A/N: I'm so so so SO sorry it took me such a long time to post this chapter. I just replaced my very faulty computer so now . . . chapters every three days!

Special thanks to all my reviewers: Bite Beccy, Bail's Other Daughter, Steelo, Starryeyes10, Kitty X, martini1988, QueenOfAces, froggy0319, alix33, mjag, moonlight, nursejay80, AnMaDeRoNi, snugglebug, jaggurl, Anne, ficchic, dansingwolf, Radiorox, cbw, wishwaters, Rocket Rain, sgcgirl, tlk29, JJScottishGirl, Blueangel, aj, and French-navy girl. If I missed you for feedback, please let me know!

Note to tumblebuttons: If you are reading this – which I'm sure you are – please don't or I won't help you on "it". I mean it, I can screw things up with you and "it" so badly.

And last note – this chapter begins six months later, just to speed up the process.

Day 180

"Guess what day it is today?"

I lean my back against the cool metal railing as I watch Vera's face furrow into a frown. I sighed with pleasure and breathed in the thick Venetian air. Sunshine poured down on us as we walked through the market up to the stairs of St. Peter's Basilica. Vera sighed and tucked a long strand of dark auburn hair behind her ear in annoyance, "You know I'm no good with numbers at 0800."

"I wasn't aware you were good with numbers at any time of the day."

She punches me in the arm and I'm constantly amazed at how someone so small and with such a thin figure could possibly harbor that much strength. But then again, I reminded myself with a wry grin, leaning farther back against the rail, Mac surprised me in the same way.

"Actually, I didn't mean what number day," I informed her as Vera began to walk away, sipping her espresso delicately but ravenously, as if she were to lady-like to gulp it down in one swig. And believe me, Vera can do that. I've seen her at it.

"Oh, so I actually have a shot at this one?" she raised her eyebrow in light mockery.

"Yeah." I shrug. "But just for your information, today was Day 180."

Vera nodded, mildly impressed. "You're almost halfway through."

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair which had grown surprisingly longer since we had first come to Venice. Slowly – and I felt it too – a dark shadow came over my eyes, and I exhaled deeply. "But it feels like forever."

Vera patted my arm sympathetically and guided me up the steps of the Basilica. On a typical morning we just sort of sit outside on the steps, Vera with her espresso and my very light "too American" coffee – as Vera would say. Today, however, Vera was rather rushed and had to go into work and so we had both gotten up earlier and hit the market place before the mad rush of old Italian women swept through and bought all the biscotti.

I smiled at Vera in a friendly way, but in my eyes I saw Mac. And I remember what day it was today. And my guilt only worsened. Vera stared at me and I knew she saw my immediate mood swing, for she leaned in a little on my arm in an I-know-this-is-tough-for-you way that friends did a lot. "What day is it today, Harm?"

I kicked a stone a little ways ahead of us and watched it bounce on the pebbles ahead. "Today's Mac's birthday."

The statement sort of hung there, thick in the Venetian air. We were silent for a very long moment before she put her arm around me sympathetically. It's so hard to imagine this woman took out fourteen people in one day. I smiled at her in a thank-you-I-kind-of-needed-that way and found myself doubting the fact that I had met her only 180 days ago. She had come like the Thunder and stayed like the wind. All in that one day . . .

Flashback to 180 days ago . . .

I ran my fingers over the little framed picture in my hands. Perhaps it was childish, maybe foolish, probably both. But I felt like I really needed Mac's picture right just then. It was my strength, the thing I depended on. And if anything could get me through this right now, then it was her picture if not her.

I sat in Webb's revolving chair and stared at the very bland puke-colored walls of his office. He had yet to personalize his office even though he'd been here for over a decade. He had his name on the door and a poster of 'America's Top 20 Most Wanted' but not much else. His desk was filled with note paper and case files. He didn't even have his own damned coffee cup. I wondered how he could stand to be in this room day after day, with nothing to remind him of who truly was.

Or maybe, I thought with a depressing sort of helplessness. These case files were who he was. Maybe all he had in his life was work. But that's not true, I fought my consciousness. He's got Mac – and that's more than every man could even dream of having. I sighed unhappily. He had Mac. And now . . . I was losing whatever shot I ever had of having something with her. And this more than anything disturbed me.

"Rabb."

