Loose Threads

Pairing: Mac/Gunny, Harm/Mac angst

Rating: R (sorry, not enough smut to justify NC-17)

Spoilers:Guilt/Mixed Messages, In Country and general season 8 through All Ye Faithful

Disclaimer: DPB and CBS and Paramount own these characters, not me. Everything else is mine; don't touch it.

Feedback:Please! This is one of the rougher drafts that's getting posted. Kudos/criticism craved. Send to stacey2545@yahoo.com

Author's Notes: This story contains parts of what will (hopefully, some day) become stand alone episode additions. I'm planning on writing a whole series of episode additions that tie-in with the No Strings series, but I don't have time at the moment. So I'm giving you this now. Before somebody hurts me. <bg>

I hang up the phone with a feeling of unease gnawing in the pit of my stomach.

"Everything okay, Gunny?" PO Coates voices the question everyone else around me seems to afraid to ask. They're all staring at me.

I stare at the phone, praying for to ring. Praying I heard wrong.

"I… I think… Colonel MacKenzie was in a car accident."

"You think?!" Rabb appears from somewhere behind me. "You don't know?"

I nearly back away at the expression on his face. I've never heard him snap at a colleague like that. "She was cut off," I explain patiently, though I'm feeling anything but. "But I heard horns and breaking glass before the line went dead." I don't bother to describe the gasp and the short cry of pain that'll echo in my ears for the rest of my life.

Commander Turner seems to recognize the potential disaster if Rabb doesn't calm down. "I'm sure she's fine. It was probably a car near her and she hung up to call 911."

I don't agree with him, and I can tell from the look he throws me-the one that says you'd better agree with me or I'll kill you-that he doesn't believe it either. "I'm sure that's it Commander." I have no idea how well I hide my doubts, but everyone seems to buy it. Even Rabb.

Turner convinces Rabb to go back to work and stop worrying and the rest of the bullpen follows suit, albeit at a muted volume. There's a feeling of disquiet that hangs in the air. No one's going to breathe easy until we hear back from Mac.

Ten minutes go by and I force myself to stop imagining her crushed body in a ditch somewhere, pinned by two tons of crumpled metal. Instead, I think about all the pivotal moments in our so-called relationship. All the times we could have stopped.

After 9-11, when I transferred back to Force Recon. We could've broken it off then. But no. Lt. Sims had to invite me to their holiday party and I knew I was shipping out soon, so I got in my car and drove seven hours to stay at a party for three hours before Mac and I slunk off and fucked for six hours at her place.

Or when I actually shipped out. We went for several months without seeing each other. Even managed to resist a roll in the hay… urr, sand, the times we met up in Afghanistan. It might have ended there if not for Fareeza. Mac started writing to me after that. At first, just friendly letters, the kind I might send to my sisters. Except that by then she knew me better than any of my sisters did. And I don't mean the sex.

We crossed the line when I shared things with her in our letters that I'd never have told her in person. And she, I'm sure, did the same. She was my lifeline after Fareeza. I realize now that everything I loved about Fareeza were characteristics I love in Mac. I didn't tell her that, of course. Not directly.

She asked me to tell her about Fareeza, that night. We slunk out to the perimeter of camp, out near the dunes. It was quiet there. My team knew well enough to leave me the hell alone. I know they spread the word. Mac didn't seem to care. That's one of the things I love about her. Her courage.

Anyway, she came up to me and asked me to tell her about her.

"Why?" I'd asked.

"Because I'd like to know what kind of woman earns that kind of faith from you."

So I told her. She was a pistol, I'd said to her and Rabb earlier. I loved her brains, her devotion to her people, her selfless dedication to others. I loved her passion. Her independence. Somewhere in my list I realized I had stopped describing Fareeza and started describing my ideal woman. Who sounded a lot like Mac.

I'd stopped short. I guess Mac thought I was overcome with grief. She'd put an arm around me and rested her head in the crook of my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she'd whispered.

I reached up and patted her hand where it rested on my arm. "Thanks," was all I could manage through the tightness in my chest.

Then she kissed me.

