Part Two
Spoilers: The sequel to "Number 5" which was a continuation of "A
Tangled Webb"
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: *I* don't even claim it.
Summary: Uh-oh-Mac's found Webb (unfortunately, Harm had to come along for the ride) and the gloves are off, but is Clay up to the task? Pure angst.
Author's Note: I had more to write than I had originally anticipated, so there's going to be a Chapter 3---that's where I finally decided to put that Porter/AJ scene that Tina requested (it
just didn't fit in anywhere else).
===============================================================
MAY 31, 2003
DUKE UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
DURHAM, NC
"Why don't you just ask me?" Mac angrily demanded of both men.
Harm stood up, glanced down at Clay and Porter, then demanded, "How did you find us, Mac?"
Mac steadily approached the bed, never taking her eyes from Clay's. "The admiral twisted Kershaw's arm---literally. Why? Was it supposed to be a clean getaway?"
Clay steadfastly maintained the eye contact, but Harm flinched. Even Porter Webb rose from her chair at Mac's acid tone.
"Mac, it wasn't personal. I had orders to get Clay out ASAP and Porter just happened to be there when the helo landed. You were nowhere to be found---," Harm began his explanations, but trailed off at Mac's snort of disbelief.
"Uh-huh," Mac spared Harm a glance, then rolled her eyes. "Just forget whatever cover story you've concocted, Harm," Mac caught Clay's eyes again, "the Admiral told me everything."
Porter, carefully observing the byplay between her son and the furious Marine, wisely kept quiet. Walking towards the young man she'd chosen to mentor, Porter latched onto Harm's elbow to lead him out of the room. Unfortunately, the young man didn't take direction too well.
"But Mac," Harm pleaded, ignoring the hand on his arm, "I was under orders! It was for your own goo---."
"What!?" Mac suddenly turned on Harm, her eyes shooting sparks. "THAT was for my own good? C'mon Harm, that's pretty lame even for you. You knew how I felt. You knew and you deliberah---oh my god," she squeezed her eyes shut, and most of the anger died out of her. Feeling defeated, Mac' shoulders slumped.
"Saving me from myself, again, Harm?" she softly asked him.
Harm reluctantly nodded, once more trying to rationalize his actions, "You don't understand Mac�."
"Oh, I think I do." Mac sat down on the end of Clay's bed and looked up at the man she had blindly adored for the past seven years. "You totally ignored what I told you down in Montevideo. Once again, you couldn't stand the thought of another man taking precedence over you in my life---even one that I love with all my heart. The thing is, Harm, you can't lose what you never had: our chance faded a long time ago."
"Mac, I can't believe you're still bringing up that time in Australia," Harm protested. "The timing wasn't right then. You know how special you are to me. What we have is---."
"Friendship, Harm." Mac gently but firmly finished for him.
Porter silently eased out of the room, sharing a pained smile with her son. Once the door shut behind his mother, Clay closed his eyes and turned his head towards the window. It was a sad attempt to give Harm and Mac some semblance of privacy, but it was all he could think to do.
The silence became unbearable as Harm stared at Mac, hurt and confusion apparent on his face. Finally, Harm found his voice, "Are you sure that's all, Mac?"
"I don't know what to say that I haven't already said. I think you know that I'll always love you and be there for you---as a friend," Mac clarified.
Harm jerked his chin towards Clay, "And you're going to throw it all away for him?" There was more than a touch of bitterness in his tone. Clay never moved, leaving the entire matter in Mac's hands.
"No, Harm." Mac got up and lightly grasped Harm's shoulders, forcing him to look down at her. "I'm not throwing away anything. If he'll have me, I'll be gaining so much more. But I value our relationship, too. A year ago I promised you that you'd never lose my friendship. I meant that, Harm."
He gave a harsh laugh and pulled away from her hold. "Yeah, someone'll have to be there to pick up the pieces when he runs out on you. That's what friends are for, right?"
