each other. These stretched from Harm's tendency to snore when he was exhausted at night to Mac's need for her morning coffee. The little things that neither knew about the other until they really started spending time together. Not just routines or tendencies, but also Harm's dream of a huge house with a porch that extends all around it. He dreams of days where all he worries about is what they've have for dinner, perhaps rushing to ensure he makes his son's baseball game, and the next night clears his schedule to see his daughter's school play.

Remembering this, knowing their lives, their future, ran along the same unknown path, Mac knew she needed to fight for it now. Usually fighting helped nothing, often both just needing a chance to release tension. Tonight, however, the fight would change things. Standing up, Mac intended on beginning that change.

"Remember Admiral Krennick called me into her office this morning." A statement of reference, not a question.

Immediately Harm appeared through the doorway, his curiosity peaked. He held a Coke in his hand, something, Mac remembered, Harm rarely drank. With Mattie around during most of the previous year, and then starting a relationship with Mac, Harm didn't buy any beer for his refrigerator. Both instances he felt it best to keep the alcohol out, and both instances for good reasons. Mattie was too young and Harm didn't believe he would act the good role model if he drank beer around her. And Mac, well, that was obvious. Being with someone who has been sober for quite some time, Harm didn't feel it appropriate to drink any alcohol around her, either. Despite Mac's insistence that such activity wouldn't bother her, Harm felt differently. With no beer, Mac mused, Harm tended to drink a Coke as a stress reliever. Why? Mac didn't know. It was still something she needed to find out about him.

"Yeah. What did she want?" he asked simply, non-threatening.

Mac stood up from the couch. "She gave me a new case."

Harm nodded. "Good." For some reason, Harm sensed this was going somewhere. "Is the case going to be difficult?"

"No, not really," Mac informed, walking around the couch so Harm could see her clearly.

Harm stepped a little out of the kitchen, now quite interested in what Mac was trying to say. Something was hiding beneath this meeting with Krennick, something she wanted to wait for the right time to reveal. Initially, he couldn't imagine what information could be so sensitive. This was Krennick, not a doctor's visit or anything. Maybe Mac was being transferred? But what did that have to do with being assigned a new case? Sighing, without any meaningful question, he asked, "What? Will it take a lot of time?" That could be a problem considering their inability to find time alone together, despite the fact they lived together.

Mac stepped closer. "I'm going to Iraq." There, she said it.

Harm couldn't hide his confusion, unable to fathom her words completely. Everything seemed to stop at her words, every sound, every motion, all the world waiting in anticipation. Had he heard right? He didn't think he did. But maybe ...

Iraq?

But why?

Nothing made sense. Placing his Coke down on the dining room table next to him, he moved a little closer. Somehow he felt a move might make the information clearer. Maybe she misspoke, or he misunderstood. "Iraq?" he asked in utter disbelief.

Mac simply nodded. "Iraq. That's where the incident took place, and Krennick wants it to be dealt with there." Her words came off confident, unwavering. Showing her fear now would only fuel Harm's own distress. She needed to stay sure of the decision, even though it wasn't her own. As a Marine, weakness was not an option, especially in situations such as this one. Especially when she had no reason to be upset. Especially when convincing the love of her life there was nothing to worry about.

Without much comprehensive thought, Harm asked with a tint of annoyance, "How long?" It was the first question among many that rushed to the front of his mind. Why he chose this one to ask first, he really didn't know. After just returning from a case of his own, one that sent him to a carrier to the other side of the globe, he both understood and dreaded this current situation. Understanding she had no say in where she was sent, but dreading it because he would go days, perhaps weeks, without her. But this wasn't just another case, or another location. This was Iraq.

Mac glanced down to the floor slightly, crossing her arms across her chest, replying quietly, "A week, at least."

