Bitterroot Ranch, Montana

The morning after

0628 hours

Catherine stirs awake, immediately sensing that something is not well, but unable to pinpoint what. Suddenly, the events of the day before come to her mind and she sighs, opening her eyes. It's still dark and she is alone in the makeshift bed. Reaching for his side and feeling the cold, she knows Steve has either not slept at all or gotten up long ago. Raising her hand out from under the sheets, she looks at her watch: 0630 hours. Damn. 'Then again, it's no wonder YOU'RE awake, Catherine, you were never any good with jetlag. But where can Steve be, at this hour?'

She closes her eyes again and tries to listen to any telltale noises coming from the other rooms in the house. Complete silence. Starting to feel uneasy, Catherine gets up, cold mercilessly attacking her and making her break out into uncontrollable shivers. She dresses quickly, before moving into the main cabin room, where Steve had welcomed her the night before. Also empty. She looks through the window at the expanse of land in front of her, barely visible with the help of the feeble rays of light claiming the pitch black darkness, and sees nothing stirring. This is her first time in this Ranch, so she doesn't know her way around. Not wanting to brave the outdoors in the dark and unarmed, given what happened two days before, she turns to the kitchen and decides to make some coffee. A few minutes later, Steve enters the main cabin room with another large log for the fire. Catherine realises she hadn't even noticed there was a fire roaring, but is thankful for the warmth that spreads across the room, from it. She says nothing to Steve, as 'Good morning' somehow seems out of place: not only do they seem to have lied down only an hour ago, but also it really isn't a good morning. She turns her back to him and busies herself with the coffee she just started to make. Steve crouches in front of the fire and becomes absorbed in thought, mesmerized by the flames. His thoughts go from the iniquity of feeling comforted by the warmth it gives out to the horror of knowing Joe will be engulfed in them in a few days. He closes his eyes to ward off the pain of his thoughts and sighs deeply, not wanting to go into planning mode just yet. Getting up, he moves toward Catherine and sits down at the table, eyeing her distractedly.

"Want some coffee?" she offers, not turning.

"Yeah, thanks", he replies, tiredness echoed in his voice.

Catherine places a mug of coffee in front of him and reaches behind her, on the counter, for a teaspoon full of butter. She inserts it in his coffee, with confidence, not even thinking to ask if he wants it and starts stirring, until the fat is fully dissolved. Steve can't help but be surprised at her for remembering how he likes his coffee. It seems that no matter how many years they are apart, she'll always manage to surprise him. Catherine grabs a mug for herself and sits down, sorry for feeling the need to go into what happened, again.

"So… want to talk about it?" she says, expectantly.

"Not really, no", he says, lost in thought, suddenly aware of her physical presence. He eyes her with a sideways glance, while smiling ironically. "But if I have to, you're the only person I can bear talking to about it, right now."

"And also the only one here", Catherine says, smiling sadly.

"I haven't called Danny, yet", he says, looking pointedly at her.

"Really?" she asks, surprised. "Hasn't he tried to get in touch? Isn't he worried sick?"

"I guess. I sent him a message saying what happened and turned my phone off. I couldn't…" he says, closing his eyes and sighing deeply, "…go through it again. Even talking about it felt unbearable."

"OK", Catherine says, "and I won't try to pry it out of you. Whenever you want to talk, I'm here, OK?" she says, getting up and grabbing her mug, intent on heading towards the sink.

"But I need to talk about it", Steve says, stopping her mid-rise, mug forgotten, alienated from anything but his pain.

Catherine sits back down and waits until Steve is ready to talk. She knows him well enough to know how hard he's finding all of this to deal with and needs time to put his ideas into order before he opens up.

"Joe called me three days ago, after I'd just been attacked by a man who tried to kill me in the middle of my kitchen…" If Catherine is surprised or alarmed, she doesn't show it. "His warning came a little late", he huffs ironically as he says it, shaking his head at the incredulity of it all. "The man managed to escape, so Joe and I decided to hide out here and come up with a plan to find out what was going on and who was involved. In the meantime, we found out that two more SEAL team members had recently been taken out and realised it was the Morocco team."

"The Morocco team?" Catherine asks, curious.

"Yeah." He looks attentively at her, trying to decide if the solemnity of the moment warrants warnings about confidentiality or if it goes without saying, deciding on the latter. After all, Catherine was Navy and is now CIA, he thinks with sadness. "A SEAL team ordered by the CIA to capture and neutralize a known terrorist, Kamal Hassan. Problem was, inside the compound where he was hiding, there were also twenty five women and children. Greer insisted…"

"Wait, Greer?" Catherine asks, surprised, the name bringing back unpleasant memories.