Mac sadly shook her head, not even angered by his resentful observation. "Some day you'll forgive me for going on with my life, Harm. I think you'll even be glad that I've found someone who is so perfect for me," Mac added when he just rolled his eyes.
"Like Ragle? Like Farrow? Like Lowne? Like Brumby?" Harm spit out his questions in a rapid-fire manner. "Just how many men do you have to go through before you start listening to me? Hell, just because he survived your tender loving care down in Paraguay doesn't mean he can stay the distance. Look at him, Mac! Is that what it takes to get your attention? A near-death experience?"
Clay tensed up, ready to take on Rabb despite his injuries, but Mac laid her hand on his foot and patiently responded to the tirade.
"That's your problem, Harm. You can't accept the idea of me loving someone and being in a committed relationship. Throwing the past in my face doesn't work anymore. I've been living in the here and now for a long time. Maybe if *you* stopped living in the past you could commit to someone, too," Mac threw at him, disappointed in his attitude and hoping that Clay wouldn't hold his comments against him. She really wanted them to remain friends, but if she had to choose�.
"Don't blame this on me, Mac. I asked you not to go that night. But no, you just had to traipse on down to Para---!" Harm spat out, but Mac had had enough.
"No, Harm. No! You just don't get it, do you? I've been falling in love with Clay for a long time now. You seem to be under the impression that I could have chosen you over him, but it doesn't work
that way. Obviously, you've never truly been in love with someone. That's too bad. I really hope you experience it someday `cause it can really liberate your soul and renew your faith in life," Mac
deliberately looked over at Clay and smiled beatifically.
Harm yanked open the outer door, regaining Mac's attention. "Harm?"
Not turning around, Harm just stood there, waiting.
"I don't have to justify myself to you, but if you're hurt, I'm sorry," Mac stated to the back of his head. He didn't move, so she decided to put the choice in his hands.
"I guess there's only one more thing I have to say, " she added, grasping Clay's hand and hoping for the best. "If you can't stop running roughshod all over me and accept my relationship with Clay, then I don't know where we go from here."
Harm's shoulders straightened as he turned around to face her, "Neither do I, Mac." Mac's eyes pleaded with him to reconsider, but he just ignored her and focused on Clay's prone form, silently
cataloging the long road to recovery he faced. Belatedly noticing their joined hands, Harm stonily met Clay's weary eyes and nodded, "Congratulations, Clay. See you back at Langley."
The door closed quietly on Harm's retreating form.
Mac sank back onto the edge of Clay's bed, drained by the confrontation with Harm. Looking down at the hand cradled in her lap, she absently brushed her thumbs over the gauze bandages covering Clay's wrist. Wondering what he must be thinking at this point, Mac blew out a long breath, and raised her head.
She needn't have worried, however; Clay was fast asleep.
`And no wonder,' she thought. Tucking his hand under the covers, she smiled slightly at the soft snore escaping his slackened lips. Feeling more than a little tired herself, she considered checking into the nearest hotel. Remembering the last time she had left his side, Mac immediately nixed that idea.
Briefly kissing his cheek, she eyed the extra bed and shrugged her shoulders. Pulling down the neatly tucked covers, Mac toed off her shoes and climbed in---making certain to face Clay. Within moments, she, too, was asleep.
===============================================================
THREE HOURS LATER
DUKE UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
DURHAM, NC
Porter was just passing the duty station on her way to Clay's room when she was stopped by one of the nurses. "Mrs. Webb?"
"Yes, dear? Is something wrong?"
"Well, not really, but---," the nurse was trying to be circumspect, but there was no polite way to address this issue, "ma'am, there is a woman in his room: a sleeping woman. And your son---he won't let us wake her up, won't tell us who she is."
Repressing a smile, Porter asked, "Is she bothering him?"
"Well, no ma'am, not exactly. It's just, we don't usually allow---that is to say, only family---uh, he seems awfully protective of her," the poor nurse finally concluded.