Harm's anger began to flood to his eyes, his face a flush of red. The pang of worry grew steadily by the second, deep in his gut. Quickly his dream flashed before his eyes once again, all the pain, the helplessness, and Mac's death. Galloping off to Iraq was the last thing he expected, certainly hurting his chances to keeping an eye on her until his dream subsided. After the word, Iraq, sank in, he realized quickly his dream may be coming true right before his eyes. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"I don't want you to go, Mac," Harm stated, more like pleaded. Stepping closer, he hoped she would catch exactly how serious he was in his request. She needed to understand his reservations, his unique view into what would happen if she went. He felt it now, the heat from the fire in his dreams, the engulfing flames, the bullets whizzing by his head.

His screams.

They deafened him now. He could feel it.

Mac merely shook her head. "I have to, Harm. You know that." Her words were stinging with truth. To believe otherwise was ignorant.

Yet Harm couldn't let it go. "No, Mac," he insisted with a great force behind his voice, stepping much closer this time, inches away from her now. "You can call Krennick, tell her ..." he began to explain with haste.

"Tell her what?" Mac interrupted, again speaking sense.

"I don't know," Harm returned with slight anger, his voice rising by the second. "You have to tell her something, because I'm not going to let you go."

"You're insane. You know there's nothing I can say," she shouted back. "This is the Navy's schedule, not mine."

Harm broke away then, moving to the other side of the room with great frustration. Pacing back and forth, hands on his hips, he persisted, "I'm not letting you go. I'll call Krennick ..."

Mac moved up to him then and grabbed his arms. Only then did she feel him shaking, the unraveling of his emotions coming out in short breaths, the flush of red on his face never leaving. He wasn't just angry. Mac could see that. He was upset. He was worried. He was scared. Holding his eyes with her own, she said confidently, "I'll be fine, Harm. In a week, it'll be over."

He shook his head. Why couldn't she see? Harm needed her to understand. "No, Mac. It's dangerous over there. If something were to happen to you ..." His voice trailed off in a hurry, the very thought causing him to perspire even more. Losing Mac in his dreams was bad enough. Losing her for real ... well, that was something he truly didn't feel he could survive. Just the thought made his heart beat faster, his breathing become ragged. He shoved her hold of his arms away, moving back towards the couch behind her.

Seeing how flustered he was frightened Mac, surprised her. She knew his fear, knew his worry. But the fear seemed intoxicating; to a point he couldn't explain. He didn't fear for her safety. No, this was much more serious. He feared that she would never return home. In his eyes the fear survived on an unfailing believe, not on chance. Letting fear take a hold of him in such a way, letting it take control of him, was something he rarely did.

"Why do you think something will happen to me?" Mac decided to ask this question instead of stating the normal reassurance, 'of course I won't get hurt'. Clearly Harm was sure she would die.

"It's Iraq, Mac." The explanation was enough for Harm, but not Mac.

"No," Mac began, moving to him again, this time grabbing his arms forcibly, making him face her. "Harm, you and I have been in dangerous places before. We've had every reason to be worried before, even when we've been in a relationship." The last few words came off in a whisper, a hush, perhaps to emphasize her point, perhaps not. "This is different. What is going on with you?"

He sighed, looking down at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. Could he hide it any further? Was it time now? So long did he deal with this alone. So long did he hide his emotions, his stress. So long had he lied to Mac. So long ...

Again silence took over as Harm moved out of her hold to the front couch now. He sat down carefully, acting like one wrong move would end everything they worked so hard to build. So afraid was he that the earth would crash down upon them, his dream taking over every waking moment, the end to everything that mattered to him. Convinced he needed to deal with it alone, now he wasn't so sure. Pushing Mac away so strongly now felt wrong, ignorant, even dreadful. Did he really think he could face this alone?

In response he felt a hand grasp his own lovingly, the strength in the touch restoring all that he had lost in the prior month. His eyes drifted upward to the face that promised him everything he had ever wanted. The dark brown eyes matched his own, were finally given the key to the dark places of his soul. Now he wasn't afraid. Now he felt the only way they could survive this difficult episode of their lives was as one.

Why did he push her away?

Why?

In the darkness of the night the dream that overshadowed his features, his soul, his heart was finally revealed to the only person that could help him. Yet the person listening was also the one in danger. And in that moment, as Harm explained his dreams, his fear, his month of hiding, all Mac could do was squeeze his hand tighter. All she could do was ensure him everything would be fine; she would be fine. She would be home in a week. All she could do was hold him.

