A/N: Finally, I've published something again. This is a longer chapter. I don't know how many chapters are left, but I need to start working toward the resolution of it.

Trust

Chapter 25: No More

Mac slowly closed the door and turned to face the mother of her greatest mistake. Porter Webb looked entirely out of place in Mac's cozy apartment, her stern visage, blood-red suit, and pale skin in sharp contrast to the muted tones and comfortable furnishings that surrounded them. Mac herself was dressed in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt left over from friendlier days with Harm, her face clear of makeup, her hair missed from sleep, all so different from the woman before her. She wasn't intimidated by the Webb matriarch by any means, but she would have preferred to face the older in something that put them on more equal footing.

The two women eyed each other for several heartbeats, neither apparently wanting to be the first to speak, until Mac finally broke the silence. "Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Webb?"

"Sarah, dear, you know you can call me Porter." The older woman waited for Mac to acknowledge her statement, but when it was clear Mac was going to say nothing further, the woman went on.

"I would have thought you'd be showing much more by this point," Porter commented as she gazed pointedly at Mac's abdomen. Mac shrugged, once again remaining silent.

"Clayton tells me you haven't returned any of his calls," the Webb matriarch continued.

Mac's jaw clenched. Of course she hadn't answered any of that bastards calls. "That's right."

"He really would like to speak to you, dear."

Mac crossed her arms over her chest. "So he sent his mother to plead his case?"

"No, Clayton doesn't know I'm here."

"And why are you here, Mrs. Webb?"

Porter Webb sighed again. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Is that it?" Mac questioned, the skepticism obvious in her tone.

The older woman then looked straight into Mac's eyes. "No, I also wanted you to know that I intend to be a part of my grandchild's life."

"I see. And your son?"

"Clayton is prepared to fully support his child."

"My child. Clay gave up any claim to my baby the night I told him he was going to be a father, and I don't want anything from either of you."

"Sarah—"

"It doesn't matter anyway."

"Oh?"

Mac turned to fully face the woman then ran her hands along the front of her, revealing her flat stomach. "There is no baby." Her eyes stung with tears that she desperately prayed wouldn't fall. She would not lose control in front of Porter Webb of all people.

"I see," Porter said coldly.

"Do you?"

"I just didn't think you'd actually do it."

"Do what?" Mac asked, knowing full well what the woman meant.

"When did you do it? When did you abort my grandchild?" Porter Webb asked in obvious disgust.

"I didn't."

"Wha—"

"But I thought about it. I didn't want a child brought into the world that was in any way related to your son, but in the end, I couldn't do it. He was just an innocent baby—but then I lost him anyway."

"You miscarried?"

Mac nodded, her eyes once again stinging with unshed tears.

"I see. I'm so sorry, Sarah, but why didn't you tell Clayton?"

Mac's eyes dried immediately as her returned. "Tell Clayton? Tell him? Why would I tell him? He wasn't going to be involved anyway!"

"You didn't give him a chance to, Sarah."

"He didn't deserve the chance."

"Then, you didn't give me a chance," Porter continued on, calmly.

"I didn't want any of you my life. Maybe, someday in the future I would have let you—"

Suddenly Mac knew what this was all about, and it wasn't about any compassion Porter Webb had for her. "Wait. This visit isn't about my wellbeing, is it? You say you wanted to be a part of my baby's life, but what you really wanted was my baby. You would have insinuated yourself into our lives, and then it would be a visit here, a visit there, and then a weekend…a week, maybe when I had to leave town for an investigation, and then you'd find a way to make people believe he was better off with you. You'd use your money and standing to take him away from me. You know what? It was probably a blessing that I miscarried. There is no way I'd want him raised by the woman who raised Clayton Webb!"

"I was his grandmother. I'd have the right to see him!"

"Not if I had any say in it. Did your little boy tell you what he said about your grandchild? He hated the the baby." Mac took a deep breath. "I told him to go to hell and I hope he rots there! You know, I didn't want your son's child. For a while I thought I hated him too, but the truth was, I just hated the idea that my baby would have to live with Clayton Webb's DNA, that he'd have to face the idea that his father was a drunken son of a bitch that wanted me to be as miserable as he was. You raised that son of a bitch, and if you think I'd ever let you into my baby's life, you are sorely mis—"

A sudden smacking sound filled the air and it took Mac a moment to realize the sound she had heard was Porter Webb's slapping her face. Mac's hand flew to her stinging cheek, shocked surprise in her eyes. Mac had certainly suffered much worse at others' hands thus her pain was not great, but she could scarcely believe the elegant Porter Webb had struck her.

