A/N: First off I'd really like to dedicate this chapter to: joanoa, GuitarVixen ( or Radiorox, I don't quite know what's going on there), Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, and my good friend Steelo (who has yet to write a fanfic!)

I'd also like to express my deepest concern on the end of Season 10 of JAG. I mean, what's happening? DJE's leaving the show, is JAG going to continue? And if so, what's going to happen to Harm? I won't say any names, but I got a few reviews saying they believe Harm's going to die and that new guy, Vukovic, (horrible name or what?) is going to take over for him. Can we spell C-A-TA-S-T-R-O-P-H-I-C. This cannot happen! I mean, I may be an idealist, but Harm and Mac have to get together, their ending has to be perfect.

So, for the last part of my extremely long author's note, I want to say . . . this story goes out to JAG, the way it is, always has been, and always should be, come what may. And also, for what I believe will be the perfect ending for Harm and Mac (but that's another chapter so . . . keep reading . . . oh yeah . . . and reviewing).

Nix707

Flashback to Ciaro Café: Part Two

"Cover me," Catherine said quietly, pushing her way through the crowd, "I'm going in."

"Whatever," Beth said lazily. "Just do it where I can see you–" and then Beth cut off. She was facing something very small, very black, and very lethal. Something otherwise known as a gun.

"I'm his girlfriend," Catherine Gayle said.

"

To say I feel like a ton of bricks just catapulted into my stomach is an understatement. The understatement of the century.

"You're his girlfriend?" I ask dryly. "I didn't know he had one."

"Of course he does," Catherine says briskly. "It was crucial that he had one."

"Crucial?" I echo. "To have a girlfriend?"

"Yes," Catherine replied impatiently. "Did you think he would be alone?"

I let my breathing regulate and then slowly got to my feet, my legs wobbling. I took a step backwards, to make for the other side of the roof when two hands grabbed me. I didn't even have time to draw a breath to scream before I was pitched over the edge.

Ciaro Café: Part Two

"Colonel! Colonel Mackenzie!"

I can hear a voice very distantly calling my name. I squint even though my eyes are closed. My head is hammering, and I feel like my skull has just been cleaved in two. What happened? I can't seem to remember anything . . .

"Colonel! Sarah! Dammit, Mac!"

I wince in pain as I open my eyes and instantly I'm blinded by the color white. White is everywhere. The ceiling, the walls, the big light above me. Hey, the white light . . . connection?

"Sarah."

I hear a gasp of relief and I turn my head, wincing at the throb in my lower temple. Clayton Webb sat beside my bed, his chair drawn up close, a look of mixed emotions painted on his face.

"My God, you're alive," he whispered dryly. His wavy brown hair combed back in what I think is sweat and his usually emotionless eyes are now filled with concern.

"Only to feel like hell," I muttered turning in my bed. "Where . . . where am I?"

"The hospital," he replied quietly. "You fell off a roof, remember?"

I shiver as the memory came back to me. The old man shot, his shooter on the roof, leaving Catherine behind, the shooter . . .

"I didn't fall," I rasped, grimacing at the memory. "I was pushed."

"By . . ." Webb prodded. His pale eyes bore into me. God, I hate the CIA face.

I shook my head, furious at my inability to remember. I tried recalling the memory but I was just faced with a solid blank wall. "I don't know," I said quietly. "It was dark and . . . I didn't get a proper look."

Webb shook his head. "The doctor warned me about this."

"Warned you about what?" I ask, feeling my anger and frustration spiking.

"This," he said pointing at me. "He said you might suffer from temporary loss of memory. Like Harm did after his little crash in the Atlantic. You do remember that, don't you?"

I glare at him. "Yes," I say none too coldly. How the hell does he have so much nerve to call Harm's crash little in front of a Marine that he knows could kick his ass at any time she wanted to. "I also remember what an ass you were back then and . . . oh, you haven't changed! . . . Or is that just my bad memory, Webb?"

"Funny, Mackenzie," Webb growled. "But every moment that I spend talking to you is a moment that the Phantom is moving around DC free."

"Well, don't keep him waiting," I said coldly.

Webb fixes his steely eyes on me. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Rest assured," I replied sarcastically, tilting my head towards him and feeling the pain as a result of it. "I'll live without you by my side."

"Fine then!" he cried and sprang up out of his chair. "Since you obviously feel that way then why do I even bother? Why do I even care? You spend your life chasing after Harmon Rabb Jr. even if it means getting yourself thrown off a roof!"

"Hey, that's not fair!" I cried back in retaliation, and instantly regretted it. My head was still throbbing painfully. "Harm had nothing to do that and besides . . . I was pushed!"

