A/N: Okay, as promised, here's the chapter where Harm and Mac almost reunite (yes, I know I'm dragging this out – but believe me, you'll LOVE their reuniting. I'm already touching up the details in my head).

Special thanks to: 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, sgcgirl52, tlk29, JJScottishGirl, Blueangel, aj, French-navy girl, Marge, Jane, Tina Frank, highplainswoman, mac AND harm fan, Ali Baba, super ducky, tumblebuttons, AB, Abigiale, macandharmlover, and jazzy!

Note to alix33: yeah, you're right, I meant to write "outstayed your welcome". Thanks for catching that. I try to correct my mistakes but I end up missing lots anyway. If you notice any others, could you please tell me?

The Path to Padua

Venice Italy (present day)

Harm's POV

Today was a cool morning. The sun wasn't out yet and the clouds covering the sky were a sort of depressingly murky grey. The water that lapped up onto the Venice docks was dark due to the lack of sunlight but despite all that, I was cheerful. I left the house that morning with a wild sort of reckless grin on my face. Vera was being really great about all this. Last night Agent Jacob Holter arrived at the house for a little stay, riding his Harley Davidson and all. Vera convinced him to drive me to Padua and then pick me up a little later. This not only insured that I couldn't run off by not giving me money for a cab but she slipped me so little cash that I had just enough for lunch and not enough for even a substantial tip.

So now I sat on the back of Jake's Harley Davidson, with the wind rippling through my wildly flying hair. It was not very early in the morning, but early enough that Vera would not yet have left for work but late enough that she would be finishing breakfast right about now. I sighed heavily, "How much longer 'til we reach?"

Jake laughed in the reckless way that guys with motorbikes usually do. "You running on a timetable or something?"

"Not really . . . I'd just like to be there sometime close to . . . I don't know, 0930?" I spoke slowly, but with an edge of concern that Jake immediately picked up on.

"Something you're not telling me?"

Okay, Jake isn't exactly new to me. He's dropped by several times over the past one hundred eighty-one days. Jake was a really cool guy, usually with foreign intelligence. Technically, he was supposed to be on break right now. He'd just nabbed a terrorist who was planning on bombing Brooklyn Bridge. It was a major star on his record and Jake received a month of freedom. But Jake, you must understand, can't stay put anywhere for five minutes. So he comes to Venice, goes to Paris, goes to Bombay, comes back to Venice, and is then off again. Actually, I think the only real reason he comes back to Venice is Vera. Vera won't tell me, but I think they used to date.

"Look, I just kind of wanted to get a head start on my one day of freedom," I said, hoping this was a good enough excuse for Jake to stop playing 20 questions. Jake, of all people, would be able to understand wanting to get going and wanting to get going fast.

Fortunately, Jake did understand so we spent the ride talking about cars, sports, other very guy stuff. I wanted to know what was happening in American football. Jake wanted to know what was happening in American basketball. He traveled around so much that he only heard little clips here and there. I could only catch Italian sports so in the end all we talked about was our favorite players.

The sun came out and the grey clouds dispersed. The air felt slightly warmer and the breeze lessened. It was going to be a good day – in way more ways than one. I thought of Mac and pure thrill washed over my body. I was going to see her. The pictures were going to come alive for me today. And I could barely contain myself.

Last night I had laid awake long after I should have fallen asleep, just staring up at the rooftop and smiling, thinking of Mac. I had set rules right then. 1) Under no circumstance could I speak to her, or anyway communicate with her. 2) I could watch her (yes, I know that's very stalkerish) but if for her to come into my vision would make me move into open air or into a place where she could see me, it was a no go.

The rules weren't tough, but they weren't exactly free either. And I knew I would reinforce them. Mac meant too much to me for me not taking every precaution to keep her safe. And unfortunately – for me – that meant deprivation of communication. She thought I was dead and I could do nothing to make her reconsider that thought.

"Alright, we're here." Jake cut his motor and we rolled to a stop in the middle of a busy outdoor market place much like the one Vera and I often visited in Venice. I swung my leg up from the one side of his bike and hopped off athletically. Jake did the same and leaned against his beloved bike. "No trouble, you hear? Vera will be upset."

I nodded kind of dumbly. I didn't want this conversation taking long, I had places to be. People to be with, but Jake was covering the basics that Vera had no doubt instructed him to do so I had to be patient. Unfortunately for me, patience isn't my best virtue.

"Look," Jake said sort of warmly. "Vera really likes you. But if you run off, she won't be afraid to use any means necessary to get you back. That includes her bullets. And I've seen Vera in action. She's a mean shot and she doesn't hesitate when her finger's on the trigger." He caught my slightly alarmed expression. "I don't mean to scare you," he backtracked. "But you need to know. Vera takes her work very seriously and not matter how good a friend you are to her, you are still her assignment, and she must follow protocol." He grinned at me. "But there'll be no need for her to resort to those measures, right?"

I shook my head and Jake hopped back on his Harley Davidson with a friendly wave. "Look, I'll pick you up around fiveish, right here. Don't be late."

