PART 19

EN ROUTE TO WILLESDEN GREEN
4 JULY 2007
1510 ZULU

Mac gripped the steering wheel of their little Alpha Romeo and tried to concentrate on staying on the correct side of the road – she still wasn’t completely comfortable with driving here. Harm was used to it – he’d learned how to drive in the Bahamas… Harm… God, why had she been so stupid and let her emotions overcome her like that? Why, when Harm needed her support, had she lost control so easily? She knew the answer, but it didn’t help her much. They were both running on very little sleep and extreme emotional distress. Sure he had started it with that comment, but she should have understood earlier that he was only reacting out of fear and helplessness. She shouldn’t have turned on him.

“Mummy?” a scared little boy spoke up from the back seat.

“Yes pumpkin?” Mac tried to bring herself back to the present and get herself under control.

“We need ta go get Daddy.”

Mac’s shoulders slumped at this simple but poignant statement. She had used the excuse that Harm was on a carrier at sea and that’s why he wasn’t home. Harm had built Evan a model of the USS Constellation several months ago and it sat in Evan’s room. Because of this, Evan knew about carriers so she figured it was something he would understand.

She fought back more tears. “Why is that sweetheart?”

“Betuzz Daddy can mait you stop cwying. I dunno how.”

Mac swiped at the tears in her eyes so that she could see to drive.

HARM AND MAC’S HOUSE
WILLESDEN GREEN
LONDON, NW2
4 JULY 2007
1530 ZULU

Mac let go of Evan’s hand as they stepped through the front door. She closed the door behind her and almost ran right over her son as he suddenly stopped short in the wide doorway to their living room. Mac almost jumped a foot when she spotted the man sitting in the armchair by the window.

“Jesus Webb! Can’t you just come to the front door like regular people?”

“Now, what would be the fun in that, Sarah?” He paused briefly as they looked at each other. “You look good.” He said soberly.

Mac cleared her throat and bent down behind her son. “Sweetie, this is a friend of Mommy and Daddy’s – Mr. Webb. Clay, this is my son Evan.”

Clayton smiled as he walked up to the little boy and crouched down to his level. “Hi Evan.”

“Hi” the little boy said shyly, but he still looked the man directly in the eyes.

‘Typical Rabb’ thought Clay at the child’s ability for eye contact. “Boy – you sure look like your Daddy.”

Evan smiled eagerly at this. “My Daddy’s on a ship!”

“So I hear.” Webb looked knowingly up at Mac. He looked back at the little boy. “Is he flying his plane?”

“I dunno…” the boy’s demeanor suddenly changed, “…Wan him to come home.” He said sadly.

Clay stood up and ruffled the boy’s hair – “I know.” He was altogether too uncomfortable at being this close to the incarnation of the Rabb/MacKenzie union - to something he had been so close to having for himself.
Sure he had heard when they had gotten married and also when they had the child, but seeing it for himself was bringing all the painful memories back.

Mac leaned down to her son’s ear. “Why don’t you go play with some toys while I talk to Mr. Webb, OK?”

“Yes Mummy.” Evan scampered off.

Mac moved uncomfortably towards the kitchen while Webb followed her. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just some water would be fine, thanks. He seems older than two.”

“He’s not even two yet,” she was still not looking at him while she talked, but instead busied herself with getting the water. “… but he learned to walk at nine months so he’s had lots of practice at that...” She laughed nervously and shook her head absent-mindedly at the memory, “…babies have no business walking at nine months… and once he started talking… well there was no stopping him… must be the lawyer gene…” Suddenly she realized she was babbling and turned to Clay as if she suddenly remembered why he was here. “Thank-you for coming Clayton.”

Webb finished the earlier conversation first, “Leave it to a Rabb to want to do everything better than everyone else.” He paused slightly before he continued. “Hey, you asked so here I am.”

“I know that we didn’t part company on the best terms… but I was hoping…”

“Sarah – I understand – you don’t need to explain.” Webb turned and looked out the window. “Besides – I still owe Rabb for Paraguay... and for once stealing his girl. This is the least I can do.”

“Yeah, well he eventually stole me back.”

Webb turned and stared at Mac. “He never had to steal you back, Sarah - I never really had you. That much was pretty obvious.” He looked down at the hardwood floor before he looked back up. “I guess I always knew that this was your eventual destiny – I just thought I could steal some time before Rabb finally got his act together.”

She wanted to slap him all over again for that comment. Why did men in her life that she once thought cared for her, always turn out to be only interested in winning her as some sort of prize in a pissing contest? I guess that was one of the reasons she loved Harm so much. He had always let her make the decision of who she wanted to be with – even when it hurt him – and her – in the process.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and she couldn’t stop the sarcasm. “Oh look Clay – someone who knows what a front door is for.”

Webb couldn’t help snickering.

Jethro Gibbs was standing at the front door holding a plain white envelope. “This is for you.” His eyes tried to convey who it was from, but he needn’t have bothered. Even though there were only three little letters on the outside - ‘M-a-c’- she knew that handwriting better than her own. She fought the urge to tear it open immediately and instead put the envelope on the front hall buffet for later. “Thank you, Jethro.”

Damn, he wished she’d stop calling him that.

Mac took a deep breath, “Clayton Webb, this is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs – NCIS.”

“Pleasure.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good I hope.”

Gibbs just held Clay’s eyes and didn’t respond. Clay didn’t need to ask what that meant.”

“Shall we?” Mac gestured to the living room and silently mused that Clay’s reputation for Ops going bad must not only be confined to the realms of JAG Ops. “OK gentlemen, let’s get down to business. Clay – tell us what you know.”