"Whatever you say," Webb growled, getting up and striding across the room to the door. "Look, sorry for caring. I'm out of here."

It takes a moment for it to click that he's leaving . . . and under these circumstances. Don't get me wrong, I'll never do a Webb again and make myself think I'm madly in love with someone when it's just the opposite but after everything that's happen . . . I'd be pretty evil to leave him like this.

"Wait," I said softly, and when his eyes met mine I averted them, making it look as I all of a sudden became very interested in my bed sheets. "I didn't mean what I said . . . or at least," I grinned, "not all of it."

He looks at me through wistful CIA agents eyes. Eyes that have seen too much. Instantly I feel something creeping over me. Dread. I know Webb. I know Webb possibly better than anyone else in this world . . . except perhaps his mother (sad) and when someone cracks a joke his eyes dance. He doesn't laugh, he's too CIA to laugh, but the eyes are laughing. And true, most people don't start hanging around for kicks with their old girlfriends but . . . we hardly fit that scenario.

"What's wrong, Webb?" I ask, my voice cracking under the tension. He looks at me with those incredible eyes of his and I feel like I'm a bug under a microscope . . . lower than a bug under a microscope. I'm what the bug under the microscope coughed up.

"Clay?" I whisper softly, his first name feeling strangely familiar on my lips.

He looks up at me and musters a smile. A strained very . . . 'I-know-but-I-won't-tell-you-because-I-can't-stand-to-see-you-get-hurt smile. "Nothing."

"Clay," I say warningly. "I know you . . . what's wrong?" My mind whizzes through the events of last night at an alarming speed. "What is it? Is it Harm? No, he's on the carrier. Is it Catherine? . . . My god, I left her on the roof!"

"Calm down, Sarah," he said quickly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I feel my eyelids grow heavy but I refuse to let them surrender. I lay back in the bed as I feel more than see Webb come back to sit beside me. "Nothing's happened to either of them. They're both safe."

"Beth isn't," I replied groggily, my eyes resting very lightly. "That's what Catherine said . . ." I yawned. "You'll find her, won't you?"

"Yeah," he said calmly, his voice light and silvery like mine, but his not from sleepiness, it's just because he cares. "We'll find her."

"Then . . . what's wrong . . . Webb?" I managed through a fit of yawns, keeping my eyes shut.

He paused a moment, as though hoping I'd fall asleep and then realizing it's useless. "I want to pull you off the case . . ."

"You can't do that!" I manage to fight back even though I'm too tired to even move.

"I can and will . . ." Webb answered. "Believe me, I care about you . . ." he turned back to a one-way glass pain at the back of the room that Mac in her slumberous state hadn't noticed. "We care about you." And Webb could have almost sworn . . . though he couldn't see from this side of the glass . . . that Harm had nodded with him.

"Webb," I greet as Clay pulls himself inside the room. Gathered in the little coffee/Mac's recovery surveying room is myself (of course), Webb, Catherine, the Admiral, my new rio, Lieutenant Boyer, and a CIA agent that goes by the name of Harris. No first name . . . at least, none that he'll tell us.

"Alright, guys," Webb says in a much louder voice, addressing the group. "I checked with the nurses and they say she's going to be fine. As a security risk we're going to keep her in the CIA recover room for . . ." he flashes a glance at me, "obvious reasons."

"Does anyone know the cause of her fall?" piped up Harris from the corner. Harris is a pretty quiet guy. Except for introductions, he hasn't said a word. Harris is a bit like Webb. Very know-it-all, very shadowy. They've even got the same short, thin, and brown haired type appearance. Only it's quite evident that Harris is a good five years younger. At least.

"She says she was pushed," Webb said wearily. "But . . . we all know what the nurses said." An uncomfortable silence envelopes the room. It was true. The nurses had warned about a slight delusional phase.

"If she says she was pushed, we've got no choice but to believe her," the Admiral said, voicing my opinion. "These are shady circumstances . . . I don't believe Mac could have fallen off that roof. The angle at which she was found . . . if it was self inflicted, she would have had to have dived off the edge. Pushed seems like the only logical solution."

"I was there," Catherine said quickly. "And believe me, there was someone else on the roof with Mac and I. Definitely. I heard her yelling at them as she ran."

"Well then that proves what we already suspected," Webb said calmly. "That they were waiting for us."

A slight silence is taken over before Lt. Boyer breaks it, "you mean they knew we were coming?"

A few eyebrows cock up. No duh.

"Either that or everyone just happened to be there at the right place, right time, and everything just happened to work out perfectly for Phantom and Co," Webb said sarcastically.

