A/N: Another chapter of Trust. I really want to finish Miracles, but I'm stuck! So here's this…

Trust

Chapter 14: Mother Knows

Harm watched as Mac got up from her desk and shut her office door. All morning, their friends had been stopping by to welcome her back and make sure she didn't need anything. She was quietly gracious, but he could see her smile faltering and the fatigue weighing her down. To him, it was clear she'd come back too soon, and he had half a mind to go talk to Chegwidden. Instead, however, knowing she'd have him killed, he decided to check on her himself.

Harm crossed the room and lightly rapped on Mac's door. Through the blinds he could see her head was down, her forehead resting on her hand. Without waiting for her to answer his knock, he pushed open her door and called out to her softly.

"Mac? You okay?"

Slowly she lifted her head and he could see her mouth start to form the typical "yeah," but then her shoulders slumped and the truth came out. "Not really."

"How can I help?" He stepped around her desk and crouched down to be more on her level.

Mac shrugged. "You really can't…I'm just tired, and all I'm doing is paperwork."

"Maybe you came back to soon?" He had to force himself not to touch her while he waited for her ire.

It didn't come. Instead, she rested her elbows on her desk and covered her face. "Maybe," she answered, her voice muffled by her hands.

"Mac…talk to the admiral and go home. He'll understand."

"Harm…I can't. I've already missed two weeks, and Admiral Chegwidden is already keeping my duties light. I'll be fine."

"Mac—"

The ringing of her telephone interrupted him, and despite her fatigue she answered with a crisp "Colonel MacKenzie." He stood up and watched her listen to whomever was on the phone, her expression bland, and then hang up with a rather meek "yes, sir" before slowly replacing the phone into its cradle. It was obvious the caller was their CO, and Harm raised his eyebrows in inquiry when she finally looked back up at him.

"The admiral…he wants to see me in his office." She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then pushed herself out of her chair. She straightened her jacket and did her best to straighten her spine, then moved toward the door. Before she opened it, Mac turned to face him once again. "Harm?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you…did you say something to Admiral Chegwidden?"

"About what?"

"About me not being ready to be back?"

"No, Mac…no I didn't. But I wanted to."

"Harm…"

"Mac, I just worry. You hide it well with everyone else, but I know you. I can see you're exhausted."

Darkness appeared in her eyes. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Maaac…"

Mac sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Harm. I'm just frustrated. I felt really good over the weekend. I've been doing well. But I didn't sleep well last night and didn't expect it to take it out of me so much."

Harm lifted his hand to rest it on her shoulder, just managing to stop himself before he made contact. "Why didn't you sleep well?" He knew Mac often had insomnia, but that never seemed to slow her down. He suspected that her fatigue had more to do with the emotional aspects of her situation rather than the physical.

Mac's eyes slid away from his. "I just didn't," she snapped, then sighed. "I guess I couldn't stop thinking about everything."

Harm nodded. Just as I suspected. "Do you want to talk about it?"

For a moment he thought that maybe, just maybe, she'd say yes, but then she squared her shoulders and walked past him.

"The admiral's waiting," she said, then left him to watch her retreating back.

"He's cutting me back to half days for the next two weeks."

Harm looked up to see Mac standing in his office doorway, briefcase and cover in hand. "I know," he nodded as he stood up. "He just called me. Ordered me to take you home." He grabbed his own cover and case.

"Harm, I can drive myself home."

"I'm sure you can, but you gonna argue with a two-star?" He flashed her a grin and ushered her out the door.

"Thanks, Harm. You didn't have to walk me up." She started to close her door on him, but he managed to slip in behind her.

"I wanted to. Tell you what…I don't have to be back to work for a while. Go change and I'll make up some lunch." Mac started to shake her head.

"Harm…you don't…okay, sure." Harm grinned as she walked away. Maybe she'd let him in yet.

"Thanks, Harm. That was good." Mac set down her spoon next to her now empty bowl of tomato soup, then popped the last part of her grilled cheese sandwich in her mouth."

"Not as good as yours, but you're welcome." He set his own spoon down. "What?" She was looking at him oddly.

"Nothing," she finally said, looking away."

"Mac…I was serious. You make really good grilled cheese." He couldn't understand the glare she was giving him.

"I can make other things, you know. I can actually cook."

"Mac, I didn't say you couldn't. I was just giving you a compliment. A sincere one."

"My grandmother taught me. I just don't do it very often."

Harm wasn't sure how to appease her, so he hoped it was safe to ask about her grandmother. "Your grandmother, huh?"

"My mom's mom. She was an excellent cook, and, on the weekends, I would cook with her." Harm gave her a tentative smile.

"That's great, Mac. What kind of things did you make?"

"Various things…mostly Persian food." Mac stood up and picked up both their plates and bowls. "Anyway," she continued. "Thanks again for lunch." She headed toward the kitchen.

"You're welcome, Mac." He picked up their glasses from the table and rushed after her. He set the glasses in the sink by their plates. Harm knew he should take his leave, but he was still hoping he could get her to open up about something. "Hey, Mac, maybe you could make something you used to make with your grandmother some night? I'd bring dessert." He gazed at her hopefully. His spirits fell when he saw her eyes harden with a short shake of her head.