And with those elegant parting words, he drove off, leaving me standing in the middle of the marketplace under the torture of the overhead beating sun. I checked my wrist watch. It was 0858. That meant there was exactly 29 minutes until Mac arrived in Padua Airport. You know, if her plane was on time and everything.

I walked over to a stand where a rather old woman was selling eggs. "Me scusa," I said in my very best accented Italian, "ma lei sa la strada all'Aeroporto di Padua?"

And I prayed I just asked how to get to Padua. The old woman smiled and I smiled back at her, hoping to flex some of my Rabb charm that I had promised not to use. Oh well, Vera, I thought. I'm only using it once.

"Sì," the woman said and then ate her words. "Yes." Her eyes glinted. "You speak English, right?"

I nodded in exaggerated relief. "Thank god someone speaks some English around here."

She nodded along with me. "We get many American tourists here." She pointed down the road to our left. "You take this road and go for . . ." her eyebrow rose thoughtfully, "about ten minutes, you turn right, go for five minutes, and you are at the airport." She stared at me. "Do you have a motorbike?"

I shook my head. "My friend just dropped me off."

The woman shook her head dismissively. "Then it will take you much longer to get there."

I felt my heart sink right down to the pit of m stomach. "How much longer?"

"Much longer," the woman said indefinitely. "Unless you are an Olympian runner." Her eyes traveled up and down my body.

"No," I said reluctantly. I hung my head in a depressed sort of way. I walked away slowly, my hands stuffed in my pockets and my mind up in space. I was stupid to think anything could come of my plan. Mac was meant to stay where she was, just like I was destined to be miserable for the rest of my life. I looked up at the sky – at its blue pallor, and at the beating sun, and the transparent clouds and a sudden internal rage swept me. Why, God, why? I felt like screaming. Why did every freaking force of nature have to play with my life? Why couldn't someone up there just let me be happy for once?

I felt broken – like I had been shattered into a thousand pieces. I never should have answered Vera's cell phone. I never should have lied to her or to Jake. I never should have come here in the first place. I was right when I thought it would only cause me pain. Mac and I could never be together. I could never be happy. It was better for the both of us if we went our separate ways. Maybe we would both get a shot at living our lives then.

"Signor?"

I turned around and the woman was standing next to me, a long strand of her grey hair loose from the bun it was tied back in. She was smiling at me.

"Sì?"

She pulled some keys out of one of the larger pockets of her apron. "My son has a motorbike. You look like an honest man. I ask and he said he does not mind taking you to Padua Airport." She held out the keys in front of me. "He is over there." She pointed to a boy who could be no more than fifteen. "His name is Paolo."

She nodded encouragingly at me as I walked over to him. "Hi . . . Paolo?"

"Signor."

Paolo was courteous but clearly anxious to be on his way. No doubt he had plans somewhere else which his mother was inadvertently crashing. I glanced at his motorbike. Long and thin with no logo on its front. The boy was only a teenager. Not even late teens. I glanced at around nervously as I got on the back, "Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?"

"Sì, sì," Paolo drawled as he gunned the engine.

"How old are you?" I couldn't help but ask.

Paolo turned back and grinned at me in the same sort of wild way Jake did when he was on his motorbike. "Sixteen." And like that we shot off, the motor loud and the sensation of ripping the road thick through our veins.

Padua Airport (present day)

Mac's POV

I landed in Padua Airport on a clear morning. The air was fresh, the sun was bright, and my eyes were anxiously scanning the airport crowd. I mean, I knew he wouldn't be there. He probably didn't even know I was in Italy, but even being in the same country as him made me feel closer. Every step brought me nearer to him.

I walked over to the conveyor belt and picked up my luggage – one small traveler's suitcase. I liked traveling light for some reason. It enabled me to move as much as I wanted without too much work. I sighed tremendously as I exited the airport. Italy was always beautiful – day or night . . . especially night.

I walked to the curb of the road and waved down a taxi. I wondered what Harm was doing at this very moment. What Harm was thinking at this very moment. I sighed discontentedly. I was so hopelessly enamored it wasn't the slightest bit humorous.

And that's when I saw him. Right out of the corner of my eye, like a dream surfacing in real life, I saw him. Upon a motorbike, far off at the edge of the opposite road, sitting with a boy quite a deal younger than him, his eyes off to the distance and his hair flying in the wind. And just like at his funeral, our eyes magnetically connected. Drawn together by the awesome powers of the universe, our visions tied.

I sat there on Paolo's motorbike, momentarily paralyzed. She was right there before my eyes, alive and well. Like a dream that drifted down before me in an entrancing state. I gripped onto the motorbike. And then . . . I came to my senses.

My eyes widened. "Go, Paolo, go!"

The teenager looked at me, his eyes bewildered. "What?"

"Go!" I pulled my arms away and motioned frantically to the streets. Any street. "Hurry, we've got to go!"