"I should say so---," Porter glanced at her ID badge, "---Glenda. She is, after all, the woman he's going to marry."
Porter did smile as she heard Glenda's relieved "Ohhhh! Well, I guess that's okay then."
"Yes it is, Glenda. Very okay. Now, dear, is there anything else I should know before I go in there?" Getting a quick rundown on Clay's improving condition and plans for physical therapy tomorrow, Porter thanked the nurse and cautiously entered the room.
The corner room was dim and both occupants were obviously enjoying some much-needed rest. Porter studied them on their separate beds, both facing one another, and felt hope bubble within her heart.
Carefully walking towards the small table between the beds, she set down a white restaurant bag and pulled out a pen from her purse. Scribbling out a short note on the bag, she was just turning to leave when she felt a slight tug on her skirt. Sarah's drowsy eyes were barely open, so Porter leaned over her and gently brushed her tangled hair behind one exposed ear.
"Go back to sleep, dear. I just brought by a couple of thick raspberry milkshakes, but they'll keep," Porter whispered.
Closing her eyes again, Sarah muttered a "thanks" and promptly fell back to sleep. Porter impulsively dropped a kiss onto the young woman's forehead and stole a last look at her sleeping son. "She's a keeper, Clayton," the mother murmured, then left the room.
===============================================================
JULY 1, 2003
DUKE UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
DURHAM, NC
Clay's bed was empty when Sarah awoke the next morning. Jack-knifing to a sitting position, she hastily scanned the room and slid off of the high hospital bed. She was just slipping on her shoes and smoothing down her shirt when she spied the empty restaurant bag on the table. Three notes were listed on the impromptu message board:
"Your favorite's inside. Let Sarah have one. Be back tomorrow at 4PM. Mother"
"Contents are in nurses' freezer-just ask when ready"
"In PT from 8-10 AM"
Well, that answered that question. He'd be gone for another hour and forty-two minutes: just enough time to get a room, freshen up, and find some breakfast. It would also give her time to plan her strategy for dealing with Clay. After all, Marines always got their man. Leaving her cell phone number with the nurse's station, Sarah headed for her car.
===============================================================
PHYSICAL THERAPY UNIT
DUKE UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
DURHAM, NC
Clay sat in his wheelchair, dripping with sweat from trying to walk on his own. A lot more difficult than the trip from his bed to the bathroom, he couldn't believe the pain involved in circumnavigating the busy room with a walker. His lungs were on fire and his ribs felt like they would collapse at any moment. Absently rubbing at his bandaged wrists, he noted that they---and his ankles---felt like they'd snap if he tried to get up again. Raising his head to address the cheerful young man who had put him through his paces this morning, Clay also realized that he had a splitting headache. Could life get any better?
Obviously it could, because now the young man expected him to wheel himself over to a table about ten miles away and begin some breathing exercises.
"'Scuse me? You want me to what?" Clay panted.
"Mr. Webb, I need you to maneuver yourself towards that blue table so that we can work on expanding your lung capacity," DeRon patiently explained for the second time.
Clay let his head drop and placed his limp hands on the chair's wheels. A pained grunt emerged from him as he tried, with all his might, to move the chair forward. DeRon observed the scant five
inches the chair moved and congratulated his patient.
"Excellent, Mr. Webb! At this rate, you'll be out of here in no time," he enthused, then meaningfully checked his watch. "Goodness, sir, I seem to be running behind this morning! Would you mind if I
pushed you the rest of the way?"
Clay gave him a scathing look from under his soaked brow and wearily told him, "Save the pretense for someone else DeRon, I know how pathetic that push was."
DeRon just grinned and grabbled the handles of the chair. "Actually, you did pretty well, Mr. Webb. I've read your file and what you're trying to overcome is impressive, but we'll get you through. Just a matter of time and effort."
