Author's note – Since does not allow song lyrics in posted stories anymore, I can't post the relevant lyrics anymore, but the title for this chapter comes from the song 'Two Out of Three Ain't Bad', written by Jim Steinman, performed by Meat Loaf. The song appeared on Meat Loaf's 1977 album, Bat Out Of Hell. And the title for the overall series is a line from Whitney Houston's song 'All At Once' from her debut album.

-----

PRISONER OF WAR CAMP
CHECHNYA

1 …. 2 …. 3 …. 4 ….

Sergei counted the reps under his breath as he performed one-armed push ups, ignoring the drizzle beginning to fall and the darkness surrounding him. He couldn't sleep. He did close his eyes, trying to remember the sights and sounds of his youth – the grass under his bare feet, the chill of the Taiga as he waded along its banks, the fresh mountain air from his fruitless attempts to discover his father's final resting place - instead of muddy ground his fingers were slipping in, the cage surrounding him and the uncertainty of his brother's fate. Although he'd seen Daniel Mason loitering around the camp in the company of Colonel Vonikoff, the CIA agent hadn't spoken to him since that morning. He just wished he knew whether the lack of news was good or bad. Was this how Harm had felt when news had first reached him that he'd disappeared in Chechnya? To be honest, he barely knew his brother. But that didn't stop the dull ache in his heart. They were a part of each other, the same blood. It had never been more apparent as now, when Harm was in trouble.

5 …. 6 …. 7 ….

"Zhukov," a voice called out, Sergei's eyes popping open as he swore softly. He recognized the voice. He could almost feel the air still around him as everyone in the cage – those who weren't attempting to sleep, at any rate - stopped what they were doing, hoping to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Sergeant Ranov wasn't just doing his job …. he truly hated Russians. The rumor around the camp was that his entire family had been killed several years earlier during one of many bombing raids on Grozny. Whether it was true or not, Ranov seemed to take pleasure in devising new ways to torment those in his charge. Because of Sergei's special circumstance, he was used to being ignored by Ranov. As much as the man hated Russians, he tended to stay away from Sergei rather than risk the wrath of his superiors by hurting him. In a way, it was worse than any amount of physical torture he could have subjected Sergei to, for Ranov's lack of attention towards Sergei drew attention from the other prisoners. It just gave them one more reason to resent Sergei.

Sergei drew his knees up under him, pushing himself into a crouching position then slowly standing as he turned to face the direction of the voice. As he walked towards the fence, he wondered if what Daniel Mason had warned him about had come true, that the Chechens had somehow heard of his brother's accident. But if they'd found out, surely they'd made the connection with Mason's visit and realized that he'd already been told.

He shivered inwardly when he drew close enough to make out the chilling smile on Ranov's face, his eyes seeming to glitter like obsidian orbs in the darkness, standing out against his pale skin. Feeling the eyes of the other prisoners on him, he made his way along the fence to the gate, which Ranov was making a display of unlocking. "Out," he said in heavily-accented English as he released the lock, pulling the gate open.

Sergei thought his use of English instead of Russian – Ranov was one of the few Chechens at the camp who spoke both languages in addition to his native Chechen dialect – rather telling. This had to be about Harm, he thought, clenching his hands into fists behind his back. If he hadn't been wearing gloves – threadbare in places, but better than nothing in the chilly mountain air – his fingernails would have been digging into the palms of his hands, likely drawing blood. Silently, he walked through the gate, making note of the outlines of guards in the darkness, rifles at the ready, as the Chechen locked the gate.

Grabbing Sergei's upper arm – he couldn't have struggled even if he'd been suicidal enough to try as the man had a grip like a vise – he pulled him towards the camp headquarters. Sergei stumbled over a small rock in his path, his arm feeling like it was being wrenched from its socket as Ranov yanked him back up after he hit the ground, his wrists and knees stinging from the impact with the ground.

"Come along," Ranov said impatiently, as if Sergei had any choice in the matter. "The Colonel wishes to see you."