Webb said my name in an authoritative voice, but not an unkindly one. Like a friend who wanted to let someone know that he was there for them, but responsible for them also.

"Just leave me alone, Clay." My statement came out so piteously that even I managed to look at myself in disgust. Webb plopped down in the seat next to me, and fixed his clear grey eyes on me.

"You'll be okay."

I stared back at him with a determined expression but said nothing. There was nothing I could say. I felt cheated – cheated out of life. I was losing everything, everyone – all that ever mattered to me. And what could Clay say? What could the only person who knew me say about my disappearance from my former life? You'll be okay. It wasn't damn fair!

"So where is he?"

Both Clay and I turned around to see an – and keep in mind though while in my fit of despair I am not completely blind – an exceptionally beautiful woman. She was wearing tight jeans, a very I-don't-care-what-you-think t-shirt and a jacket that looked like it had been thrown on in a hurry. She had short but wavy auburn hair and very dark eyes. And I could see – with some satisfaction – that Webb seemed to clam up.

"Um, Harm this is . . ." he looked at Vera, fixing his eyes to hers, "Special Agent Vera Azhad. She's going to be . . . escorting you to Italy."

"Escorting me?"

Webb opened his mouth but Vera cut in. "I'm going to be your keeper, so I swear if you make a run for it and make me chase you, it's not my fault if you find a bullet in the back of your head."

Webb grimaced slightly. "Spoken like a true agent at four in the morning."

Vera looked at me and I felt an instant emotion sweep over me. Like I was a bug under a microscope. No – worse. Like I was the thing the bug under the microscope just coughed up.

"Are you Harmon Rabb, Jr.?"

I looked at her uncertainly. "Y-yes?"

"No."

"No?"

"Not anymore." She shot a glance at Webb that clearly said I-better-get-paid-a-lot-for-this. And yet despite that, I found myself grinning at her. She was supposed to take care of me for the next freaking year and in a matter of two minutes, she had already threatened to put a bullet through my head.

I watched very silently as Webb and Vera talked. They spoke smoothly, eyes connecting with each other in such a calm manner that they must have known each other for years. And I found myself wondering how many times Vera had threatened to kill him.

180 days later

Venice, Italy

"Okay, I've gotta get going," Vera said quickly, sipping up the last of her espresso and flipping her handbag over her shoulder. "I trust you can make it back to the house safely."

"God, yes, Vera."

"You've got your key?"

"Do I look like an idiot?"

Vera grinned. "Do you want me to answer that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Get going."

I watched as Vera disappeared into the crowd and a sudden feeling jolted me back to reality. I was alone in the Venetian marketplace with no one expecting me anywhere. I could take my own sweet time.

I admit, over the past 180 days, Vera might as well have had me on a collar and leash for all she put up with. I nearly went everywhere with her. Except when she went off to work. Then she kept me in the house. So I felt a certain sense of freedom, right just then. I roamed a little around the marketplace, bidding my own sweet time. And then I realized it was Thursday and I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

I practically ran down the small narrow alleyways that led through the streets of Venice. Almost a block away from our house was the post office. It was very small but it held all the postage of about five streets – and the streets were long. It was one of the only places that Vera trusted me to walk by myself because I would receive the letters – but they'd be written in Italian and I needed a translation. She had me on a hook.

I entered the post office and banged cheerfully on the counter until the postmaster – Mario Lufetti – came. I signaled to him cheerfully. "Il Mario, come lei fa?"

Yes, I didn't know Italian very well, but Mario and I spoke brokenly. He spoke broken English and I spoke broken Italian.

"Uh – how you say? – Uh, same old, same old," Mario replied to my question of how was he doing. Mario had dark hair, a long drooping moustache and a bit too much belly for the belt, if you know what I mean. But he was a cheerful man with four small children and a wife who could cook. And I mean it, she could cook.

"Ci è qualunque posta per me?" I asked, hoping I just asked if I had any mail. And if I hadn't, Mario didn't seem to notice because he disappeared into the back of the store and came back with four fat envelopes and pushed them to me. "May you pee merry."

"Be merry."

"Pee merry."

"No," I replied, resisting the urge to laugh at the situation. "Be merry."

"S'what I say," Mario retorted indignantly. I chuckled softly and shot him my famous Rabb smile that – even though being a newcomer – I was already becoming well-known for.