The two women stared at each other for long seconds, Mac's expression now one of cool neutrality, Porter's one of seething anger. Mac stopped herself from speaking first, honestly curious what Clayton Webb's mother would say next as the woman drew herself up to her full height. She straightened her suit jacket, her cheeks tinged with the faintest pink, but it was obvious she was trying to still appear the proper dignified woman.

"Forgive me," Porter said, her voice a little shaky. "I don't know what came over me."

Mac rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Just go, Mrs. Webb. You have no reason to be here anymore."

Porter nodded as she stepped toward the door that Mac had pulled open. "For what it's worth, I am sorry about the baby and I am sorry Clayton reacted so badly. He does feel bad about that."

"I'm sure he does," Mac replied, sarcasm coating her words. "If you could, Mrs. Webb, please tell your son to stop calling me. I have nothing more to say to him."

Porter Webb raised her eyebrow at Mac, then turned and left, leaving Mac wondering what Clay had planned for her next.

An hour later, Mac sat on her living room couch, a plate of half eating goulash in front of her. Empirically speaking, it was excellent, but after Webb's mother had visited her, it tasted like cardboard in her mouth. She supposed she should get up and shower, make it an early night, but she felt so terribly wired she knew she would just lie there. Instead, she leaned back against the couch, Porter Webb's slap on her mind. She still had a hard time believing that the woman had lost control and slapped her, but slap her she did. Mac knew there was no way Webb would have told his mother what he'd said about the baby, and she wondered what mommy dearest would think if she'd heard her son spouting such filth.

No doubt she'd be mortified, but it wouldn't matter; she'd still protect her little boy.

For the first time since it had happened, Mac was glad she'd miscarried. She hadn't lied when she'd told Porter that there was no way the woman would have a place in the baby's lift, but it would have been a miserable fight. Better that the child had never been born.

No. That wasn't true. She would've been so obviously pregnant by now, and the idea of feeling her baby moving inside her filled her with not a little awe. No, she hadn't wanted her baby to die, only she didn't realize it until he did.

"I didn't mean it," Mac whispered to the heavens, hand on her stomach. "I didn't mean it."

And then her mind went back to the time when she thought she did.

"Hey."

Mac looked up to see Harm leaning against her doorframe, a Ritz cracker halfway to her mouth.

"What can I do for you, Harm?

"I was wondering if you had the MacMillan file."

Mac stared at him blankly, a wave of nausea nearly overcoming her. She quickly bit into her cracker, slowly chewing it until the sick feeling started to pass. She grabbed another cracker, knowing it would take at least two to settle her stomach. Meanwhile, Harm stepped into her office.

"Mac? Are you just going to sit there and stuff yourself with crackers or are you going to tell me if you have that file."

"File?" Oh god, was she going to throw up? Another cracker went into her mouth.

"Mac!" Harm nearly shouted and Mac jumped.

"What?" she answered irritably.

Harm leaned forward, hands on her desk. "I said, do. You. Have. The. MacMillan. File?

"Oh, yeah. Here," Mac said, ignoring the fact that Harm was speaking to her as if she were an imbecile. Harm snatched the file away from her as she downed another cracker.

After a moment, Mac felt Harm's eyes on her. "What, Harm?"

"You were late today."

As if that were any of his concern. "Yes. Doctor's appointment."

"Oh. Everything, ah, okay?"

Mac forced a smile, not that she felt like smiling at Harm these days. "Yeah, everything's great. Shut the door on your way out, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Have a good rest of your day."

"Thanks. You too."

Harm turned on his heel and left then, pulling her door closed behind him.

Thank God, Mac thought as she leaned over and vomited into her waste basket.

She wouldn't look at it. Not again. Besides, you could barely see anything in the grainy photograph. No, she wouldn't look at it.

She looked at it. It still looked the same as it did last night, the same as it had yesterday morning when the ultrasound tech handed it to her, a little peanut surrounded by a black circle.