"Well then," Clay told him, "you'd better drop the mister stuff. Clay or Webb'll do fine."
"Okay, Clay," DeRon expertly positioned the wheelchair under the table and presented Clay with an odd-shaped plastic device that was connected by a short accordion tube and mouthpiece. "What we're going to do here is blow into this mouthpiece and see how long you can keep the little white ball floating on air."
"Just blow, huh?" Clay eyed the cheap-looking device with skepticism.
"As hard as you can," DeRon assured Clay, lifting the mouthpiece towards his lips.
Slightly irritated, Clay grabbed the mouthpiece and settled his lips around it. Then, filling his lungs to capacity, he blew out a sharp stream of air that bobbled the plastic ball for a few seconds.
Releasing the mouthpiece, Clay felt lightheaded as he looked up at DeRon's jovial face.
"That it?" he panted.
"You've got it, Clay. Now give me nine more," De"Ron informed him.
"Nine?" Clay was incredulous; one had nearly killed him.
"Yes, sir. That device is yours to keep, by the way. Every two hours you'll want to exercise your lungs just like that---ten bursts held as long as possible, so that you can build up your lung capacity and avoid fluid build-up." DeRon guided the tube back to Clay's mouth as he completed his explanation.
Halting the tube's progress, Clay looked away from the young man and tried to draw on whatever reserves he had this morning. Finally feeling some strength return, Clay warned him, "Simple in concept but difficult in practice."
DeRon agreed. "At first, Clay, at first. But you'll soon get the hang of it."
Seriously doubting DeRon's prediction, Clay laboriously exercised his lungs, mentally comparing this torture to what he had endured in Paraguay. Well, at least this time it would build him up instead of breaking him down.
===============================================================
NINTH STREET BAKERY
DUKE UNIVERSITY CAMPUS
DURHAM, NC
Sarah was just enjoying her second ham-filled dill roll when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Swallowing and looking up, she was surprised to see an old law school buddy looking down at her questioningly.
"Sarah Mackenzie?" the attractive woman hesitantly asked.
Sarah nodded and asked for her own confirmation, "Roberta Reynolds?"
"MacIntyre now, but it's still the same old me," Robbie told her.
Both of them squealed like teenagers and hugged each other tightly for a few moments. Excited at this unexpected reunion, Sarah reclaimed her wrought iron chair while Robbie pulled the other one out and plopped down at the spindly table.
"Oh my god, Mac, it's been years! Where are you now-still in the Corps?" Robbie was bubbling over with questions.
"Yeah, I've been a lawyer with the Judge Advocate General Corps in Virginia for about eight years now. How about you?" Mac was just as curious as her old friend.
"Oh, you know, private practice with my husband, two kids, and a busy life," she laughed. "Wow, Mac, I just can't believe this! Are you in town for long? You've just got to come over to the house. And I can call up a few of the old gang---ooh girl, it'll be so fun!" Robbie reached over and squeezed Mac's hand, anticipating the prospect of an old-home night.
"Robbie, that sounds great, and I really wish we could, but---." Mac hesitated.
"What, Mac? Is something wrong? Hey, I didn't mean to overwhelm you with all this reunion talk. I really am sorry---it's just that seeing you after all this time�," Robbie tried to backpedal.
Mac quickly corrected Robbie's impression of her sudden appearance. "No, no, Robs. Truly, I'd love to see the old gang. Thing is, I'm down here visiting someone at the hospital."
Fully aware of Duke's reputation as one of the best surgical facilities on the east coast, Robbie assumed the worst. Her expression quickly turned sympathetic. "Mac, I'm so sorry. Someone
close to you?"
Feeling the need to confide in someone who would only wish her the best, Mac let down her guard and assumed a mischievous look. "Very," Mac laughed, "in fact, someday I hope to marry him."
"Ohmigosh! Really?" Robbie blurted out before she remembered where this unknown man of Mac's was. "I hope it's not too serious then."
