What was I thinking about Harm the other day? Mac asked herself in dismay. That he really isn't so insufferable, so unbearable to live with…?

Whatever it was, now she knew otherwise…

Boy Scouts are always prepared and do their duty. Pound, pound, pound… And let's face it; Harm was just a big Boy Scout.

Mac needed to keep that in mind when dealing with all of Harm's bravado and arrogance. Mac collected another barnacle from the shoreline. Smashing and scraping the shells helped relieve her frustrations with the Commander in Chief of the Island. He thinks he knows all of the flora in their habitat. Apparently, he's qualified to know what is edible and what's poisonous. Let him get sick then! He could be the guinea pig. Mac ruminated over Harm's latest project of collecting plants and roots for their meals. He was so pigheaded! It would serve him right to keel over, Mac thought, as she pounded another barnacle against a rock. He wouldn't listen to any of her questions or reservations. He just waved off her doubts like she was a small-minded child. If there was one thing that got Mac furious, it was when she was being discounted. She was a Marine, for goodness sake. She had been trained to live off the land. Her opinions did account for something! Mac continued the battle in her head, as she methodically picked off more crustaceans. Harm had basically dismissed her! The nerve of him! Mac threw herself back into her tedious task, and muttered under her breath. Harm needed to be taught a lesson in humility. His day would come.

It didn't take long for her guilty wish to manifest itself. Two days later, Harm drank some of his herbal tea concoction, full of native roots and leaves, and became very sick. She knew that it was something he ate. His reaction was so sudden and violent, carrying no viral or flu-like symptoms. In contrast, she felt fine. It was actually kind of scary to see Harm so beaten down. Mac felt terrible about her earlier malicious thoughts. She hadn't wanted him to actually be punished for his criminal level of stubbornness. She felt a twinge in her conscience, as she imagined that she had somehow brought this upon him.

Harm began throwing up at around 10 pm, and kept it up throughout the night. At one point, Mac sat quietly at Harm's side and watched his fitful sleep. He looked pale and drawn, his forehead beaded in perspiration. A feeling of worry began to spread across Mac. What if he took a turn for the worse, and this was more than just a stomach toxin? What would she do if his condition deteriorated? There was no other help to turn to. They were at the mercy of their isolated prison of land. A grave alternative scenario was more than she could even bear to consider. Harm would be okay. He had to be. It was just food poisoning.

Mac relied on Harm in so many ways – for safety, for survival, and, as much as she hated to admit it, for companionship. In some ways, witnessing him so ill shattered some sort of heroic, unrealistic image she had of Harm. He was human – not above the hurt and pain the rest of the world experienced. Perhaps she had hung on too long to the illusion that Harm was invincible. On some level, she held him to a higher standard than everyone else. He seemed to escape unbelievably close brushes with death. He always came out unharmed, always the victor, on the winning team. It was like his cocky fighter pilot façade made him impenetrable to the capricious forces of nature. His distinguished flying and unmatched bravery in the past set him up to be almost larger than life. In truth, he was just a man, bound by the constraints of his physical body. Yes, he was a remarkable individual, with amazing courage and dedication, but he was also imperfect and limited. Deep down, she knew she loved Harm for all of his flaws. Mac's heart welled up in sympathy as she observed Harm thrashing about from some unsettled dream. Damn him, for getting incredibly sick on her like this! Be well, Harm, she pleaded inside. Mac reached out and smoothed Harm's matted hair. In the darkness of the night, Mac finally dozed off next to Harm's chest, her steadfast concern for him never dissipating.

At sunrise, Mac woke to the sounds of Harm rustling around, trying lever his body upright. He quickly grew weary from the effort, and ended up literally crawling out of the shelter to vomit outside in the sand. His dry heaves wracked his body, and Mac felt compelled to jump up in aide. Yet, she already knew from earlier attempts that Harm was too proud to receive any assistance. When he made his way back to his bed of sorts, he collapsed exhausted. His eyes promptly closed, and he said nothing, just emitting discontented moans once in a while. He refused any offer of water, and seemed to be out of it. Realizing that there was nothing she could do to improve his situation, Mac decided to emerge from their housing and start her day.

After a couple of hours, Mac came back to check on Harm, and he was still asleep. She touched his face and was relieved to discover that he apparently had no fever, although his skin was clammy. Throughout the rest of the day, Mac returned to make sure he was okay. At least he hadn't thrown up for a while. In the late afternoon, she entered the shelter and was surprised to find him awake at last, meeting her gaze with wary, bloodshot eyes. His color had improved, and he seemed to have more life in him.

"How are you feeling, Harm?"

"Better, I guess…" Harm swallowed slowly and sat up a little higher against the thatched wall.

"You know, you had me a little worried last night. You were pretty sick."

"I felt like crap. I hate throwing up." A look of discomfort marked Harm's features, and one arm went to drape over his stomach.

"Do you think you're going to be sick again?"

"No, I just feel nauseous."

"Here, let me get you some water. You're probably dehydrated." Mac collected the water bottle and brought it to Harm. He nodded in appreciation, and drank it down.

"How long have I been out of commission?"

"Well, you've been lying in here since last night. It's around five o'clock now."

Mac talked to him a little about what had transpired, and described her theories about his condition. Harm listened to her assessment, but looked around the small enclosure distractedly. When he made a feeble attempt at standing, Mac cautioned him with her hands, questioning his intentions.

"I need to get up."

"No, you need to rest. You can barely sit up straight, much less walk around."

He struggled to plant his wobbly legs underneath him, and ignored her gestures of protest.

"Harm, don't be stubborn! Anyone can see that you don't have the strength to walk."

"You don't understand, Mac. I have to get up." His eyes implored her to accept his incomplete explanation.

"Oh…." Mac finally perceived his meaning, as he began to head towards the door with an unsteady gait. "Well, at least lean on me, Harm. You look a little woozy, like you're going to fall over."

"I'm not going to faint." Harm mumbled, trying to maintain a semblance of pride. Still, he reluctantly accepted her support. They walked outside together, and Mac left him leaning against a tree.

"I can take it from here," Harm said firmly.

"Okay. Yell if you need anything," Mac offered as she turned and headed back to their dwelling, giving him some privacy. Mac was sure Harm hated receiving her help at all.

A few minutes later, Harm stumbled through the door and practically fell on the ground. He was completely tired out from such little exertion. He felt dizzy and closed his eyes to compose himself. He thought he might even have to heave again, and fought for control over his upset stomach.

"Are you okay?" Mac's soothing voice surrounded him. His head swam and his abdominal muscles ached. He tried to focus on her words.

"I'll survive," he replied faintly, through halted breaths. He despised being so weak around Mac. Frankly, he didn't like her seeing him this way at all. He was sure the reality of being so violently ill wasn't a pleasant experience for her either. She must have heard him gag and moan all night. He wished he'd been alone in his misery. On the other hand, her caring presence was so comforting. In the deep recesses of his mind, he knew she had been awake by his side throughout the previous evening. Mac was there for him. She never wavered. He was grateful for her, regardless of the awkwardness of being sick. Foremost, he was supremely thankful that she hadn't said those dreaded words…. 'I told you so'….yet…

By the next morning, his strength had returned and he seemed to be over the worst part of the illness. He and Mac were both enormously relieved. From that point forward, Harm demonstrated much more caution in what plants he ingested. There were no more experimental soups or questionable mixed-green salads on Harm's menu.