Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.


October 2007

- Webb residence, long past midnight

Mac woke with a start and sat upright in bed, a strangled wail in her throat, sweat glistening on her face. Looking around wildly she threw back the blanket and rolled out of bed, stumbled towards the door over the ever-changing pattern pale moonlight and racing clouds painted on the floor. A desperate sound escaped her lips as her fingernails scratched over the wooden surface before she managed to jerk it open. Gasping and sobbing, still entangled in her dream, she padded barefoot through the dark corridor, steadying herself against the wall, nearly falling twice in her haste to reach his door. A moment she grabbed blindly at the handle, throwing all her weight against it, stumbled inside and stared into the shadows. Then she sagged against the door frame, shaking with relief her knees suddenly weak.

He was there. Her head touched the wood and she closed her eyes. He was there she could see his still form in the bed, under the blanket. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead. He was alive. He was... He wasn't snoring. New fear washed over her and she stood upright. He wasn't snoring. He wasn't... He was lying on his back and he was - he wasn't snoring!

Again the nightmare closed around her like an iron fist, forming a lump in her throat, choking her. Pushing off the door frame she stumbled forward, her panic rising with each reluctant step. A new tear slipped down her face. Reaching out she forced herself to keep going, to put one foot in front of the other, nearer and nearer towards the bed until she reached its side. Her hand shook uncontrollably. She stopped just before touching him, her fingers hovering only inches above his pajama-clad chest.

And a slow, almost painful smile crept on her lips. He was warm. She - she could feel his warmth on her skin, could feel and see the soft rise and fall of his chest, could heard his calm breathing. A deep sob was ripped from her throat and she pressed her eyes shut, stifled the sound. He was alive. He was really alive.

But suddenly knowing wasn't enough. She needed to touch him, feel him, just for a second, just for a moment to be sure, to chase the nightmare away completely. And without thinking she lifted the blanket and crawled under it, snuggling up to his body, melting into his warmth. Sliding one arm over his stomach she rested her head on his shoulder, her knee, her toes stroke his legs as she rolled closer still.

Webb stirred at the touch, shifted his head, exhaled slowly without waking. The rhythm of his breathing changed almost imperceptibly and a first soft snore escaped his slightly opened lips.

Mac smiled and closed her eyes and as she did one last tear escape from under her heavy eyelids. A minute. She inhaled deeply, took in his scent - a mixture of what she could only describe as HIM, the soap he had used in the evening, a little sweat and just a trace of medical powder - that mingled with the fresh smell of recently washed cloth; buried her nose in his pajamas. Only a minute. She would be only a minute. But she needed this. Just for a minute. A minute.


Webb residence, early morning

He had had a dream. A wonderful dream ... of Sarah in his arms, her body next to his and wrapped around him... It had been so real he could still smell her scent, could still feel her warmth, her touch... Such a wonderful dream.

Webb slowly opened his eyes and blinked, filled his lungs with air. Grey morning light filtered in the room, deepening the shadows and chasing them away at the same time. The rain must have stopped sometime during the night. Something tickled his jaw and as he lowered his chin her hair brushed over his lips.

Staring down at her he needed some time to comprehend that it hadn't been a dream. That she was really here, in his bed. One of her arms was thrown across his chest, holding him tight and as he lifted his head a bit more he saw that their legs were entangled too.

Carefully laying his head back on the pillow he closed his eyes. For a second he allowed himself to simply enjoy the moment. To turn his head and bury his nose in her hair, taking in her presence, drinking in the sensation of being so close to her. Then he blinked again and smiled sadly. It was still a dream. A wonderful, wonderful dream but he knew it couldn't last.

He had never known that she had a tendency for sleepwalking but it was the only explanation. The only thing that made sense. And now he had to figure out a way to wake her up without embarrassing her to the bone... His alarm clock went off.

Webb squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed a silent curse.

Mac made an unwilling sound of protest, stirred, lifted her head and finally looked at him with sleep clouded eyes. She blinked then blinked again. He offered a hesitant smile. She started smiling back but the next second her face froze in shock. Sitting up abruptly she stared down at him and deep red heat colored her cheeks.

"Mac..."

Webb wasn't sure what he wanted to say but he never got a chance to finish his sentence anyway. Mac backed away so quickly, she nearly fell off the bed, taking most of the blanket with her. Clutching the collar of her pajamas with both hands she stared at him in embarrassed terror and started backwards in the direction of the door.

"Mac!" Webb probed up on his elbows but she had already turned and ran out of the room.

Cursing Webb lunged at the alarm clock and silenced it with a sharp slap. Then he reached for the bar above his bed and dragged his body towards the wheelchair as fast as he could.


He found her standing in the middle of her room, still clenching the collar of her pajama top in one hand, the other clapped over her mouth. Her back was to the door and he stopped, looking at her. If she had noticed his entrance she didn't show it.

"Mac."

She didn't move. But she knew he was watching her.

"Mac. We've got to talk."

His voice was so gentle. Mac closed her eyes and shook her head almost imperceptible. Tears stung behind her eyelids. How could she have done this? How could she have made such a fool out of herself? How could she look into his eyes after this morning? She heard a soft sigh.

"Mac ... please. I... Waking up in your company is a lovely experience but now you are embarrassed and I don't want that. Please. Help me understand."

She lowered her head. Then she whispered: "I had a nightmare."

"Tell me about it."

Mac bit back a sob and glued her eyes to the next wall. "It... I was in that apartment. With Sadik. Where he had forced me to go. I - I fought against him. First with words and then ... physically. Just as we had done. We struggled for the gun. He hit me but I managed to throw him back and the gun was in my hand and I - I ... shot him. And then I looked in his eyes and shot him a second time." She took a shuddering breath. "And before I did I told him that this was for Clayton Webb."

She had to stop. And for a second she was there again. There in her nightmare and she wrapped her arms around herself, trembling with shock and fear and panic. It had been so real. It had been ... so real. Again she pressed a hand to her mouth.

Wheels scratched quietly on the floor as he pushed his wheelchair an arm's length forward. His voice was barely a whisper and she knew immediately what he was talking about.

"In Italy I killed for the first time. A woman. Her name was Theresa Marcello. She ... was a terrorist of old school, doing it for money after most of her ideals had vanished with the end of the cold war. She would have killed Tim and another colleague and me and many innocent people. Without a second thought. But sometimes I still have nightmares about it. Sometimes I still see her lying in this bed of flowers with this hole in her head. And I'm scared of what I've done."

Mac closed her eyes.

"It wasn't Sadik I saw lying dead on the floor. It was you. I had shot you."

Silence. Time itself seemed to have stopped existing.

"Look at me."

Slowly she lifted her head but couldn't bring herself to face him.

"Sarah. Look at me."

She wanted to. She really wanted to. Instead she stared at the wall and said hoarsely: "I've found a new apartment."

And as the words left her lips she realized that she didn't want to go. She didn't want to face the rest of her life without him. She didn't want to miss his eyes light up when he handled his horses. She didn't want to live without his sarcastic little comments about her work. She didn't want to give up the way he cocked his eyebrow when he set her checkmate in chess. Little things. Precious things. She had no right to feel that way. She had no right to hope for a second chance. But she couldn't change her wishes.

Opening her mouth in desperate determination she turned around - and froze. The soft click as he pulled the door shut from outside seemed to echo in the room.