"Look," Catherine said quickly. "That's a problem, I'm sure, but there's a more pressing one . . ." her eyes flash dangerously blue, "what about Beth?"

Webb sighed. "We'll get searching for O'Neil. If it was the Phantom that took her, then he'll leave us some sort of clue. He's that type of person. Now," he breathed. "Another issue. Our junior agents have managed to wrangle out the fact that the Phantom will strike in two days . . . and systematically the next target should be Commander Evan Hart," Webb explained. "Be on your watch, Rabb."

"Will do," I replied briskly. Much too energetically for the situation, I find.

"And don't worry, sir," Lt. Boyer grinned. "I'll keep him in line for you."

"I've seen the kind of lines you cross," Webb smiled jokingly. "I should be worried."

"Webb! Webb, open up!"

What the hell? Webb opened his eyes and stared into blackness. That little digital clock on his bedside table said 3:47 am. Lovely.

"Webb, come on, it's me, now open up!"

"Coming!" Webb hollered and staggered into a house robe before opening a door. Catherine Gayle shot in quickly, slamming the door behind her. She whipped rushed blonde hair out of her face, her eyes wider than usual.

"Catherine?" Webb groaned. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Catherine just stared at him. Webb moaned again, "of course you do. No pain like this that you put me through could ever be accidental."

"Webb," she said quietly, but his rambling stopped anyway. "Look, it's Beth, she . . . she spoke to me."

Webb wiped his face, trying to look more alive. "What do you mean . . . she spoke to you?"

"She did, Webb!" Catherine cried. "It was in my dream! She literally came out and spoke to me."

Webb relaxed a little, sinking into his large leather couch and tried to suppress a strangled laugh but to no avail. "Cat, it's early in the morning, we're both tired, we've already got a team out after O'Neil–"

"I thought you'd said they'd have found her by now . . ." Catherine said slowly.

"Well clearly I was mistaken!" Webb cried impatiently. "Look, they'll find–"

"Beth's still missing!" Catherine cried. "You've got to find her or dammit I will!"

She jumped up from the couch and Webb followed her move, grabbing her by the wrist. "Catherine Gayle, I swear if you move another muscle in the direction of that door I will have your ass fired from the CIA faster than you can blink."

She turned to look at Webb, waving messy blond hair in his face. Her eyes blazed blue with intense ferocity mirrored in their walls. But she didn't dare defy him. Webb eased her onto the couch beside him and he leaned back in surprise when she placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Look," Webb said softly. "Tomorrow you and I will personally join the search for Beth. Harm'll be back on the carrier with Boyer so you won't have to worry about his six. In fact," he said, checking his wrist watch, "they should almost be there now . . . Cat? . . . Cat?"

Webb looked down to see one hell of a tired agent sleeping on his chest. Gently, he eased her down to the couch but she clung to his shirt . . . subconsciously or fully aware, he didn't know. Relenting slightly, Webb lifted her up by the waist and delicately placed her sleeping form on his chest. And they slept like that . . . right through the emergency wake up call from CIA headquarters . . . saying two more team members were missing.

Waves rocked dangerously underneath the single helicopter as it rocked shakily in the wind. Harmon Rabb, Jr. strained his muscles as his arm's bound against both sides of the helicopter, steadying him as he walked. Behind him Lt. Boyer stayed plastered to her seat, not daring to move.

"What the hell?" Harm gasped as he neared the cockpit. "You're flying the wrong way! The carrier's to the left!"

And that was when the pilot turned around to face him. And Harm knew at once . . . this was no mistake.

"You!" he spluttered, his eyes suddenly out of focus. "But you're dead!"

The pilot didn't move, didn't argue, didn't utter a word, but sat there in the cockpit smiling. And the pilot continued to smile as in one decisive move, they lurched the helicopter to the side pitching Harm over . . . out of the helicopter.

Only one syllable graced Harm's lips as he fell for god-knows-how long to god-knows-where. "Mac!" he screamed.

And over a thousand miles away Sarah Mackenzie sat straight up in her hospital bed, her forehead glistening with sweat. "Harm!" she cried back.

A/N: I am so sorry I kept from posting this chapter for so long! Apologies go out to you all . . . have any of you read that TV Guide article about DJE leaving JAG, or rather, being kicked out of JAG? (thanks, Snugglebug, I owe you) If so . . . puhlease tell me your thoughts! I'm dying to know them. Oh yeah, and review . . . please review. Look, I know that this chapter was leaving, but a nice little spin off at the end and a little Webb + Catherine romance . . . nothing to drastic, but those two are just so lonely!