Paolo didn't wait for an explanation. He expertly pulled his bike around and gunned the engine, sending the motorcycle ripping down the street. I clamped on. How could I do something so stupid? I chided myself. I was letting my own wants get in the way of my needs. And I needed Mac to be safe. The motorcycle roared down the airport lane. I swiveled on the seat and looked behind me. Mac was getting into a taxi and her eyes were following mine.

"Damn!" I swore so loudly Paolo took his vision of the road for one terrifying moment and turned to look at me. We raced down the lane, Paolo expertly steering his way through hoards of people. And then just like that, someone stepped in the way. Someone who wasn't looking where they were going, and someone who had nearly made a mistake that could end their life.

Paolo slammed on the breaks and I lurched forward, ramming into the teenager's back. Stars enveloped my vision. "Sono cosí spiacente," I heard Paolo apologize in fast Italian. He was frightened by my sudden outburst and I was frightened period.

"Guardare dove lei va. Lei me avrebbe potuto uccidere!" someone hollered back and in that absolutely terrifying instance, I recognized that voice. My head lurched up with my mouth open in absolute awe as my vision connected with none other than Agent Clayton Webb's.

Webb's eyes opened in horror. "Rabb!"

The motorbike lurched forward. "Andare, Paolo, andare!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as Paolo gunned the engine to such a terrifying speed, all I could so was hold on and pray. I didn't even have the guts to look behind me to see if Mac was there. Horrible flashes kept flooding my vision. What would happen if Abbas knew Mac knew where I was? I saw pictures of her getting tortured, beaten. And the most terrifying thing of them all? I knew Mac wouldn't tell Abbas where I was. I knew she would die if it meant saving me. And that thought more than anything scared the hell out of me.

The motorbike roared down the lane. I felt like Paolo and I were literally tearing up the road. He swerved in and out of cars, sometimes driving in two lanes at a time. I could hear people screaming at us in loud untranslatable Italian but my ears were deaf to it. Only one thing mattered now. Getting home and getting Mac safe.

"Andare!" I hollered once again and the frantic teenager steered uncontrollably.

"But where!" he screamed back over the absolutely deafening rush of wind that sailed along with out frightening speed. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"Anywhere," I breathed, my chest heaving. I closed my eyes and bit my lip. Please, God, don't let Mac have followed me. Just keep her safe.

We sailed along the road, Paolo cutting in and cutting out of the traffic. He swerved suddenly, plunging the small motorbike down a long thin alleyway. I closed my eyes. The boy was one hell of a good driver, but the walls were thin and we were traveling fast. A crash seemed almost unavoidable. Paolo lurched into a 90 degree turn and rushed us down a new street. My heart was thumping wildly within my chest and the palms of my hands were covered in a fresh layer of sweat. Paolo swerved around and then pulled us into a place familiar to the both of us. The marketplace.

He raced us into the center and then cut the engine. We sat there for the longest time on the bike, our chests heaving from the rush of it all, and the adrenaline coursing through our blood. I patted Paolo on the back, my breathing heavy and staggered. "You're one hell of a driver, kid."

Paolo was rather speechless. He only nodded rather weakly, no strength left to smile. Almost gingerly, he untangled his legs from the motorcycle and climbed onto solid ground. His legs were shaking. I did the same with no better outcome; we practically leaned on each other for support. I couldn't help but take a look around the scene. People were staring at us. We were definitely attracting a lot of attention. Paolo wiped the hair out of his eyes and we both limped off. Paolo had a house near the marketplace, a small one. He opened the door – it was unlocked – let me in, and we both collapsed on the couches.

We sat there for a moment before I asked, "Aren't you going to get your bike?"

Paolo shrugged in the kind of nonsensical way teenagers do. "I'll get it later."

I nodded. We lapsed into thick silence before I asked, "Could I stay here for a little while? Until five or so?"

I really didn't want to impose, but I was fresh out of options. If Mac had somehow managed to follow Paolo, then she would be out on the street, which meant that was the least safe place I could possibly be.

Paolo nodded. "In qualunque momento, l'amico." Anytime, friend.

I had not stood outside in the marketplace for long before Jake arrived on his Harley Davidson. I had taken a shower at Paolo's house and even washed my clothes (they were covered in sweat). Nonetheless, I was nervous, and my eyes were scanning the crowd anxiously. Jake greeted me in the way he always did, like we were long lost brothers who had just caught up with each other.

"So, did you have a good time?" he asked as I fitted myself over the motorcycle. Even the thought of riding one was making me nauseous but I sucked it in at a level that Mac would be proud of.

"The best," I muttered as we drove off. The sky was rapidly changing from bright blue to dark. And as we rode along the narrow road to Venice, my thoughts couldn't help but drift to Mac and what she was thinking right now. And little did I know it, as I rode down that road, trying to make as believable a story of what I did in Padua that day to Jake as possible, a pair of keen brown eyes were watching me. Down the path from Padua.

A/N: See, I am updating faster, aren't I? lol. One more chapter to the reuniting. Jeez, even I'm getting a little frantic just waiting for me to write it. Anyways, reviews, reviews, reviews. They make me write so much faster.