Sergei was curious, but he wasn't about to ask the reason why. He'd find out soon enough and if he was to find out that his brother was …. he couldn't complete the thought. No, Harm was alive, he told himself. Surely he would have felt it if he wasn't. But if he was wrong, he didn't want his memory of finding out to be of the smile on Ranov's face as he told Sergei the news.

Soon enough, Sergei was being shoved through the door of the headquarters, blinking rapidly as he adjusted to the sudden brightness, unusual for this time of night. The generators powering what little electrical equipment there was at the camp were usually powered down at night to conserve power. Stealing a glance at Colonel Vonikoff seated behind his desk, the omnipresent cigarette dangling from his fingertips, he had the feeling the man hadn't even been to bed yet. He had the look of a man who was extremely busy.

Vonikoff said something in Chechen, obviously a dismissal from his tone. Ranov turned on his heel and strode out, but not before leaning over to whisper in Sergei's ear, "Perhaps he let you out for funeral."

Trying not to let the man's taunt get to him, he forced his attention on the Colonel, studying his expression intently as he stood at attention in front of the desk. He could find nothing in the other man's expression which gave a hint as to what this was all about. A radio was playing in the background, but not loudly enough that Sergei could make out whether it was news or music. If it was news, then the likelihood that the Chechens knew of Harm's accident multiplied.

Vonikoff let Sergei remain at attention for a long moment, studying the younger man impassively. This one prisoner had caused him nearly as many headaches as all the others combined. In a way, Vonikoff was happy to be rid of him. "You may go," he said in Russian, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. Sergei stared at him, confusion evident on his face. Surely, he hadn't been dragged here simply to be immediately sent back to the cage. Then again, one never knew with the Chechens. Was this some new form of torture?

After another moment, Vonikoff clarified, "Your American …. brethren have purchased your freedom for quite a sum of money … and weapons. Mr. Mason will escort you out of here."

Sergei turned as Mason entered the room, unable to dispel the growing feeling of dread gnawing at him. His freedom bought for dollars and bullets …. Harm would never have agreed to this. If he knew nothing else about his brother, he knew that. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mason cut him off. "We should get going," he said, giving Sergei a hard look, as if warning him not to say anything, even in English, before stepping forward to shake Vonikoff's hand. "We're meeting Mr. Webb in Moscow."

Unable to watch them shake hands over the deal that bought him his freedom, Sergei stepped outside into the crisp night air, staring up at the sky above him. There were no stars out tonight and the rain, barely a mist before, was falling harder now, quickly soaking him to the skin. After a moment, Mason joined him, hoisting an umbrella over their heads. "I've got a change of clothes for you in the car," he said. "We should get going. We have to drive to Grozny to catch the military transport flight that will take us to Moscow."

Sergei turned and stared at him, a multitude of questions racing through his mind. But one question was more important than the others. "My brother?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from trembling for fear of the answer. "Has there been word?"

"He was picked up yesterday morning, US time," Mason replied. "The last time I spoke to Mr. Webb, he said that your brother was being transferred from the aircraft carrier to a hospital in Virginia as we speak."

So Harm was alive. His relief was only momentary, however. If Harm was alive, why the sudden urge to get him released from the camp? "Then why ….?" he began, searching for the words to convey the outrage he was feeling over the manner of his release. "I am not worth the price paid for my freedom."

Mason stared at him, incredulous. "You've just been freed after spending five months in a prison camp and you're questioning the manner in which it was done?" he asked.

Sergei straightened and said firmly, "My father was a prisoner for eleven years. He would not have …." He trailed off, trying to think of the correct word in English. Giving up after a moment, he rephrased. "He would not have wanted his freedom under such conditions."

"Even if it meant going home to his wife and son?" Mason asked. Sergei just started at him. From everything his mother and brother had told him, he did not think Harmon Rabb, Sr. was a man who would have compromised his principles. He couldn't know about his stepmother's feelings on the matter, but he was reasonably sure that his brother would not have wanted his father to compromise those principles, either. "Well, you're free now. Within a day, you should be in the US. And any other questions you have, I suggest you take them up with Mr. Webb."