It was short. Chaste. But it was more passion directed at me than Fareeza had ever given. Like I'd told her, as much as I cared for Fareeza, those feelings only went one way.

Things might've gone further that night, but we were interrupted. Thankfully, we heard Rabb's approach long before he could have seen us behind the outcropping. Mac left with him and that was the last we talked about Fareeza. I guess it was just a natural progression that we slept together again after getting that close.

But I guess the real point of no return was just after our return from the Guadal. If we'd left things the way they were when we shipped out, it would have ended there.

I'd been woken from the depths of one of the most sensuous dreams I'd ever had by a knock on my door. It took me a moment to get my bearings. The room was dimly lit by the television and my back was screaming. I'd fallen asleep on the couch again. It was generally the only way I'd been able to fall asleep since I got back from the Guadal. At least on ship the stress was so high, I was out the moment my head hit the pillow. Sometimes before.

But here… She haunted me. When I did manage to get some rest, it was usually interrupted by visions of her. Memories of that one perfect night.

Another knock, less hesitant this time.

Grumbling I got up. Who the fuck was banging on my door at this time of night? I glanced down at my clothes. An old PT uniform-green tee shirt and shorts. Well, whoever the hell it was didn't have much room to bitch about my state of dress dropping by like this at this time of night. I opened the door.

Shit.

For half a moment I thought I was still dreaming, for there stood the same woman of my dreams, the one whose legs wrapped around me like she couldn't pull me close enough. The one who arched and writhed beneath me (and sometimes above). The one who I had one perfect night with and we'd been trying to forget about it ever since.

I stood there in the doorway, blinking blearily at her and scratching the back of my head. "Colonel?"

She was out of uniform, a small duffle slung over one shoulder. She'd apparently just gotten back from Indonesia.

She shifted her bag to the other shoulder. "You know what? I should go. I … I shouldn't have come here."

I just looked at her, all thoughts of sleep or how much my back hurt suddenly erased. "Why are you here, Mac?"

"I, uh… I thought you might want to know what happened to Lilyana," she said lamely.

I glanced at my watch and cocked an eyebrow. "At three in the morning?"

"Zero-three twenty-one, actually," she muttered. "But you're right. I woke you up and it was incredibly rude."

She started digging through her purse. "I'll just call a cab and-"

Before I could stop myself, I reached out for her. My hand on her arm gave her pause. My fingertips caressed bare flesh and I could almost see the shock that ran up my arm and straight to my groin. "Why are you here, Mac?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. My plane got in and I … didn't feel like going home."

I nodded, reaching over and taking her bag from her. She just stood there as I turned back into the house, leaving the door wide open behind me.

"You coming?" I asked over my shoulder.

She hesitated before following me.

I set her bag down by the sofa and gestured for her to sit. "I was gonna make some coffee. You want some?"

We both knew it's a lie. I wasn't even up when she came by. A rumpled fleece blanket covered a good part of the sofa and a bag of popcorn, a few kernels spilling out onto the carpet, sat next to the remote. The TV was still on, the volume so low as to be almost inaudible, showing a …

She realized as soon as I did just what was showing this time of morning on Cinemax. Blushing, I dove for the remote and fumbled for the power button before blessedly shutting off the buxom blonde and her exagerrated gasps of pleasure.

I couldn't look at her, muttering about The Hunt for Red October and nodding off. She just smirked at me and, since she didn't seem offended, after a few moments of silence I repeated my offer of coffee.

"Yeah. Thanks."

I nodded and gratefully disappeared into the kitchen, snagging the popcorn bag and the empty beer bottles from the floor. I didn't have to ask her how she wanted it. I knew. Strong and black. I took my time filling the coffee pot, changing the filter. I needed my balance back.

I waited for the coffee to percolate, hands gripping the counter with a kung fu grip to keep myself from going back out there and seducing her…

I took a deep breath and willed my hardon to go away. To keep myself busy, I took care of tossing out the popcorn and rinsing the beer bottles out and dumping them in the recycling. Thank God I'd only had two. Any more and she would've been able to smell it on me. Since she was there now, it was probably in lieu of getting trashed, so the last thing I wanted was to tempt her with alcohol. I pulled the rest of the six pack out of the fridge and stashed it under the sink with the cleaning supplies, so if by some miracle she stayed for breakfast, she couldn't possibly run across it and have to choose.