"Long story, Robbie, but he's on the mend now. He was airlifted in a few days ago from South America. He was in pretty bad shape, but he's going to make it," Mac assured her.
"Oh, he's military then. Figures---you guys tend to stick together, huh?" Robbie probed.
Not bothering to correct her friend's misconception, Mac nodded and took a sip of her iced tea. Robbie, however, wanted more details, "Well, dish, girl! What's he like? How'd you meet? Is he
good in bed?" The last was asked with a raised eyebrow and Mac burst out laughing. She had forgotten how blunt Robbie could be. Reverting back to their college banter from years ago, the women spent the better part of two hours catching up on one another's lives and making plans to get together later on in the week.
When Robbie finally left to meet a client, Mac became aware of the time and pulled out her cell phone. It was past noon and she hadn't seen Clay all day. After being assured by the floor nurse that Clay was sleeping soundly after a vigorous PT session, Mac breathed easier and decided to hit `Bed, Bath, & Beyond' on her way to the hospital.
===============================================================
2PM (EST)
DUKE UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
DURHAM, NC
Clay had just finished shaving with the hospital-issued electric razor when Mac arrived. Laden down with various bags from South Square Mall, she literally fell through the door, startling him.
Dropping his mirror and razor to the portable table in front of him, Clay leaned back into his pillow and enjoyed the sight of Mac struggling with her load.
For her part, Mac ignored the smirking man while she dumped her packages on the extra bed and began organizing her finds. A nurse came in to check on Clay while Mac was rattling through the bags, but she merely called out a greeting, cleared away Clay's grooming kit, and sailed back out of the room.
"Sarah?" Clay quietly called out.
Mac was removing her purchases from various bags and boxes, discarding cellophane and price tags. The rustling sound was becoming a loud racket.
"Sarah?" a little bit louder now.
Gathering her trash into one of the discarded bags, Mac continued to mess with the items on the bed while she skimmed the room for the trashcan. Spying it on the floor by the bathroom door, she wadded up the large bag and sailed it into the plastic container, pleased with her perfect hook shot.
"Sarah?" Clay nearly shouted just as Mac turned around.
"What?" she grinned.
Disconcerted to suddenly have her attention, Clay forgot his original question. "Been shopping?" he asked in a bemused voice.
"Always so observant aren't you, Clay?" she teased. "I had a little extra time since the physical therapy wiped you out this morning."
Clay frowned at the memory of his morning torture. Observing his pained expression, Mac's eyes softened and she perched beside of him on the bed. "That bad, huh?"
"I've had worse," was his stark response. And suddenly both of them were thinking of their time in Sadik Faad's makeshift prison and Clay's similar response after being tortured for an entire day.
Noticing the fine tremors in his hands and the emptiness of his expression, Mac reached out and stroked his face.
"Hey, that's all over now. We made it, didn't we?" she lightly asked and Clay looked into her eyes and mentally pushed away his daily nightmares. Trying to match her tone, he looked back over at the overburdened bed and asked, "Found some real bargains, huh?"
Taking his cue, Mac vigorously nodded her head and began cataloging her purchases. "Absolutely! For instance, look at this." Mac grabbed the flat misshapen pillow from under his head and held it up for his inspection. "Pitiful, isn't it?"
Clay had to agree. It did look rather sad hanging in front of his face like that. Mac tossed the small white square onto the chair beside of the bed, then hauled up a brand-new down pillow from her
heap of treasures. Snapping out a crisp Rocky & Bullwinkle pillowcase, she quickly stuffed the fluffy pillow inside and told Clay to raise himself up.
Quirking his right eyebrow at the Boris and Natasha characters adorning his new pillow, Clay complied, allowing her to settle the king-sized pillow behind his head and upper back.
"How's that? Better?" Mac bit her lower lip, holding back a wide grin at how adorable he looked with his head surrounded by cartoon characters.