HARM AND MAC’S HOUSE
WILLESDEN GREEN
LONDON, NW2
4 JULY 2007
2012 ZULU

Mac sat on their overstuffed couch and fingered the envelope quietly. Webb and Gibbs had long since left and she had just managed to get a sleepy Evan Rabb into his bed for the fourth and hopefully last time of the night.

Her meeting with the agents had actually been quite productive. Webb already had a team of people that were working on tracing the computer banking transactions back to Palmer. Gibbs felt confident that with this new information he would be able to convince Scotland Yard to allow Mac more access to Harm and to start being allowed to properly represent him. He felt that if they knew there was a possibility he would be cleared of the charges, they would stop taking advantage of the fact that Harm’s incarceration was supposed to be kept quiet.

Webb had confirmed that Palmer was indeed still in Leavenworth and hadn’t somehow miraculously escaped like last time. In the end, they had agreed that it would be good to have someone on the inside there to try and trip him up – just in case the computer tracing didn’t work or took too long. Palmer didn’t often make mistakes, but his one weakness was his feeling of superiority and his need to flaunt his intelligence in everyone’s face. They had agreed that her Uncle Matt might be the perfect man for the job. Palmer might already know that Matt was her uncle, but if he did, that could still work to their advantage. Palmer might feel the need to taunt him with the knowledge of his success.

They had decided that Mac would go down to visit Matthew O’Hara under the guise of bringing Evan for a visit. Webb would go as well, in order to bring the Prison Warden into their confidence and allow their plan to take shape.

Now finally she was left alone to read Harm’s letter. Slowly she slid her finger under the flap and unsealed it.

She brought the envelope and letter to her face and took a deep breath – hoping desperately that it might still smell of him, but it didn’t. Her eyes fell on the familiar script;

‘Mac –

What can I say? I don’t know where to start. How can I begin to apologize for my inexcusable behaviour?

I wish I knew how to stop acting like this, but the fact is that I don’t – not right now. This has worn me down more than I care to admit. I don’t know which is worse – the long agonizing minutes I spend awake thinking of you, or the moment that I wake up from a spectacular dream of making love to you, only to discover where I really am.

Last night I dreamt of that wonderful day you gave me a son. It seemed so real – like I was there all over again – and I was so happy for a moment.

I finally know exactly how Shakespeare felt when he wrote “To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub”, for I would sleep all I could in order to dream of you, if I didn’t have to deal with the pain of waking.

I’ve been thinking of that soliloquy a lot lately – trying to see if I could remember all of it from my freshman English class. Wouldn’t the Admiral be proud of me? Don't worry - I'm not suicidal or anything - it’s just doing a good job of occupying my mind – a little trick I learned in China that time – did I ever tell you about China?

Anyway, – Mac? What’s a ‘bare bodkin’? ‘Cause I can’t imagine anything other than the obvious and that just brings me back to what I was trying to get my mind off of in the first place. (See, I haven’t lost my sense of humour – that’s a good thing, right? Or am I just rambling now?)

Back to the real reason for this letter. I have to tell you that I’m sorry, Mac. That I *do* trust you. I have to – you own my heart. I can’t just give it and take it back at will. I have to trust that you will keep it safe for me. I made that decision a little over two years ago now and have no intention of changing it – ever – not that I could if I ever decided to try. Isn’t it strange that we trusted each other with our lives long before we trusted each other with our hearts?

I guess we missed our 2nd Wedding Anniversary. I’m so sorry. I had something special planned – and it actually involved taking you out somewhere nice before I took you home and ravaged your body. I know – it’s hard to imagine isn’t it? Well, I guess we’ll have to wait until I get out of here so that I can prove it to you.

I have to believe that I will get out of here Mac, because the alternative is unthinkable. Like I said – I have always trusted you with my life and now I’m going to once again call in that favour. Please get me out of here, Mac. I can survive as long as I know the Marines are coming to storm the beach.

I also trust your opinion that Gibbs is indeed an ally now and that he will agree to sneak this letter out for me. I need you to know that I’m not the crazed lunatic you witnessed this afternoon. It’s still me – Harm – the man that loves you more than his next breath. I’m just a little worse for wear right now.

Forgive me, Mac.

Always yours,

Harm.’


Mac wiped the tears out of her eyes and found a pen and paper in the desk drawer to write her own note back. She knew she didn’t have time to try and get in to see him tomorrow – she didn’t want to spend precious time waiting, only to be turned away again. She also didn’t know how she would deal with it if he didn’t want her to go.


‘My dear Harm,

What am I going to do with you? Did you suddenly forget that I can still kick your butt from here to the Baja Peninsula?

I love you Harmon Rabb and there’s no one that’s ever going to change that. I know you’re not good at *not* taking action in the face of injustice – one of the many reasons I fell in love with you – but this time you have to be the one to sit tight and wait for me to straighten this out. Hold on Sailor – your Marine is coming for you.

We are on to something that will lead to your freedom, but I have to go to Kansas for a short while to visit Uncle Matt. I think you know what I mean.

Please don’t worry about me (I know, you don’t have to tell me that you can’t do that), but you are my life, Harm – please let me go and get my life back because it’s just not possible without you.

You are constantly in my thoughts and dreams – I miss you so much it hurts.

I will come and see you just as soon as I get back. I love you.

Always and forever,

Your Sarah

P.S. I don’t know either Harm, but I can’t wait to see your ‘bare bodkin’ once you get home.’

Harm brought the letter up to his face and smelled it – it smelled like her – thank you, God. He dropped his upper body back down on the bunk and closed his eyes. He had just been given strength for at least another day.

END PART 19