Without a word, Sergei got in the car, pulling the door closed behind him. He rested his head against the cool window, closing his eyes. Mason studied him as he got in behind the wheel and started the engine. He was surprised by Sergei's naiveté, wondering how long he would last in the US with that attitude. A part of him wished he could be a fly on the wall when Sergei brought up his concerns to Clayton Webb.

-----

I-95 SOUTH
JUST NORTH OF RICHMOND, VA

"There's a gas station coming up at the next exit," Mic said with a glance at the blue road sign advertising which gas stations were available. "Did you want to stop and get some more coffee or a bite to eat?"

Renee shook her head, not even turning to look at him. Ever since A.J. had called, she'd been operating on auto pilot. She wasn't sure what she would have done if Mic hadn't quickly jumped in with an offer to drive her to Portsmouth, even if it was likely the last place he wanted to be. Sure, she probably could have ridden with A.J. and Harm's family – assuming Harm's family deigned to let her into their tight circle. At least with Mic, she'd someone who knew what she was going through, who understood her fears beyond wondering if Harm was going to survive.

"Okay," he acquiesced, falling silent as he stared out at the dark road stretching out in front of them.

"Look, Mic," Renee began after a moment, finally turning to look at him. He was beyond tired, she could tell in the dim light inside the car. There was a weariness in his eyes that she knew had nothing to do with the amount of sleep he'd gotten – or hadn't gotten, more accurately - in the last twenty-four hours. This was a man who was on the verge of losing everything he held dear, even if he wasn't quite ready to admit that to himself or anyone else. He didn't have to come with her to Portsmouth. God only knew how hard it was going to be for him, watching Mac worry over Harm. That was something else they knew – which A.J. had told them when asked by Mic - that Mac was aware of the sudden change in Harm's condition and was on the way to Portsmouth herself. If Mic was bothered by the fact that his fiancée had kept in touch with A.J., but hadn't even felt the need to call him, he kept it mostly to himself. "I am gratefully that you're doing this for me."

"No worries," he said, his tone tight. "I guess I should go down there myself …. since Sarah's going to be there."

"Yeah," she replied wearily, staring down at her lap. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she looked back up, only her glistening eyes giving a hint of the torment she was feeling. "Do you think, um, what do you think we'll find down there?"

"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. That was the question he'd asked himself more times than he could count since A.J.'s call. Time didn't make the answer come any easier …. or make it any easier to swallow. He wanted to know that when he arrived in Portsmouth and saw Mac that she would fall into his arms and let Renee take care of Rabb. Probably when hell freezes over, he thought scornfully. What is it about Rabb that has her on the verge of throwing away everything we have together? "I'm not sure I want to know right now."

"I think we're a little past the 'don't ask, don't tell' thing, don't you?" she mused. "I mean, Mac's been MIA ever since this whole thing began and …. I just wonder. When he wakes up, whose name will be coming from his lips? Especially if they did …." She trailed off, unable to complete the thought. "That time, when he called me by her name, I remember the look in his eyes, just before he, um, said it. He'd never looked at me before like that. In a single, unguarded moment, I saw everything I'd ever wanted to see in his eyes, but it wasn't for me."

Mic silently digested this, and then offered, "Remember when they went to Russia? Sarah didn't call to let me know she'd arrived and I couldn't get a hold of her. I asked the Admiral if he'd heard from her. He said that Rabb was missing, too. Then he asked me a question and I didn't know how to respond."

Any other time, Renee might have been furious to learn that Harm and Mac had disappeared into Chechnya together – for she had no doubt that was where Mic's story was heading. Harm hadn't talked much about that trip, beyond finding out about his brother, and certainly not about the fact that Mac had been with him in Chechnya, rather than in Moscow, where Mic had previously told her Mac had been sent by A.J.. Now, as much as she was loath to admit it, she was merely resigned to the truth, whatever that was. When did I decide to just accept whatever is going on between Harm and Mac? she asked herself, her breath catching as she realized what she was thinking. To her own mind, she sounded so certain that there was something going on between them.