"Yeah, she was the team leader, the CIA was in charge of the black op. We had qualms about attacking a man living in a house filled with innocent people, but she… she said that not only was he harbouring insurgents in Afghanistan, but also planning a major attack on U.S. interests overseas", Steve says, visibly emotional. "So we invaded the place and eventually managed to take Hassan down. We killed him on the spot", he continues, perturbed. "Problem was, we couldn't avoid killing some of the civilians during the strike. I never, ever forgot that mission. Senseless killing ordered by a heartless Government Agency. I really hate the CIA." Catherine abstains from defending her Agency, deciding to keep quiet and let him continue. She wonders if this is his only palpable reason for hating the CIA, but lets the thought slide. "While trying to find Hassan, we ran into his son playing in the corridors. The whole thing must've scarred him for life. So when he grew up, he bid his time, got together a team and finally decided to get even. With Greer's help. Can't say I blame him, really…", Steve goes on, despondent.

"Come on, Steve, you were under orders. You and I both know what that entails", Catherine counters, leaving no room for argument. She does indeed know what that means.

"Yeah, whatever…", he says, dropping his head, interlacing his fingers and propping his thumbs against the sides of his nose, tired of talking. "When Joe and I got to the Ranch, Cole was already here. He helped us secure the perimeter and set up the traps. Eventually, they got to him. Then they got into the house and another took aim at me. But Joe got in the way and was shot in the flank. I thought we had time to get a Med Evac in, but he called them off, can you believe it? He didn't tell me and made me take him all the way to this clearing he loved, with an old Ponderosa pine, one of the oldest trees in the state. How stupid is it, that I still remember what he told me about it, huh? He died in my arms, Cath, in front of the most beautiful sunset I've ever laid eyes upon. I'm going to hate them for the rest of my life…"

Catherine closes her eyes, unable to imagine what Steve has gone through in the last forty eight hours. Words fail her, as she knows nothing she can say will mitigate his pain. Perhaps trying to make sense of Joe's actions will help in the incredibly difficult process he needs to go through, or at least start, soon.

"Maybe he knew there was no hope and wanted to be at peace at that spot he loved so much, instead of on an airlift, IVs everywhere, being taken to hospital. It was his special place, and he wanted to contemplate it one last time, before he died. He must've sensed his time was coming…"

"He had no way of knowing, Cath. I can't accept that!" Steve says, raising his voice and suddenly getting up.

Catherine remains seated and keeps her voice level, eyeing him with kindness. She knows he must go through the emotional rollercoaster of dipping in and out of grief, losing his grip before regaining emotional control.

"I know. But that's your way of seeing it. Joe felt otherwise, and you must come to terms with his decision. On some level, he must've known he couldn't be saved. So he chose how he wanted to bow out of life, on his terms. You have to forgive him."

"Forgive him? For what?" he says, genuinely puzzled.

"For having done this to you. You're angry and you have every right to be. But ultimately, it was his life, his decision…"

"I'm not angry", Steve says, stubbornly eyeing her.

"You are. And the sooner you realise that, the sooner you'll start the grieving process", Catherine counters, erasing any hint of a smile from her face.

"When did you become such an accomplished psychologist?" Steve asks, pensive.

Catherine laughs at the thought, happy for the momentary reprieve in the seriousness of the situation, but says nothing.

"I can't believe he's gone…" he says, sitting back down, pained expression returning to his eyes. "It's like I'm in suspended animation, you know? Like the world outside keeps moving, but I suddenly said: "hey, stop the world, I want to get off!", and I'm here, standing still, watching it spin, angry at it for going on as if nothing had happened, when my world… my own little world has been shattered to pieces. How can anyone want me to function? To consider going back to my life as though all is well? To even be able to care about other people's safety and lives, when one of my own people is no longer here? He was such a good man…", Steve says, finally aware that he's venting at Catherine. "He was so important in my life, you know? He looked after me at the Naval Academy, the amount of times he got me out of trouble…"

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Starting at 16, when I stole a car at Carlsbad."

"What? You? Mr. Goody Two-Shoes? Who always did everything by the book when he was in the Navy?"

"Hey!" Steve says, sad-amused. "I wasn't in the Navy, then… but I was angry. At my mom, for dying, at my dad, for sending us away, at my sister, for getting to be with aunt Debbie and away from me, even at Joe, for bailing me out when all I wanted was to go back home. But if he hadn't done it, I would've been expelled from the Academy. Would've never gone to the Naval Special Warfare Prep School, would've never become a SEAL. Would've never met you."

Catherine smiles at Steve. "And wouldn't that have been a shame…"

"Good to know you feel that way, Cath. Good to know. Despite everything, I'm really glad we met", Steve says, eyes far, far away.

"Yeah, me too", she says, smiling genuinely at him, wondering exactly what he means by his "despite everything", but pretty sure she knows. Getting up, she decides to lighten the mood with the practicalities of everyday life. "Do you have any bread here, so I can make us some toast?"