"I lost that cookbook a long time ago." She walked out of the room…

…and then flashes of memory started running through his mind…about a night when they were at her apartment working on a case. He remembered her suggesting she could make them dinner and he'd made some crack about peanut butter and jelly and grilled cheese. Later that night, after they'd indeed dined on grilled cheese, he'd found a hand-written cookbook on her counter and various unusual-to-Mac ingredients in her refrigerator. Suddenly he'd known he'd made a colossal blunder. She was actually going to cook for him.

And he was such an ass.

Harm had come back to her living room that night, cookbook in hand, and asked her about it. He'd wanted to apologize but he lost his nerve, and he'd never seen the book again.

"I'm sorry, Mac," he whispered to himself, and then, deciding he'd overstayed his welcome, he reminded her he'd be picking her up in the morning before saying his goodbyes. When her door shut behind him, he heard the lock slamming home, the sound filling the hall like thunder.

"Here, I brought your favorite." Mac took the proffered bag Harm held in his hand and ushered him into her apartment. She'd just gone back to full days and the admiral marked the occasion by handing them a nightmare of a case, and they felt they couldn't just leave the preparation to office hours. Thus, here he was on this Monday evening, knocking at Mac's door, preparing himself for a late night.

"Thanks, Harm. You want to work in the living room or at the table?"

"Living room, please. I like your couch."

"Oh, I, um, got a new one…" Harm noticed just as she spoke. The new couch, though it still fit with the décor, was remarkably different than the last one. Different colors, different materials, and it didn't look nearly as comfortable.

"Oh."

"It's comfortable, Harm. Really."

Wanting to reassure her while wondering why he needed to, he smiled and nodded. "Looks like it. Okay, living room it is."

"Sounds good. I'll go get us some drinks. "

"'Kay, Mac."

Harm had all the food set up when Mac returned with a couple of bottles of the organic juice he'd turned her onto early in their partnership. They both sat down on the couch, which was actually fairly comfortable, and proceeded to eat and delve into the case.

Three hours later, their strategy was finally coming together, and Harm supposed he should pack up and go. He glanced over at Mac, who looked just as tired as he imagined he did and gave her a half-smile. "Think that's enough for one night?"

Mac smiled back and nodded. "Yeah—ow," she winced, and her hand came up to the back of her neck.

"You okay, Mac?" he asked, though it was obvious she was in pain.

"Yeah…you know my neck. It's been acting up again."

"Here, let me." He twirled his hand, indicating she should turn so he could massage her neck, but then realized what he'd suggested. "Uh, sorry, Mac."

Mac's brow wrinkled and she pursed her lips. She appeared to be deep in thought, and finally, she shook her head. "No, it's okay, Harm. I could really use a neck rub."

She turned her back toward him and he gaped at it. Are you letting me touch you, Mac? He grinned to himself. It appeared that, yes, she was. He rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Wait!"

Chagrinned, Harm dropped his hands. "Sorry—"

"No, just let me…there." Mac had slid off the couch and pushed the coffee table away. She then sat down in front of him, turned slightly and gave him a nod, and with a huge grin, Harm started to massage her neck and shoulders. He'd done this often enough over the years, but it had been a long time. He tried to ignore the softness of her skin and the scent of her hair, which wasn't as hard as it could have been. Helping her was foremost in his mind. Her neck was really tight, and he didn't know when he'd felt more knots in her upper back than he did now. Slowly he worked on each one of them, Mac alternately sighing and wincing when he would hit a more tender spot.

"Hmmmmm," she hummed as she stretched her neck so he could get to the rest of it. "I'd forgotten how good you are at this." She was gradually relaxing under his ministrations, and it made Harm feel ten feet tall.

"You're welcome," he chuckled. He continued to knead her muscles for another several minutes, so relaxed himself that he jumped when her phone rang. He started to pull his hands away.

"Just let the machine get it," she murmured, and he happily obliged. The phone range another five times, and the machine picked up.

Neither were prepared for the voice on the line.

"Sarah, it's Clay."

Mac shrugged his hands off her now taut shoulders, and they both listened, Harm's ire growing by the second.

"Pick up the phone, Sarah. You know we need to talk."

"Mac?" Harm whispered, and she turned and looked up at him with tear-filled doe eyes.

"And you know what we need to talk about," Webb's disembodied voice continued to echo from the answering machine. "Mother knows."

Mac gasped and struggled to stand. Harm rose up and assisted her, wanting to stop her from answering the phone. It turned out he didn't have to. Mac just stood there, shaking. He reached out to steady her.

"I told her, Sarah. About the baby. She wants to see you. It's still a Webb. Come on, Sarah, pick up. We gotta talk about this. Call me." He hung up while Harm waited for Mac's reaction. He noticed she was pale and still trembling.

"Mac?"

"It. He called him an it." A shade of fury lowered over her eyes. "He called him an IT!"

Mac's fists were clenched as she stalked over to the answering machine, and Harm couldn't make himself move. He could only watch as she swept the phone right off her desk and then whirled to face him.

"My baby was not an it, Harm."

"No, he wasn't, Mac."

"I'm not going to call him, or her."

Good, Harm thought to himself. Out loud, he merely answered, "Okay, Mac."

"He can't just…just…"

Suddenly, Mac bolted from the room, and the next thing Harm heard was her retching into her toilet.

End Chapter 14