Had something been going on back as far as Russia? She shook her head, surprised at the thought. No, they'd been in Russia to work and she couldn't imagine anything, even Mac, coming between Harm and what he saw as his duty. How many times had she been confronted with that issue herself? She knew Harm at least that well. At least she thought she did. Or thought she had. Now, she wasn't sure if she really knew him at all. "What did he ask?" she asked.

"If I was upset that she was missing or that they might be missing together," he replied, sighing heavily. "Then she came back and I couldn't make myself ask her …. Oh, I know he was in Chechnya and she was in Chechnya. I did get that much out of her. But beyond that, I kept telling myself that I was better off not knowing."

"So now what?" she demanded, digesting the fact that A.J. apparently was aware of something going on between his senior attorneys. If A.J. knew, or suspected, something, how many other people did? Were she and Mic going to turn out to be God's greatest fools for hanging on like this? Did everyone know that there was something between Harm and Mac except for them? What kind of idiots did that make them? "I don't think we can just ignore this, not anymore. If I didn't know that Harm's been lost in the middle of the ocean, then on an aircraft carrier for most of today, I'd think she's been with him." Sighing, she stared out the windshield into darkness, biting on her lower lip. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"I always thought you were one for saying what was on your mind," he joked, although laugh that followed rang hollow.

She shrugged. "What if …. If they did …." She couldn't make herself say the words, even as it increasingly became apparent that there might be something to them. It was one thing to admit it to herself, in the depths of her mind. But to say the words out loud would put some kind of finality to them, as if etching them in stone. "What will you do? Can you live with her after that?"

Mic glanced away. He'd been wrestling with that same question himself. It was different when all he'd had to wonder was if there had been something there, in the past. Both he and Mac had their histories and it had been his contention all along that they needed to leave that stuff in the past. It had led to more than one argument between them – there were parts of her past which she seemed not quite willing to let go of – but he believed they could overcome that. But this wasn't in the past, if their supposition was correct. This alleged dalliance was very much a part of the present and was staring them right in the face – or it would be in a few hours. Maybe it would have been easier if he wasn't aware of certain facts of Mac's past.

"Did Rabb ever tell you about the first case we were assigned to work together?" he asked. She shook her head, puzzled by the apparent change of topic. "Sarah had been married...actually was still married when I met her. Her husband turned up dead and she and her ex-lover were charged with the crime. Rabb defended Sarah and I defended her ex-lover. He'd been her CO at a previous duty station."

Connecting the dots in her mind, Renee said, "I assume the point of this story is that she was still married when she was having an affair with her CO …. Wait a minute, I thought that kind of thing was frowned on in the military?"

"Statute of limitations had run out on the adultery by the time the story came out," he explained, feeling slightly guilty about telling Renee something so personal. But the adultery was hardly a secret – her Article 32 hearing was a matter of public record and it had been mentioned there, even if it hadn't been the focus of the hearing - so it wasn't like Renee could use the information, he justified to himself. And that was assuming she would stoop to something so crass.

"So your point is what exactly?" she asked, attempting to keep a tight lid on her emotions. Mac had never really struck her as the sort to do something like that. She'd seemed too squared away, too upstanding …. But if she had a history …. She tried to tell herself that Harm was too honorable, too noble to fall into that, but the voice inside her head didn't sound entirely confident on that point. After all, Mic had just told her that Harm had defended Mac when she'd been accused of killing her husband. If he really did love Mac, could anything have stopped them – even relationships with other people? This put an entirely different spin on everything. "If she's done it once, she might do it again? Is that what you're trying to tell me? And you want to marry her knowing this?"

"It's in the past," he insisted, his denial sounding weak to his own ears.