"Pure heaven," Clay breathed, snuggling into the soft mound. His groan of contentment brought forth her own giggle and she started pulling out some of her other purchases.
Toiletry items vied for space with books, magazines, games, stadium blankets, and specialty food items. Clay was touched to realize that most of the purchases were wish-list items they had talked about down in Paraguay. Trying to get their minds off of Faad's plans for them, they had jokingly griped about the things they missed the most from their daily lives in America.
From what Clay could tell, with the exception of a large-screen television and a few other big-tag items, Mac had included everything on their lists.
"What's that over there?" he asked, spying a small mound of clothing at the foot of the bed.
"Well, remember our first night at the Simpatico Hotel in Ciudad del Estes?" she began.
Clay cautiously nodded, remembering their conversation about children, relationships, and sleeping arrangements.
"Remember how I brought you to your knees with my lean, Marine, tickling strategy?"
Clay smirked, remembering how surprised he'd been at discovering Sarah's playful side. "I thought it was the sneakiest attack I'd ever experienced. Also one of the most enjoyable," he softly confessed.
Beaming at their shared memory, Mac pulled out the brightly colored flannel pajama bottoms and oversized Bart Simpson tee-shirt. "I thought you might prefer these to the open-air tent you're currently sporting."
Clay eagerly grabbed the outfit, wishing he could put them on right now. "Sarah, you have no idea how much I appreciate these. I don't think I could survive another day of PT with my ass hanging out of this flimsy apron."
Laughing at his vivid description, Mac admitted, "I got you four sets, in different colors. They looked like they'd feel comfortable."
"Well, in that case�" he trailed off, looking anxiously around the room.
"Want me to turn around while you struggle into them?" she teased.
"Or you could just pull that privacy curtain around---if you don't mind, of course," Clay told her, recalling a similar conversation from their first night in Paraguay. Only this time the shoe was on
the other foot. Expecting her to string him along in retaliation, he was surprised at her easy compliance---until he realized just how difficult his task was going to be.
Looking up at her silhouette behind the curtain, Clay tossed away his covers, untied the hospital gown, and achingly stretched his arms towards his feet. Slipping his feet into the waistband of the pajama bottoms was no mean feat, but sliding the pants up his legs and over his butt required intense concentration and an endurance that all but exhausted him.
Lying on the bed, with his pants in place, but nothing else on, Clay's entire body felt like one big muscle spasm. Deciding to forego the tee since he just couldn't lift up his arms at this point,
Clay stared at the curtain and wished for the energy to at least hide his scar-ridden torso from Sarah's scrutiny.
On the other side of the curtain, Mac was getting impatient. She could hear Clay's jerky movements and wished he'd allow her to help him. Hearing him fall silent after a few moments, Mac decided to step around the curtain and see what was holding him up.
Seeing him spread-eagled on the bed, obviously drained from his exertions, Mac chided him, "Clay! You should've let me help."
Slitting open one eye, Clay conceded the point, "So help."
Mac quickly pulled the sheet up to his waist so that he wouldn't get a chill. Catching up the dangling drawstrings, she pulled them loosely together and tied a neat bow, her knuckles gently grazing Clay's bruised abdomen in the process.
Mac looked up in apology, but when Clay's eyes met hers, they were filled with self-disgust. "Sorry Sarah. I know it's an ugly sight, but I just didn't have the energy---."
"Clayton Webb! Do you think I can't stand to see a few scars and bruises? I'm a Marine for god's sake. I even have a few scars of my own. Does that thought disgust you?"
Clay shook his head and started to explain, but she stopped him with a finger across his lips. "Clay, look, I'd be lying if I said those raw cuts and bruises don't bother me-of course they do. Just like these scrapes on my face and arms bother you, right?"
Clay stared intently at her and nodded, wondering where she was going with this.
"So don't hide anything from me at this point. Just trust me, okay? You can trust me, can't you, Hot Stuff?" Mac tapped his chin, trying to remind him of some of their lighter moments.
