Disclaimer: not mine

January was a dream and most of February was too. Wedding plans were a key focus and work wasn't as hectic as it had been over recent months. Deciding to look for a new place for them to share, rather than choosing one of their own apartments, Harm and Mac had engaged a great realtor and within a week had found the perfect house. It was a four bedroom, three bathroom, two storey house in Georgetown. Thanks to the previous owner being a Cadillac enthusiast and wannabe automotive mechanic, the house also had a four car garage with a huge workshop area. Harm had been in love with it before they'd even seen the house. With the house being within their budget and a ninety day settlement, they were due to move into the house the week before the wedding – perfect timing.

Returning to Headquarters after a 72 hour investigation on a Thursday in late February, Mac made her way to General Cresswell's office to report in, after which she would search for her fiancé and reacquaint herself with him, hopefully in a physical manner. Her time with her CO was relatively short and to the point, however, as she was leaving he stopped her.
"Have you caught up with Rabb?" he asked, rounding his desk and meeting her by his door.
"Not yet," she said with half a smile.
"Well, when you find him, take him home," he said, waving his hand. "The man isn't well and shouldn't be here spreading his germs."
"What's wrong with him?" Mac asked quite concerned, she'd thought he was coming down with a cold when she was leaving but he'd sworn he was fine when she had spoken to him.
"The flu," he reported. "Came in today looking like death warmed up, I figured it would be easier to confine him to his office and have you take him home than sending him home earlier."
"Thank you, sir, I'll make sure he's taken care of," she said, turning for the door.
"I'll see you back here on Monday; I'll see Rabb when he's fit to return. Dismissed," he said.
"Aye, aye, sir," Mac said with a quick salute before going to find her beloved.

It wasn't hard to locate Harm, he was in his office with the door and the blinds closed. His computer was switched off and he was slumped in his chair, one hand rubbing his throbbing head.
"Oooh, you're not exactly a picture of health, honey," Mac said, entering his office.
"Maaac," he croaked. "Feel like crap."
"You look it too," she said honestly, moving around his desk and kissing his forehead. "And you're running a temperature."
"I know," he groaned. "I've taken analgesics and stuff but it's getting worse."
"Well, I'm home now, Harm, and I'll take care of you," she said, grabbing his briefcase and cover with one hand, and helping him up with the other.
"You okay to walk by yourself?" she asked, knowing he wouldn't want the entire staff seeing him so vulnerable.
"Yeah," he said with a nod. "You'll be close by though, right?"
"Definitely."

Taking Harm's keys, Mac let him into the passenger side of the car before opening the trunk and depositing her bag, his briefcase and their covers. Rather than going straight to his place, Mac stopped at his doctor's clinic and took him inside. The diagnosis and prognosis was simple; he had the flu – plenty of fluids, plenty of rest and a good dose of TLC and he'd be as good as new.

Taking Harm's hand, Mac led Harm from the elevator and into his apartment. Dropping their belongings inside the door, she continued on her intended path to his bedroom.
"Come on, sweetheart," she said, "I'll help you get changed for bed."

Harm tried to protest but when his head spun as he tried to take off his shoes he had to concede that maybe he did need help. As it is when you have the flu, everything ached; not only his joints but all of his bones, muscles, even his skin. Rather than redress him in pyjamas, Mac left him in his boxers and tank before helping him to the bathroom.
"I've got this," he said with a weak smile as he leant on the bathroom sink.
Mac just smiled and nodded before returning to the bedroom.

Pulling back the covers, Mac plumped up the pillows and went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water for him and some more Tylenol. When she returned, Harm was unsteadily making his way around the bed.
"You okay?" she asked, taking his arm.
"Did I die and not tell myself?" he groaned as Mac helped him get into bed.
"No, honey, it's just the flu, you'll be okay," she soothed before kissing his forehead.

After ensuring Harm had had enough to drink and had his tablets, Mac wiped his face with a damp cloth and watched as he snuggled down into his bed.
"Need anything else?" she asked, propping herself on the bed in front on him and caressing his face.
"Sit here for a bit," he said weakly; Mac nodded. "I've missed you..."
Mac smiled and kissed his forehead. "I missed you too." Within minutes he was sound asleep.

