Disclaimer: Not mine

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LAX
Friday
0850 Local

She was leaning against a large pillar, her bag by her feet, her eyes searching the airport lobby. His heart rose to his throat. He didn't know how to react to that. He'd never felt this way before, felt so strongly about a person that just seeing them made the worst of his guilt, the most scathing of his regrets seem conquerable. He thought of the look on his mother's face. He thought of the concern Frank had shown him this morning, the genuine worry in his stepfather's eyes.

Are you alright, son?

He hadn't known what to say, so he'd simply nodded. Frank had then taken a seat next to him on the couch, not saying anything, just sitting with him until it was time to head to the airport to pick up Mac.

And here he was, watching Mac as she searched for him in the crowd. He had years' worth of amends to make to his mother and Frank, he knew. He had disliked his mother and hated Frank. He'd held them against the shiny image of his father, polished clean with years of blind adoration.

He was a terrible person. He hated himself for it, and right now what he needed more than anything was to see the light in Mac's eyes whenever she looked at him. He needed to see himself the way she did.

She straightened when she caught sight of him. Her face drawn with concern. She pushed herself off the pillar, slung her bag over her shoulder and started walking towards him. His attention fixed on her as he moved to meet her; shoring strength from the love he could see in her eyes, from the way her body was tuned to his. He just needed to touch her, to hold her. But he couldn't trust himself to do that here, in the antiseptic anonymity of an airport lobby. He couldn't trust himself to not simply break down in public the moment her arms wound themselves around him and her lips touched his.

He stopped suddenly when she was arm's length away. His eyes dropped to her bag, seeking a distraction from the thick broil of hurt and sadness and relief.

"Here," He put a hand out, feeling awkward and off balance. "Let me take your bag. Mom'll tear into me if she hears you carried it yourself," He joked, trying to lighten the tension, to put himself at ease. He felt so off-kilter, and seeing her made him simply want to find a hiding place inside her, somewhere warm and familiar where it didn't hurt so much whenever he thought of his parents. He swallowed heavily and tried not to look her in the eye, not trusting what his reaction would be when he did.

"Hey," She said softly. He took a deep breath at the sound of her voice, felt the thin threads of his control fraying. "Come here." She held out her arms, taking a step towards him.

He closed his eyes, still not understanding the strength of his reaction to her presence. He didn't care, he realized. He just wanted her comfort. He quickly folded himself into her embrace, his face in her neck. He took slow deep breaths through his nose, savouring her scent and the warm familiarity of her skin.

"It's alright, sweetheart." She whispered, her fingers weaving through his hair. "It's okay."

And he thought just maybe, it might be.

--

Burnett Residence
La Jolla, CA
Friday
1103 Local

Mac stepped out onto the back deck, into the warm California sun, set to go for a morning run. She caught sight of Trish sitting on one of the deck chairs, staring out at the ocean.

"Good morning, Trish." She greeted.

Trish abruptly turned towards Mac, startled out of her thoughts.

"I apologize," Mac said quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Not at all, Sarah." She smiled a tired smile. "Just gathering wool. I'm sorry I wasn't able to greet you when you came in."

"It's no problem, Trish, please."

Trish only nodded, her attention again fixed on the distant horizon.

Mac sat down on the neighbouring deck chair and started tying her shoelaces.

"Going for a run?"

Mac nodded, glancing at Trish. "Thought I'd fit in a quick run before lunch. I feel a bit stale after the plane ride. Harm's taking a nap."

"Thank you, Sarah."

Mac looked up, surprised.

"For helping Harm find his father, for being there for him through this..." Trish explained.

"I wouldn't know how to do otherwise," Mac answered honestly. "He's my greatest friend. I only hope to be as much to him as he is to me."

Trish smiled. She reached over and patted Mac's hand. "You are. Don't doubt it."

She hesitated, stared out at the ocean, looking older than Mac remembered.

"You know, in all those times I wondered what Harmon was up to, whether he was lost or imprisoned or heaven forbid had passed, I never once conceived of him falling in love and fathering a son."

Mac moved to say something that could alleviate the woman's apparent grief, but Trish waved a hand stopping Mac before she could interrupt. "Dear, he was not the kind to just sleep around with women unless they held a place in his heart."

Mac didn't know what to say to that.

Trish looked at her. "I suppose I must face this."

"He loved you. You made each other happy." Mac told her carefully, still not sure of her way around Harm's family. She sometimes felt all this human relationship stuff was uncharted territory, and she could only navigate by feel. "Harm showed me the picture of you two, from when you were pregnant. That's a rare thing to find with someone."

Trish stared at Mac for one long moment – all of seven seconds – and then turned her attention to the shore, where the waves swallowed the sand.

"Part of me wishes I'd never known." She finally said.

"It's better to know." Mac answered with utmost conviction. This was familiar territory for her, without a doubt. "We build spectres out of the people in our pasts, paint them as devils or saints. We forget that in the end, we're all human. That doesn't make the people we love mean any less to us; it doesn't mean they hold any less of our heart."

Trish studied Mac thoughtfully, head cocked to the side. Mac tried not to feel nervous. At times, Trish's mannerisms echoed Harm's in a way Mac found disconcerting. It was familiar, yet not.

"Your parents?" Trish finally said.

Mac nodded, not really surprised by Trish's intuitiveness. She wondered how much Harm had told his mother about her. It was her turn to stare at the waves crashing against the sand.

"It was easier to see my parents in black and white, but I lost a lot of myself in my anger and hurt towards them. I'm finding that they were, well, far from either extreme. It's not easy to have to face that; it makes things much more complicated. But I'm finding myself too, through the process."

Mac took a long, slow breath. She hadn't even realized it was all true until she said it out loud. She didn't think it would still hurt after all these years, a dull ache burnished by wear.

Trish moved to sit next to Mac on the deck chair and, to Mac's surprise, wrapped her in a hug. What surprised Mac even more was how Trish's warm embrace made her, of all things, miss her mother's touch.

"I'm so happy Harm met you, Sarah," Trish whispered as she held Mac. "You are a treasure to us."

Mac could do nothing but return Trish's hug, at a loss for words, for thought. "Thank you."

Trish pulled back and cupped Mac's face. She smiled. "Go on for your run, darling. You have exactly 56 minutes before lunch is served. Consider it a test of your sense of timing Harm goes on about."

Mac nodded, thrown off kilter by the affection she was being shown, overwhelmed by the warmth. This was all so unfamiliar. "Yes, Ma'am."

She stood up and, with a final self-conscious wave over her shoulder at Trish, jumped down the deck stairs. Mac set off at a quick clip down the beach, letting the full weight of Trish's words sink in. A treasure. She was awed. That incredible woman, someone's mother, and not just anyone's but Harm's mother, thought she was a treasure. Even as she told herself not to let a string of words mean too much, told herself not to read too much into it, Mac grinned; she laughed; she wiped the tears from her eyes. She couldn't explain this wonderful, amazing thing she was feeling. She didn't know what it was, but for her entire run she had to fight the childish impulse to just start skipping and jumping, resist the urge to kick the sand with her toes and feel the saltwater waves foam around her ankles.