"Hey, Mac."

Mac held back a gasp as she quickly shoved the picture into her desk drawer. "Hey, yourself. Did you need something, Harm?"

"No, I, uh, just wanted to say 'hi.'"

"Oh. Hi."

Harm's eyes narrowed a little. "You all ri—"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Close the door for me? Thanks."

As soon as Harm did as she'd asked, she broke out the Ritz crackers, brushing aside a few tears that had slipped down her face. This couldn't be happening.

She was pregnant.

A little over six weeks pregnant, and she'd yet to tell Clay. She wasn't sure he'd be happy about it, but she was sure of one thing.

She hated it. She hated that she was pregnant with Clay's baby. It wasn't the right time, and as soon as she'd found out, she'd known this was wrong. This should be Harm's baby.

No. Harm hated her. He'd treated her horribly since Paraguay, and a baby with him was no longer on the table.

Mac once again pulled out her ultrasound picture. Surely that wasn't a baby. It looked like a grub. A parasite.

No, she shouldn't think of her baby like that. What was her problem? She'd always wanted children. Why didn't she want this one?

With a lump in her throat, Mac realized it all boiled down to tow words. Clayton Webb.

Clay was drunk more than he was sober these days. A lot more than once he'd kissed her with alcohol still on his breath or in his mouth. She'd told him time and again not to do that. It made her sick, and he always acted like it was an accident. They both knew better.

Mac knew she should have broken it off a long time ago, but he was really the only one she could confide in. He knew what she'd gone through in Paraguay, and she certainly knew what he'd gone through. He'd let himself be tortured in place of her, and she couldn't forget that. She wouldn't forget that.

Mac rubbed her forehead. When had everything gone to such shit?

She still hadn't told Clay about their baby. She didn't know what she was waiting for; it just didn't seem like the right time. Then again, maybe Clay would never have to know. Mac opened her desk drawer and pulled out a torn piece of paper with a number hastily scrawled on it.

Just one phone call and it would be all over.

Mac picked up the phone, then hung it up again. No, she couldn't do this. No. Mac picked up the phone again, this time dialing three numbers before she hung it up again. Stop being such a coward, Sarah, she admonished herself. She picked up the phone again, this time dialing the whole number, and when the phone was answered, she took in a deep breath.

"Hello, my name is Sarah MacKenzie, and I need to set up an appointment."

Mac had spent the day crying. Today was to have been her appointment for her abortion, but she couldn't do it. She'd never judge anyone for making the difficult decision to have one, but for her, it wasn't the right decision. As much as she didn't want the baby, the child within her hadn't asked for this, she was financially stable, and there was no reason she couldn't have this baby.

She supposed she'd better tell Webb tonight about his impending fatherhood.

And yet it took her several more weeks to finally tell him…

"Clay, there's something we need to talk about."

"Is there," Clay replied, leaning over to nibble on her neck. They were sitting on her couch after a dinner from that now much hated French restaurant Webb loved.

Mac pulled away. "Clay, I'm serious."

"You know I love it when you get serious." He started to lean over again.

"No! Really…I need to talk about something with you."

Clay sighed and pulled his arm away from where it rested on the back of the couch. "Can't it wait? I've missed you. We haven't—"

"I know, Clay, but this can't wait anymore."

Clay raised his eyebrows. "Anymore? What do you mean, anymore?" He suddenly smiled. "Are you finally going to take me up on my offer?"

"What offer?" Any offer would be news to her.

"My offer to—" He took her hand in his. "Mac? Will you move in with me?"

"What?" That was not what she had expected to hear. "Clay, I—"

"Don't answer yet. Just think about it. I-I've wanted to ask you for a while now, and—"

Mac tired to pull her hand away from Clay, but he held fast.. "Clay, please. I really do have something to tell you."

"Sarah, come on. Whatever it is can wait. Let's go to the bed—"

"I'm pregnant."

Cold silence filled the room. A cold, long, long silence. Clay dropped her hand and subtly shifted away from her. He stared straight ahead while Mac squirmed, her heart beating painfully in her chest, bile rising in her throat. "Clay, say something," she whispered when the silence grew too heavy to stand any longer.

"What, ah, do you want me to say?"

"Something. Anything."

"You can't be serious."

