By Nicky Cubit

Mac couldn't help but wonder just a little if Harm's profession of love was induced by pain and fever or was as true as hers was. But, she knew that actions spoke louder than words and the way that Harm risked his own safety, his own life to protect her earlier spoke volumes. His love for her was real and he had the wounds to show for it. She had waited so long to hear those words, longed for them every minute she spent with Harm and now when she finally heard them, when Harm was finally able to say them he was near death. Life could be so cruel. Could she really have waited 8 years for this only to lose it just as she found it? No!! She would not let that happen.

She held him in her arms for 8 minutes according to her internal clock when she went to the sink again to soak her blouse in more cold water, moving him back into her lap when she had done so. She cradled his injured arm in hers, trying to immobilize it as her right hand moved among the other wounds trying to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.

The cool water began to bring Harm back to consciousness and he shifted in her arms, seeking the cooling feeling out.

"That's it, flyboy. Time to wake up now," she whispered softly.

Harm groaned. Consciousness brought with it the pain.

"Talk to me, Harm. Talk to me," she pleaded. She needed him to wake up so they could somehow get out of here. She was strong, true, but there was now way she could carry him.

Harm forced his eyes open, a strange thought running through his head. "Remember when you challenged me to that footrace in the hills?"

How could she forget that? She remembered every moment they spent together. "Yeah. You actually beat me," Mac replied.

"Not how I remember it," Harm countered, receiving a quizzical look from Mac. "I thought the car won." He smiled a little even as lines of pain creased his brow.

Mac could see it as clearly now as when it had happened. The car. Harm flying over the hood and then lying still as death in the road. "You scared me to death."

"Toughen up, jarhead. It was just a scratch."

"Just a scratch? You were out cold all the way to the hospital and had an 8 inch gash down your leg. You still have a scar." He had lots of scars, she thought sadly. He had been through so much.

"You been checking out my legs?" Harm came back quickly as he shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position.

Mac grinned. "Not enough lately," she replied. Why had they let life push them so far apart when their hearts were still in love? "I'll just have to challenge you again."

"Give me a week," he said dryly, choking back a wave of pain.

Mac winced for him, wishing she could do more, not realizing how much her presence alone helped him. "A week? Come on flyboy, you're tougher than that aren't you? I'll give you two days and a minute headstart."

"Generous offer, counselor." He shifted again, now getting a closer look at her attire. He smiled weakly. "New uniform?"

Mac laughed softly then sighed. "It's so hot in here."

"Yeah." His eyes drifted close.

"Hey, remember Bud and Harriets wedding?" She said, trying to keep him alert. "You smacked her with that sword and yelled 'Go Navy!'" She remembered it so clearly. He looked so good in his dress whites and with that sword...!!!!!

"It's tradition."

"If anyone does that to me, they'll pay," Mac responded.

"Have to marry a sailor for that," Harm came back.

"Know any?" Mac grinned broadly. She loved when she and Harm talked like this. It had been too long.

"Yeah," Harm whispered.

"Just find a new dry cleaner," Mac told him softly. His ordeal with the dry cleaner was now an office jokefest. First, he had to agree to take the owners daughter to the wedding just to get the address of the man who they gave his uniform to. Then, when he finally located the man, it was stipper who was using it for his act. To add insult to injury, a picture of the man, face not showing, stripping the uniform off ended up in the newspaper where the Admiral saw it. Being the only US Sailor on the planet that wore both Aviator and JAG insignias Harm took a ton of grief for it.

Harm laughed at the joke before gasping from the sheer pain it brought, his body tightening in violent protest. "Don't make me laugh, Marine," he rasped.

"Just rest," she said, stroking his sweaty brow. She knew how hard he was trying not to let the true level of pain show.

He opened his eyes again. "It's getting so dark. What time is it?"

"8:10" she said relying on her internal clock. It had been hours since this ordeal began.

"We checked in with the Admiral before we came out here," Harm recalled. Then he added. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Mac was shocked that he asked considering the professions of love they had just made but she answered anyway. "No."

"Then nobody'll be looking for us until Monday," Harm pointed out.

Mac caught her breath. He was right. And she had been so focused on tending his wounds she hadn't thought much about what they were going to do to get out of there. But, as usual, Harm took charge of the crisis.

"Leave me here and go get help," he told her. "I'll only slow you down."

The two were of equal rank so no orders could be given. They'd just have to work this out.

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