The coffee was ready before I realized I had only one clean coffee mug- the one Val made me years ago when she took a class on that pottery shit. It's old and chipped now, a little misshapen. She was talented, even then. She'd picked this dark blue paint that reminded me of the lake just before dawn on those fishing trips with my father. She'd done something fancy with the picture on the side, not just painting it, but texturing the image so that when you ran your finger across it you could feel the ripples in the water and feel the sleek muscles of the cats who sat by the lake reeling in a fish. There were two cats, painted white like the fish and fishing pole, and underneath each of the cats in white letters she'd written a name-Dad and Vic.

I brushed my thumb over the image one more time and set it down on the counter. I dug through the sink for a reasonably clean coffee cup and found one. Bright red with the Marine Corps seal emblazoned on the side. I rinsed it out. I filled them both with coffee and headed out to the living room, debating on which to give to her.

I sat down beside her-careful to leave a good foot and a half between us-a coffee mug in each hand. I handed her the cleaner one and our fingertips brushed. The tension ratcheted up about six notches. Every nerve was so aware of her hot body sitting mere inches away. Suddenly it was like we were back on the Guadalcanal, in such close quarters we were practically living on top of each other and there was hardly a day that passed without some akward moment between us after our bodies brushed intimately. I still don't know how we got through that TAD without jumping each other's bones.

I pulled away and she nearly dropped her cup, but I hardly noticed, I was so intent on scalding my mouth.

I could smell her. Indonesia was hot as shit; it was natural to sweat. With a twenty-hour flight I was sure it'd been at least a day since she'd had a chance to shower, but somehow she managed to smell good. She smelled like she did two months ago after our unbelievable round of marathon sex. My mouth went dry. God, I wanted her.

I tried to inch casually farther away. "So how is Lilyana?" I asked without looking her way.

She wedged herself into the corner of the couch, all soft and feminine. I took another gulp of fire-hot battery acid. "She's gonna be fine," she said, running her fingers through her hair. "She was being so brave."

My lust was all but forgotten when I heard the quaver in her voice. "It was combat, Mac. You had to make some hard choices. You made the right ones. Everything turned out all right."

"I left her there, not knowing if she was alive or dead. I should have gone back for her."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"Weren't you the one who didn't want to leave her? As I recall, I had to hold you back."

"And I was wrong. I was thinking with my heart, not my head. If I'd gone back, you'd have waited for me and we might all be dead. You made the right choice, Mac. You got everyone out of there and no one came home in a bodybag. Under the circumstances, I don't think you can ask for much more."

She said nothing; just looked down at her mug uneasily. Well, you're not gonna find the answers down there, sweetheart.

I sighed. "What's really bothering you, Mac?"

She chewed on her bottom lip and I clenched my jaw. No, thou shalt not nibble on her lip thyself.

"When I got there, Captain Joreau asked me what made Lilyana so special."

Crap. I'd hoped she wouldn't have to deal with him. The man was a creepy, slimy sleaze. He'd accepted her engagement ring in exchange for the corporal, but I was sure he would've driven a harder bargain if he could've. And for information on Lilyana? He could have asked for sex and I wasn't sure Mac wouldn't have given it to him, the fucking shit.

I struggled to keep the disgust out of my voice. "What'd you tell him?"

"That she trusted me and I failed her." Her eyes lost their focus and I knew she was miles away, back in Indonesia. "He said it happens all the time. That it just forces them to grow up," she says in disgust and disbelief.

"Somehow I get the feeling you disagree." I swirled what was left of my coffee around in the mug wishing it was something stronger.

"I agree that it forces them to 'grow up'. By crushing something inside them forever. That unquestioning hope and faith that shouldn't be crushed."

My eyes jerked towards hers. God, tell me those aren't tears in her eyes. There was more going on here than combat stress.