Friday saw little improvement in the situation and while Harm was no better, he was not getting any worse, which Mac had to concede was something. After spoon feeding him a clear broth for lunch, Mac sat alongside him in the bed and raked her fingers through his hair.
"You feeling a bit better now?" she asked, as he sighed deeply.
"Yeah," he croaked. "Peachy."
"Oooh, poor thing," Mac said with a smirk. "How about you get some sleep?"
"That's all I've been doing," he grumbled. "I'm going to get up and..." Harm's efforts got as far as sitting up before the blood rushed away from his head and he fell back into his pillow. "Maybe I'll try again later."
Mac pulled the covers up around him and caressed his face. "You do that, honey."

Deciding that as she was already in bed it was the perfect time for a nap, Mac climbed under the covers and turned on her side to face him. Reaching across, she rested her hand on his chest and drifted off. Woken thirty minutes later by Harm's movement, Mac stretched out her arms and encouraged him to settle against her. Even though he was mumbling discontentedly and still hot to touch, Mac had to smile; never before had Harm been so accepting of her care and attention when he was unwell.

As he snuggled into her, Mac recalled Harm's last two illnesses in recent years. Both had required time off work, which was unusual for him. Both had seen high temperatures, misery and antibiotics. Both times Mac had tried to be there for him; both times he refused her efforts. This time was totally different.

As she cradled him to her his cell rang and Mac reached across to pick it up from the bedside table.
"Hey, Trish," she said in hushed tones.
"Sarah? Hello, dear," she said, "I did call Harm's cell, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," Mac confirmed. "Harm's asleep right now and I didn't want the phone to wake him."
"Asleep in the middle of a Friday?" What's wrong?" she asked quickly.
"He has a bad dose of the flu," Mac reported and Harm repositioned his head against her breast.
"Oh, my poor boy," she said sympathetically.
"It's okay, I'm looking after him," Mac said, rubbing his arm.
"And he's letting you?" Trish asked in surprise.
"Yes," Mac replied proudly.
"Wow," Trish mumbled. "The last time my boy let anyone take care of him when he was ill he was five."

As Mac lay next to the man in question, Trish told Mac how her young son had loved a little TLC from mommy or daddy when he was hurt or ill but how after his father went MIA that all changed. The endearing little boy, who once had curled up on his mommy's lap when he had a boo-boo, then refused to let anyone help or hold him. He became fiercely independent and wouldn't allow himself to rely on anyone else, even his mommy. It had broken her heart. Now, only 37 short years later, he was finally allowing himself to be nurtured and cared for when ill and Trish couldn't have been happier.

By the time the call ended, Mac had tears streaming down her face as she thought about Harm as a broken hearted little boy who had lost his precious daddy. Closing her eyes she saw his young face tear stained with trembling lip as he realised daddy wasn't coming home ever again. She thought about the transformation in him that his mother had described and how he had shut himself off from any meaningful connection at such a young age to avoid the same pain as he had experienced with his dad. Then she thought of the single minded determination which had captured him as a teen sending him on 20 odd year search for his father as he refused to believe the man was dead and how that determination, or obsession, had made him risk everything time and time again. And she thought of how that disconnection from intimacy and bloody mindedness had impacted on every aspect of his adult life.

As Harm moved beside her, Mac placed a tearful kiss on his head.
"Love...Mac..." he muttered, holding onto her and Mac cried harder.
He had come so far in seven months, they both had, and while she was very proud of them both, she knew that there was still a way to go.
"What's wrong?" Harm asked, opening his eyes and seeing Mac's tears.
Quickly Mac wiped her hand over her face and caressed his face.
"Nothing, honey, go back to sleep," she whispered before kissing his forehead and snuggling closer.
"What's wrong?" he asked again, even with his head achy and heavy, he knew what he was seeing wasn't right.
"I love you so very, very much, honey," she said, stroking his face.
"And that's making you cry?" he questioned, swiping his thumb over the swell of her cheek.
"They're good tears," she said, taking his hand and kissing it.
Thinking about it for a moment, Harm decided that her words did match her eyes, tears aside, and as he was exhausted and not up to thinking much harder about things he nodded.

Recovered and back at work by the following Tuesday, Harm ordered a dozen tulips for Mac, her favourites, as a way of saying thank you for all her love and care over his illness, and because he had vowed to himself a while back that he would take every opportunity to show Mac how much he loved her.