"Yeah, but what if I can't trust myself Sarah?" there was a catch in his voice and Mac realized he was bothered by more than her possible reaction to his abused body.
Grabbing the bright blue Bart tee, Mac eased it over his head and systematically lifted each arm through their respective openings. Still avoiding his lingering question, Mac pulled his upper body
towards her and rested his head on her shoulder while she smoothed the shirt down his back.
When his trembling arms lightly encircled her, Mac hugged him to her, lightly massaging his shoulders and back. Eventually the muscle spasms ceased and Mac reluctantly eased him back to his pillow.
"Okay, Clay, let's tackle this now. I'm pretty sure you heard everything I told Harm yesterday, didn't you?" she started.
He merely nodded his head.
"I meant what I said when I told him that I love you. I do. The Admiral told me to be very clear about this, to tell you everything I'd told him, so are you ready to hear me out?" Mac's voice brooked no argument, so Clay just nodded his head again.
Taking a deep breath, she took his left hand in her own and began. "I love you; believe it. It's not gratitude or recent circumstances. It's a need only you can fulfill. It's built on friendship, respect,
admiration, and affection---which I feel is mutual." Mac saw that his eyes were glowing and treasured the emphatic nod he now gave her.
"For me, it's been growing for a long time. I don't know when exactly, but at some point I came to the realization that in order to be a complete person, I needed to be with you. I'm not really sure
how you feel---I only have the Admiral's word for it---but I know that to laugh with you, to live with you, to openly love you is the only thing in this world that will ever really make me happy." Mac
only realized she was crying when Clay's thumbs began to brush her tears away, but she wanted to be very clear about her feelings.
"I had a vision about our future together, you know," she mused. "There were children and fights and laughter. We're meant to be together, you and I---I know it; I feel it. Don't you want to grow old with me, Clay?" she smiled through her tears at him, silently begging for some type of response.
Clay held her face between his hands and stared into her melting eyes, looking for the truth of her words. Closing his eyes briefly, and taking a shaky breath, his relieved laugh filled the room.
A deeply voiced "Thank God" preceded the most promising kiss Sarah had ever received. Neither erotic nor fervent, it was giving and simple, like an unspoken pledge to make all of her hopes and dreams come true.
"Oh, Sarah, whatever it is you want or need, I'll try to be," he promised.
"Clay, just trust yourself. Trust me. And if you really love me---do you, by the way?" Mac questioned uncertainly. He'd told her of his need, but never of his love.
"What?" he asked, leaning in for another kiss.
"Love me? Do you love me?" Mac was insistent, needing to know now that she'd bared her soul.
Clay looked astounded that she even had to ask. "I definitely love you. There're probably tons of other ways to describe how I feel for you, but love does it pretty well. I tried to tell you down in---."
"I know, I know," she stopped him, refusing to let that hellish place enter this perfect moment. "That was my fault. At that point I was afraid to hope for anything besides a miracle to get us out of there. But right now, I just need to hear the words."
"I love you, Sarah: desperately, passionately, adoringly, fervently, and any which way you'll allow me to. I love you. Only you," he promised her.
"Ah, that's better, Hot Stuff. I'll expect hourly declarations, you know, after all that you've put me through this past week," she pointedly reminded him.
Eyes full of contrition, Clay eased back from her, but she halted his retreat. "No, no, no. None of that. *Show* me how sorry you are for being so stupid and noble," she demanded.
"But Sarah, I need to apologize for---,"
Before he could finish, Mac leaned down and touched her lips to his, taking him off guard. Although surprised at first, Clay leaned into the kiss, deciding her way was better. Hungry for one another, the simple kiss was progressing into delicious territory when they both heard the privacy curtain being yanked towards the wall.
Resting their foreheads against one another, their breathing was only slightly elevated when Mac stood up to greet their unwelcome visitor. Neither were expecting the sight that greeted them.