"What?"

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"When…how…come on, Sarah. Stop kidding around."

Increadible. He didn't even believe her. Well, there was one way to prove it to him.

"I'm not kidding around. Look, I had an ultrasound. I'll go get the picture they gave me." Mac started to stand, only to find herself abruptly yanked back down beside Clay. He kept one hand on her arm, then used his other to turn her toward him.

"Tell. Me. You're. Kidding." Clay spoke slowly through clenched teeth, his jaw so tight she half expected to hear the shattering of teeth.

"I'm not, Clay. I'm not! Look, I didn't plan this. It just happened. It just—"

Clay abruptly stood. "No. It did not just happen, Sarah. What did you do? We always use condoms. Always. Always…" He started to pace back in forth in front of her, obviously agitated, and Mac, whose morning sickness generally was a morning thing, feared she'd vomit right here.

"Clay—"

The father of her child turned on her. "No. We used condoms. Every time!"

Mac suddenly went from nervous to furious. She stood up and moved so she was toe to toe with him. "Not every time, Clay. You have to admit, we've been pretty sloppy sometimes. Remember that night after you got back from Germany? You were half drunk and didn't even think of it. We had sex right there on that couch, two, three times, and I tried to remind you, but you only had one thing on your mind."

Clay stepped back from her, and his expression told her he remembered that night. "That's when it happened?"

"I-I think so. I'm a little over—"

"Then there's still time."

"Time for what?"

"It's early. You can still—"

"Clay, I'm not—I won't do that."

Clay snorted. "Don't you think the kid would be better off without you and me as parents? Two alcoholics?"

How dare he, Mac raged to herself. "I'm not…I don't drink anymore."

Webb waved his hand dismissively in front of her. "Didn't you tell me once, once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic? Anyway, I know I'd be a shit father, but what makes you think you'd be a good mother? Hell, your own mother left you. What makes you think you wouldn't up and leave one day?"

"Clay, I am NOTHING like my mother. I would never leave my baby!"

"Stop calling it a baby."

"That's what it is, Clay. A BABY! Your baby. My baby." That last was said in a whisper while she watched Clay's expression go from cold to angry to disgusted in mere seconds.

"It's not a baby. It's a parasite that neither of us want!"

Mac gasped. He was right, though. She'd thought of this baby as a parasite before, and she most definitely didn't want it. She hated it in fact, and was hating it more by the minute, but it was a baby, and there was no getting around it, not really. She took a deep breath to try and calm herself before she spoke again.

"Be that as it may, Clay, I am pregnant with our, yes, our baby, and I'll guess you'll just have to get used to it." Just like I'll have to get used to it, she thought to herself.

"Used to it?" Clay chuckled bitterly. "I don't think so. I've never wanted to be a father, Sarah, and I doubt you're ready to be a mother. We're both too fucked up to be parents, and that "baby" is likely already fucked up."

"I'm not fucked up, Clay," Mac said quietly, knowing full well she was—but not so fucked up that she couldn't be a mother.

Right. You already hate your child, Mac. How good a mother to you honestly expect you'd be?

Clay laughed bitterly. "Fuck, Sarah. Sometimes it feels like a contest to see who's more fucked up. You—you with your obsession with Rabb. I know you still think about him, Sarah. You say his name in your sleep, did you know that? But then you'd fuck me and I'd forget it. You like it when I fuck you, don't you. That's us, Sarah. We fuck. I drink, and we fuck. And now we've got to deal with the consequences of it."

"Is that all this is, Clay? Fucking? You're saying this after asking me to move in with you? I don't get it. You tell me you love me and now you're telling me I'm just a good fuck?"

"Were a good fuck. Now that you have that—that thing inside you…"

"It's not just a "thing," Clay. It's a—"

"I know, I know. A baby. A little baby. What do you want, Sarah? A boy? A girl? It doesn't matter. It's a bastard. A bastard that should have been just a wet spot on the mattress."

It took everything she had not to vomit at Clay's words. She'd been fighting it practically since this conversation started, and she wasn't sure she could fight it any longer…but she had to. She had to until she kicked Clay out the door and out of her life. It was better to be alone than be with Clayton Webb. If she was fucked up, being with Webb wasn't going to fix that. She was having a baby, and even if she didn't want this baby in the least, she still wanted to protect it from its father. Webb had to go.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get. Out."