By the following weekend, Mac was feeling off and both conceded she would most likely come down with Harm's flu. Saturday she had felt off, Sunday she had felt terrible and by Monday she was not all that certain she hadn't died and not told her body. She had growing abdominal discomfort and by Monday night she was starting to think it may be appendicitis. Figuring she would leave it until the morning to get a second opinion, Mac cuddled into Harm in bed and held on.

Throughout the night, Harm stayed awake as Mac moaned and groaned in pain anytime she moved. Kissing her forehead several times, he found her temperature to be rising and wondered if he should make some medical arrangements now. In the midst of his contemplation, Mac went to roll over and let out a blood curdling scream which had him wide awake.
"Mac...Mac...gorgeous, talk to me," he said as he patted her face and found her unresponsive. "Mac?" Mac rolled into him but failed to talk. "Mac, open your eyes," he instructed and eventually they fluttered open for just a little bit.

Realising this was more than the flu, Harm climbed out of bed and grabbed his sweats, entering the bathroom he flicked on the light and was sickened to find his boxers and bottom of his tee-shirt blood stained. Thinking it was him, Harm stripped off and grabbed a wet cloth and cleaned himself but found no cause, which meant only one thing...Mac.
"Mac, Mac?" he called, switching on the bedside lamp and pulling back the covers. To his horror he found Mac had suffered a significant haemorrhage and the light showed the bloody mess of herself and the bed clothes as well as the grey appearance of her skin.

It took the paramedics an agonising twenty one minutes to arrive and Harm's anguish grew with each passing second. Pulling on his sweats as he waited and grabbing a few of Mac's clothes for her while they loaded her on the gurney, Harm pocketed his cell, wallet and keys and followed them down to the ambulance.

The Bethesda emergency room staff saw Mac very quickly, monitors were attached and observations were taken as Harm sat in a corridor outside with a clipboard, pen and mountain of paperwork. As he got to the last signature, a doctor appeared and sat beside him, Harm drew a deep breath, this had bad written all over it.
"My name is Commander Eric Watson, I believe you're Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's fiancé," he said quietly, taking back the clipboard.
"Yes, Commander, I'm Commander Harmon Rabb," he replied. "What's wrong with her? Can I see her?"
"Is there any chance Sarah is pregnant?" he asked and Harm shook his head before briefly explaining her medical history. "So, you don't know for certain that she isn't?"
"No," Harm conceded. "Do you think she is?"
"We're about to do an ultrasound and find out, but my thinking is that Sarah is suffering an ectopic pregnancy," he said, patting Harm's arm. "If that's the case then she'll be taken to surgery."

Fifteen painful minutes later, Harm had his answer. It was an ectopic pregnancy. Mac needed surgery. Mac needed surgery now.

Sitting in the OR waiting room at 0627 on the Tuesday morning, Harm clung to the sweater he'd brought in for Mac. Eyes closed and head leaning on the pristine white wall behind him, Harm prayed and prayed hard. They had come so far, worked so hard, surely the reward would be each other. He couldn't fathom what sort of God would take her from him now. It simply wasn't a possibility.

It was 0810 when somebody resembling a doctor came back through the swinging doors and towards him. Harm was instantly on his feet.
"She's okay," Dr Michael Reed explained, taking Harm's arm and sitting him down once more. In simple terms he explained the laparoscopic surgery they had just performed, the cleaning up of some of the endometriosis they had found, the blood they had transfused and her current condition. The doctor seemed optimistic that Mac had sustained minimal damaged from the pregnancy and recommended she schedule an appointment with her own OBGYN to reassess her fertility chances and options.

Before Harm had the chance to see her in recovery, his cell buzzed. It was Jennifer Coates stating that Harm and Mac had been declared AWOL by their CO when they hadn't fronted for the usual 0800 briefing. To save himself from having to explain matters twice, Harm asked to be put through to the General urgently.

When his CO's clearly unimpressed voice echoed down the line, Harm steeled himself. In the space of seventy six seconds, Harm rapidly explained the traumatic events of the morning and apologised for not notifying him before now. General Cresswell was very sympathetic and offered any help he could before Harm ended the call and quickly entered the recovery ward.
"Harmmm," Mac murmured when he caressed her face.
"I'm right here, gorgeous," he whispered, kissing her forehead.
"Hurts," she whispered as he took her hand.
"I know, honey," he replied, kissing her again.
"Hurts," she repeated as she drifted off to sleep.

Harm closed his eyes: hurt just didn't sum up the intense heartbreak he was experiencing at this very moment.