All she could do ... was hope.

Mac's apartment

Georgetown

0530 EST

The first sensation that awoke Mac was warmth. Opening her eyes slowly, soon she began to remember what happened the night before. Once Harm told her of his dreams, she comforted him for quite some time. Never before had she seen him so utterly exhausted, so weary from his time in dealing with the dreams. He told her of that day, of the dreams appearing to him for the first time while he was awake. He told her of his rush to the bathroom, the entire month culminating to a point where he could no longer deal with it alone. He told her of his tears. For her.

Feeling his strong arms around her now, his body fast against hers from behind, she remembered their goodbye. Since she needed to leave so early in the morning, Mac couldn't promise anytime together the next day. To say these past few weeks took a toll on both of them was an understatement. Days and nights spent alone, hours and hours diving into work, visions upon visions of the other not returning. That was why Mac didn't understand Harm's difficulty in handling her departure. Sure, it was Iraq. But still ... Yet once he told her everything, his dreams, his sleepless nights, suddenly everything made sense. At first aggravated that Harm didn't tell her immediately after he was suffering from the dreams, soon she could no longer be angry. Only because her own worry rose quickly with his declaration did she back away.

But still ...

It was only a week.

Harm's breath tickled the back of Mac's neck, a rhythmic peace that she felt with no other man in her life. Tonight a huge step was taken, one in which reassured her of their decisions. Soon they would have everything they wanted, this current lapse merely a stepping stone to something much bigger, a promise of something much more fulfilling. What was the saying? It must get worse before it gets better? Maybe. Perhaps that was what Mac needed to hold onto now, the knowledge that soon everything would turn out exactly how she planned. But has anything done so thus far in her life?

Glancing to the digital clock display on her nightstand, Mac knew it was time to leave. She had stayed in his arms as long as she could allow, enjoying his presence, revitalizing her soul by linking with his; something she missed beyond any understanding. Not having him with her, constantly worrying about him, always wondering if he was fine, if he would make it home, if he would survive to make their dreams come true had quickly filled her heart with a steadfast melancholy. When the smoke cleared and all had come back to normal, above everything else, above the house, the life ...

All she wanted was him.

Harmon Rabb, Jr.

To call him her husband. That's what she wanted.

Family.

Turning her head slightly, Mac kissed him lightly on the cheek, a kiss soft and sweet. His smell overwhelmed her, that of fresh soap and Old Spice aftershave, and something distinctly Harm and no one else. Caressing his cheek with her hand, light stubble brushing across her fingertips, still she saw the anxiety permeate through his distinct features. All night they lie in each other's arms, all night did they take and give. All night did they refilled their need for the other, to help them survive the next week without each other. To help each other survive the dream.

As Mac pulled away from Harm, trying desperately to not wake him, her eyes taking in his sleeping form one more time before she left, she knew then she would fight through whatever she needed to get back to him. Because she loved him. Because he needed her.

Because she needed him.

In twenty minutes she was gone.

Airfield

Andrews Air Force Base

0800 EST

"Are you ready, Colonel?" the Lieutenant asked, causing Mac to break away from her thoughts, her mind and eyes looking back astray to the base behind her. A week, she reminded herself again. A week. She could do this. Being away from Harm, though quite difficult, became something she simply survived and coped with. Missing him became apart of who she was, apart of her daily routine, something she worked to put in the back of her mind. Working on such a high profile case would urge her to cope in the same manner.

Smiling to the Lieutenant, standing a bit away from the plane that was taking many others, including herself, to Iraq, she held on tightly to her helmet. Soon she would be on her way, knowing full well all that she would miss. The previous night left her many moments, many sensations that would make her lay awake at night in waiting for the return home. Then, as she was being escorted across the airfield, did she remember Harm's kisses, to her neck, her shoulders, her breast, and her hushed whimper when they finally fulfilled the lost fantasies of an entire week of loneliness. Why, oh why, did Harm like to do this to her, she mused. Make her a pool of incomprehension, barely able to function on the eve of a big case.