Gingerly, I set my empty coffee cup down on the table in front of me. Reaching over and taking her hand, I laced my fingers tightly with hers. She squeezed back. Who failed you, Mac?

She choked back a sob and I pulled her into my arms. We were right back where we were months ago, before I slept with her. Before I took advantage of her.

Only this time it's not gonna happen. I won't sleep with her again.

I don't know when it happened. One minute she was curled up all soft and warm, half in my lap, and the next thing I knew she was straddling my hips, pressing her hot, wet lips against mine, and pulling the pin from the grenade that'd been sitting between us all night.

Instant explosion. Instant hardon. From the smirk against my mouth, it pleased her to discover that when she snaked a hand down between us. Just the barest of touches as she brushed the backs of her knuckles across my erection, but after weeks of mounting tension, it was sensory overload.

I nudged her hand aside and pulled her hips hard against where her hand had been.

She groaned and ground herself against me. Arms on my shoulders, she leaned forward and nibbled on my ear lobe. "You know there's something I've always wanted to do." She pulled away and climbed off my lap.

I moaned and reached for her. Anything that involved her moving that far away couldn't be too terribly important. Then she knelt down at my feet and went for my zipper.

I revised my thinking. When her warm velvet lips wrapped around me, I was lost.

It's exactly forty-nine minutes before we hear about Mac. Tiner takes the call since I'm already on the phone running down the list of local hospitals. He transfers it to the admiral's office with a look on his face like the world's about to end. I try to remind myself Tiner's always a little melodramatic. It doesn't help.

I end my call quickly and hang up. The admiral calls Rabb into his office only a few minutes later.

Lieutenants Sims and Roberts come back from lunch-they were lucky enough to have missed the phone call. Sims takes one look at Tiner and knows something's up. "What's going on?"

Turner's been lurking outside the admiral's office office ever since he called Rabb in, much like the rest of us. "What makes you think something's going on?"

Roberts snorts. "The way you look like someone just ran over your dog."

The rest of us just look at each other. Tiner shifts his weight.

"All right, spill it, Tiner." Sims crosses her arms. "The last time you looked like this was right before the admiral told me my husband had lost a leg."

I watch Tiner's adam's apple bob and he stutters, trying to think of something to say.

Thankfully, for him at least, the admiral's door opens and both men emerge.

"Good, you're all here." The admiral clears his throat and I know he doesn't want to say what he's about to say.

"How's the colonel?" I ask before he can get around to saying whatever he had planned. I just want to know if she's okay. I catch Rabb's eye and surprisingly there's sympathy there, though it's almost completely overshadowed by the pain and fear in etched in every tight line of his face.

The admiral doesn't answer right away. That's a bad sign. Instead, he leans back against the corner of Tiner's desk, Rabb hovering by his shoulder, and we-the Roberts, Turner, Coates, Tiner, and I-crowd around him. It's like we're closing ranks, gathering close to support each other against the blow that's about to fall. It's fitting that we're all crowded here in Tiner's office, just the eight of us. We're the core of the JAG staff. We're practically family.

"Colonel MacKenzie's been in a car accident. They wouldn't give me any details on her condition, but she's going into surgery now."

"Which hospital?" Roberts asks.

"Bethesda."

"Why not Fairfax?" The question comes from Coates. "It's closer."

"Bethesda's better," Rabb whispers. "I'm going over there now."

"The rest of us will join you when possible, Commander," the admiral says.

I want to argue with him, tell him I need to be there now. But I can't. I can hardly breathe my chest is so tight. I want to ask about the baby, but I can't. I can't because I don't know if she wants anyone to know or not. The last thing she needs to deal with is this kind of scandal.

So I watch Rabb gather his things and sweep out the door, going to wait in the hospital. I should be there. Not him. It's my baby, for Christ's sake! My… my fiancée.

Funny, how all the doubts and second-guessing seems to vanish in moments like these. It no longer matters to me that she slept with him. That she's still in love with him, even if she won't admit it. I love her. And I know she cares for me. That could have been enough. It should have been enough. But I hesitated and now I may lose her. We may all lose her.