"Come on, Sarah—"

"Don't call me Sarah. Get out, Webb. Leave. This is over. Over, do you hear me? Get the hell out."

Mac expected him to argue with her or even just sit back down on the couch and pout until she bodily removed him. She didn't expect him to laugh.

"Please, Sarah," he said after letting loose with a bitter chuckle. "You don't want me to leave. You need me too much. Who else knows you as well as I do? Harm? Right. You and me, we belong together. You know that. You've fucked over every other man you've been with, and yet here I am. Still here." He snorted again. "Fine. Keep the baby. Keep it if it makes you happy."

Mac was enraged now. Instead of trying not to vomit, she was trying not to strangle Clayton Webb. She was trying to stay calm, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

She failed.

"NOTHING about this makes me happy, Clay. NOTHING! My god, I've let you in here. I've been here for you. I've held you after nightmares. I've listened to you, and what did you do? You've gotten yourself blind drunk nearly every night for weeks! You've brought that goddamn Cana into my home, and I know you've got more booze stashed around here. I've asked you time and again to keep it out of here, but no. I've let you…I should have kicked you out the first time you kissed me with that crap in your mouth, but I thought I owed it to you to be understanding. It was always an accident, huh? Well, maybe the first time. But after that? You were just testing me, weren't you. You need to get out. I can't have you around me anymore. You aren't good for me. You've never been good for me. Yes, you were there for me when I needed a friend, and I was happy to be there for you, but Clay…I can't be with you, not when you keep trying to pull me into this—this darkness around you. I've let you take and take and take, and I can't do it anymore!"

"You can't take it?" Clay's voice was frighteningly soft when he finally spoke. "You can't take it? What about me, Sarah? What about ME? I protected you down there. Me. Not Harm, not Gunny. Me. And yet you can't take it. And best of all, you got yourself pregnant. Who's taking and taking now, Sarah?"

Mac stepped closer to Webb, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. "I didn't "get" myself pregnant, Clay. As disgusted as I am by it now, you were there too. But don't worry about it. Just go. Leave, and then do me a favor and just go straight to hell, all right?" Mac stalked to her door and pulled it open. "Out. Now."

Clay sauntered to the door. "Fine, Sarah. I'll go, but I know you'll be crawling back."

"Clay, I never want to see you again. I mean it. Go to hell."

Webb finally seemed to understand she wasn't playing around. "Well, have a nice life, Sarah. Have a nice life with a little brat that should have been swallowed or flushed down the—"

All it took was one shove, and Webb was out the door. Mac slammed it and locked it before he could say anything else, and the next morning, she paid a locksmith double to come early and change the locks.

Mac stood up from her couch and made her way to the kitchen where she slid the remaining goulash into the garbage. She tossed the plate into the sink, then filled a glass with water. She felt agitated, wholly unsettled, and she didn't want to be alone right now. As she had done countless times before, she picked up the phone and started dialing Harm's number. When she realized what she was doing, she slammed the phone down. No. This was too much, letting Harm in twice in one day.

Come to think of it, she had been relying on Harm more and more lately. She had started to look forward to seeing him at work and she had thoroughly enjoyed working on their recent cases together. Harm was being so supportive. He was kind, gentlemanly, much like he had been during the beginning of their friendship, only now it was without the arrogance of the past. He had grown up, it seemed.

How long, though, would this last? She'd seen his true colors more than once. His jealousy. His sarcasm. His downright cruel behavior. Who was to say he wouldn't revert back to that?

She needed to distance herself, and this time she needed to follow through. The same went for everyone else at JAG. She was letting her guard down too much. She still wanted to run to Harm with every problem. She was accepting invitations to Bud and Harriet's, invitations that went beyond just seeing her godson. Who was to say they too wouldn't revert back to that post-Paraguay time? Her counselor was helping her to stand on her own two feet again. She was doing more things just for herself. She wasn't worrying so much what others thought about her. It was refreshing. She didn't want to be sucked back into the Mac of the past's life.

No. No more running to Harm. No more letters back and forth. She could face things on her own now. She was better.

She didn't need anybody. Needing people only got her hurt.

No more.

End Chapter 25