I strolled down Vinetta Avenue. We lived at number 146, a small brick house squashed in between two much larger ones. It was small, but with only Vera and I permanently living there, and CIA agents dropping in and out staying for a maximum of a night or two, the place was always busy.

I swung into the driveway and inserted my key in the lock. I twisted and opened the door, whistling a very cheerful American tune that always annoyed Vera. I entered the small kitchen which consisted of a counter, a fridge, a stove, and a small table that could seat two (and three if the third actually sat on the table) and poured myself a cup of coffee as I sifted through the mail. There were three letters addressed to Vera Valvassori and only one to Franco Valvassori. I – according to the city of Venice - am Franco Valvassori.

I opened up the seemingly fat envelope. Inside was a long letter in fluid Italian which I knew immediately was from Webb because of the awkward break in the words – in which I was sure he had stopped to use a dictionary. But it was the clip in the bottom of the envelope that I was really looking for. It was a small package of pictures in the 8 by 10 size.

I smiled a watery smile as I looked at each one of them. There was a picture of the Admiral looking straight at the camera and looking pretty pissed. I had no doubt Webb took that picture himself. And then there was one of Bud and Harriet standing together and holding hands. Another of Sturgis and Varese who were now engaged according to Webb's previous letter. And then there it was – the one I always saved for last. This one was of Mac, but as I stared upon this one I felt a sudden surge of pride run rampant through my heart. She was standing there smiling as the Admiral presented her with new shoulder boards. She was a Colonel now. A full Colonel.

I felt something stinging the back of my eyes and before I even registered what it was I was brushing away the tear. I was happy for her. With my whole heart I truly was. I just wished I had been there with her. That I was the one that had given her the shoulder boards. That I was the one she had hugged and thanked. That I was there.

And now it was her birthday. My misery was absolute. I wanted to be there for her. To wish her and to hug her and to watch her smile. I was a complete and utterly lost romantic.

And it was then, right then, that I became truly aware of how very alone I was in this house. Not even Vera to talk to. And it was then that I seized an idea. Just a small one. Nothing really to go on . . . I just needed to do something. I needed it so bad.

I ran into my room and fetched a few coins before I slid down the stairs and out onto the streets. I felt a certain weight cling to my heart as I walked, like a terrible burden that was either about to be lifted or fix itself permanently within me. I walked up to the Post Office but this time not in. I went to the payphone outside the door. And very calmly I inserted the coins for a long distance number.

I can't even begin to describe what it felt like to punch in those familiar numbers again. It was like a rush of adrenaline had burst inside me. What time would it be over there? It didn't matter. I had gone absolutely mad! I dialed slowly but fervently, willing each number into place. I heard the ringing, the repeated ringing. Was she out? She couldn't be out. It was late at night back there. The ringing continued and I found myself subconsciously tapping the side of the payphone box in excitement. I felt like I was me all over again. Like I had just come back to life. And then . . .

"Hello?"

Her voice cut through me as clear as glass. Her tone, rich with flavor and I could practically see the sparks in her eyes. She spoke firmly, with an edge of sleepiness, and just the sound of that one word 'Hello' got me pumped.

A long yawn. "Is anyone there?"

And that's when it occurred to me – like a pang of raw guilt – that I couldn't speak to her. I couldn't suck her into this thing. I couldn't! A powerful surge of fear suddenly swept my body. I didn't care what happened as long as Mac didn't get hurt.

"Hello?"

I slammed the receiver back down against the payphone so hard that it popped out again. I stood there for the longest time, my back against the door and my chest just heaving with emotion. Just the way she had said it. 'Hello'. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I closed my eyes and blocked out the sound of the world around me. I had survived 180 days like this. Like some raw starved animal that was trapped in a cage where everything he could ever wanted except . . .

I rested my head against the payphone door. Except what I truly wanted.

A/N: Um, sorry this kind of took me long. I'll post my next chapter soon. This is Exam week for me right now. I have six exams to study for (Steelo, is it really that many!) but hopefully (I'm praying here) I can post my next chapter on Tuesday or something. And I promise I'll have Mac's POV in that one. Swear to it.

Oh yeah, and I wouldn't mind the reviews (I'm kidding, I'd LOVE them . . .)