Renee opened her mouth to retort, but decided against it. It wasn't fair to take out her frustration on Mic. He was in the same leaky boat that she was. But she was afraid of what would happen if Mic did decide to walk away. If he turned back, then Harm was as good as lost to her. Hadn't she once told Harriet that she prayed that Mic wouldn't get hit by a bus? She'd known for a while that it would be easier to hold onto Harm as long as Mac was taken. She'd just never expected everything to play out like this. "But you said you've known about this all along, right?" she continued in a more reasonable tone, trying to assure herself as much as him. "You obviously have never seen it as a problem before, so maybe you're right and it isn't. Maybe you're reading too much into this. Maybe we both are. Past behavior isn't necessarily an indicator of what may happen in the future."

"Somehow, I doubt you really believe that," he replied, his eyes steady on the road as he changed lanes in preparation for exiting onto the bypass around Richmond. "Let's turn this around. Let's say – hypothetically, of course – that they, uh, that they did have an affair. Can you just forget about that and go on with him as before?" He hated asking, but as much as she needed to know what he was going to do, he needed the same.

It burned him, the idea that he might lose Mac to Harm, but he wasn't sure if he could really live with the alternative. Knowing that Mac had issues with fidelity in the past, and in the face of all the circumstantial evidence that Mac had strayed and only days before they were to be married, could he live with her day in and day out without wondering where she was when she wasn't with him? Could he take her into his arms, make love to her, without wondering if she enjoyed Harm's hands and mouth on her body, if she found more pleasure taking him inside of her. How could he not wonder if it was Harm's face she saw when she closed her eyes? Had it been only luck that he hadn't faced the same circumstance Renee had, that of being called the wrong name at an inopportune moment?

"You're right," Renee said shortly, "this is all hypothetical. We don't know anything for sure."

Despite her clipped tone, Mic caught the note of uncertainty in her voice. He reached over and awkwardly patted her shoulder, conveying the silent message that he understood. Before he could come up with any words of comfort, she continued in a quiet, faraway voice, "All I've ever wanted is what Mac has with you. I want Harm to love me like that, like I'm the center of his universe. But he can't even say the words …." She turned to him, and in the dim light, he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. "He's never even told me that he loves me. The most I've been able to get out of him is that he wants me in his life. But I don't know if that is enough anymore."

"The bastard doesn't deserve you," he said emphatically. It was so much easier to condemn him for what was going on instead of Mac. It was easier to blame outside forces than to look for the cracks in the foundation of his house. "Stringing you along like that …."

"To be fair, it's not really like that." Renee protested, not quite sure why she felt compelled to defend Harm. God knew Mic was probably right. "Maybe I've built this up into too much."

"How so?" he asked. "You've been with him for almost a year and a half. That's pretty long term, if you ask me, especially these days. It would seem to imply some kind of commitment."

"Yeah, but at least you got that ring on Mac's finger," she pointed out. "I haven't even gotten a hint that our relationship might possibly move in that direction, even if it's at some point in the distant future."

He was silent for a long moment, contemplating what Renee had just said. How many times had Mac said those words, told him that she loved him? He said them to her more times than he could count. He tried to remember some of the significant moments in their relationship. When he returned to Washington, she hadn't said much of anything. He told himself at the time that it was because she was so surprised at his sudden appearance. She hadn't really said much of anything the night she'd finally moved the ring over, either, had simply moved the ring over without a word. Or the day they set a wedding date – she'd seemed a bit distracted at their lunch, which she'd claimed to due to a heavy schedule at work since A.J. was gone and Rabb was covering for him, meaning she was handling some of Rabb's normal workload.

Then there was the engagement party. He'd told Renee that it was best to let Harm and Mac have time to say their goodbyes. Goodbyes which had taken the entire night? And after that she'd been so distant. Was that when it began? He'd told Renee that he wasn't worried that night, but he would give just about anything now to have been a fly on the wall that night. What had they said to each other that night that might have changed everything?

His ring was on Mac's finger, but did he really have her? Could he ever, as long as Rabb was around?

-----

To be continued...