Suddenly Mac felt a hand behind her, urging her to turn around. In a second she felt lips on hers, dripped in passion and need. Surprise was hardly the word, though not with the person but with the action. She knew exactly who was kissing her, but why, in front of an entire Air Force Base full of people, was the question throbbing at the front of her mind. Just as suddenly, the kiss stopped, though the closeness did not as Harm pulled her to him, his hands to her face, his forehead to hers.

No words could comprehend his actions, no words could explain why he had displayed such a scene in front of an audience they were desperately trying to stay away from. After months of being careful, after weeks of holding back their instances and urgencies, in a second all of it was gone. Or seemed to be, anyway. The mask had been lifted, their relationship revealed in a second of weakness. Or, perhaps, a second of clarity.

"I love you," Harm whispered, emotions taking hold of both. The night before eased his problem, sure, but it did not ease his worry. Nothing would ease his worry. Only when she was in his arms, away from the dangerous, war tone area of Iraq. Even better, when the dream went away for good. Away from his thoughts. In that moment, Harm didn't care who saw. He didn't care that he may get reported, or that rumors would spread. He didn't care how this may change things, or how his life at JAG may be altered forever. That was so melodramatic right now compared to what was really important, what really mattered.

Mac reached up and caressed his face, loving the feel of his body to hers, wanting desperately to forget all that awaited her. The shock of Harm's actions didn't dull her need, only heightening it. The romance was thick now as the wind whipped through the air, the clouds warning of the storm to come. Mac couldn't believe she was getting caught up in Harm's fears and worries, rational thought quickly returning. "I love you, too. But I'll be home in a week. I promise." Her whispers tried to be confident, unwavering.

Then why did her voice shake?

She scolded herself for letting Harm's worries invade her own.

Harm took her hands in his, his eyes suddenly becoming serious, tears wetting his cheeks. He didn't come to say goodbye. No, he did not. Kissing her hand, he whispered, the wind almost grabbing his words like they never existed, "Marry me."

The words came in a heartbeat, in a time Harm thought of often but never decided upon. They came when he most needed her, when he could think of nothing but her. They came as a promise for what was to come, despite everything, despite the dreams, the suffering, the fear that now subsided to a confidence that she had given him. His dreams were dreams. They did nothing but aggravate what was real and true. His future with Mac was real. If anything, he wanted to make that promise, before Iraq. Before there was a chance of some tragedy, some prophecy driven dream to take away all that mattered to him.

However, Mac quickly broke away, the shock flushing her cheeks a deep red. Harm could barely gauge her feelings right now, the engine of the plane distracting him, the wind making him dizzy. All he wanted was the answer he had waited for since he saw Sarah in the rose garden, her luminous glow among the red petals creating a picture in his mind he would never forget. Yet the uncertainty invading her eyes quickly dumped a weight into his stomach.

Kissing him on the cheek, Mac quickly backed away, her hands releasing his, allowing them to fall aimlessly to his side as he watched her leave. "I love you, Harm. I'll see you when I return."

In a second, she was gone.

Harm watched her go, confusion overflowing his wounded heart. Did he hear right? Did he really ask this question? In moments, setting his hands on his hips, he watched her climb into the plane, not looking back. His lips a straight line, no emotion could display what his was feeling. Not anger. Not hate. Maybe confusion. His eyes turned from an aimless view of the base to the plane now lifting off, him a safe distance away. Soon a face appeared in a window, his soul taken in those eyes, everything he was leaving him.

It was then the dream came, making him momentarily forget Mac's rejection. Again, it came. The images flashed across his eyes, Mac's face now in the plane window falling into the scene of the fire, the gunshots, the man, his screams. The night before he was reassured by strength, by confidence. By odds. Now his fears took hold again, the prophecy meant to come true. Maybe he overreacted; maybe he drew Mac into his despair. Maybe he should know better, only a week would she be gone.

Maybe he should prepare for the worse.

... More to Come ...

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