I'm still lost in the wilderness;
Snow-blind, lost, crying in the wilderness,
And if anyone hears me,
Why the hell don't they answer back?
--Stephen Schwartz

Clayton Webb jerked awake, heart pounding. It only took a second for him to remember where he was and relax back into the pillows; he'd always been a light sleeper, but since Paraguay he'd been lucky to go more than an hour or two at a time and was used to waking needlessly. The fact that the slightest noise outside his room was now enough to disturb him was the only excuse he could provide to explain why it took nearly a minute for him to notice the presence of someone else in the room.

"Sarah!"

"Hi, Clay," she said with a soft smile. "Did I wake you?"

"Uh, no, it's okay. Please, have a seat."

She pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat. "How are you doing?"

He mustered up a smile and replied lightly, "Compared to last week, I feel great." It was even true, physically. He'd put her through so much lately--not to mention having already opened up to her far more than was comfortable; there was no need to burden her further by mentioning the nightmares. Or the way any unexpected sound or movement made him jump. Or any of the other side effects of his stay at Sadiq Fahd's Health Spa that he was going to have to quietly get under control by the time the doctors pronounced his body healed if he was to have any hope of returning to his job.

"Glad to hear it. When we sent you and Gunny off in that truck, I was afraid we'd never see you again."

"Can't get rid of me that easily, Colonel."

"All the same, how about trying to avoid coming quite so close for a while, hmm?"

"You bet." An awkward pause ensued, and before it could drag out long enough that she decided to leave, he asked how things were at JAG.

"A little strange without Harm around," she admitted.

Webb sat up in surprise, heedless of his injuries. "Rabb, gone? I thought surely he would have worked his way back in by now."

"Oh, he tried, but the Admiral refused to take him back this time. Apparently," she added with a wicked grin, "Harm's broken the rules one time too many. He's finally discovering that they do apply to him after all, and from what I've heard he's not taking it too well."

"Well, now. That's...interesting. I'm grateful to him for what he did down there, of course, but I can't help feeling it was about time he learned that particular lesson."

"Still, his absence is making things a little hectic for the rest of us. I get the feeling the Admiral, while certainly pleased with the results of Harm's little unauthorized trip, is still a little angry with him for having defied orders and resigned his commission. Basically we're all tiptoeing around each other and trying to pretend we're not glad Lieutenant Singer isn't around to scheme to take his place."

Clay snorted. "I'm surprised you even bother pretending."

"You must be feeling better if you're back to being the sarcastic Webb we all know and love."

He smirked. "Miss me?"

"Well," she laughed, "I think I prefer the unusually open Webb I got to know after our meeting with Garcia."

"Pity."

She grew serious again. "Actually, I have something I want to tell you."

"Oh?" He felt the familiar mask descend, trying not to feel disappointed. He'd grown used to not needing it around Sarah, and to his astonishment had liked that feeling.

"Yeah, um...I want to say thank you."

"For what, almost getting you killed?" He concentrated on not fiddling with the bed's controls; nothing gave away nervousness like sudden fidgeting.

"No, for--well, come to think of it, yes." Confused, he risked meeting her gaze. "What I mean is, what we went through made me do a lot of thinking. To begin with, I really appreciate my life in a way I couldn't before. I've re-evaluated my priorities, and in the process...I realized something that had been holding me back for years. And I never would have been able to rid myself of that if you hadn't asked me on that mission."

"Let me guess--you decided you want those kids with Rabb after all?"

Abruptly Mac got up and crossed to the window, where she stood gazing out over the hospital parking lot as she answered. "That's just it. For so long, I thought that was what I wanted. Even when he behaved so childishly after he and Gunny had found us--even after he once again pointed out, in the most hurtful way possible, how most of the men I've been involved with ended up dead 'or wished they were', and said everything he could think of to belittle you--"

"If one of those things was about my failure to protect you, you have to admit he had a point," Clay interrupted, careful to sound matter-of-fact.

She whirled to face him, detachment gone. "Not you, too! Even assuming that I need or want protecting, you did nothing but protect me from the moment I decided to go after Gunny on my own. If Sadiq had offered the choice to you instead of me, I have no doubt which one of us Harm would have found in that room. You sacrificed--too much, to keep me safe. And then Harm went and got us into another plane crash, from which sheer luck let me emerge unscathed. And he has the audacity to complain that you endanger me? Please!"

He blinked, taken aback by her vehement defense. After a moment she went on.

"Anyway, even after putting up with Harm at his most petty, that night in Ciudad del Este I still thought that if I could just get him to admit he had feelings for me, the sort of power struggle that's been going on between us for the past few years would evaporate.

"But then the next day he was bossing everyone around as usual, and it hit me: it would never stop, and if we were involved things would only get worse. Harm and I are too much alike; neither of us has ever been able to let the other win at anything, and there's no reason to expect that to change. And once I admitted that, it was like a weight had been lifted from me. I can finally stop wondering 'what if', and start making decisions without worrying how Harm would react. And, in a way, I have you to thank."

"I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. I just thought you should know that, despite everything, I'm glad I went to Paraguay, and that I'd go on another mission with you without reservation." She'd returned to his bedside, and now reached out to cover his hand with her own. "I trust you, Clay."

She squeezed his hand briefly then left him to stare dumbstruck at her departing figure.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, he took a deep breath and gathered his strength for the upcoming trial. It should be simple--go in, say what he felt obligated to say, get out before anyone had time to notice anything wrong. Unfortunately, he'd learned over the years not to underestimate the people at the JAG office. Several of them were far too observant for comfort, and if he couldn't fool them, he'd never be able to fool the Company doctors, much less his own supervisors.

Deciding "business as usual" was the best way to deflect any unwanted attentions, he strode out of the elevator and headed for Admiral Chegwidden's office.

"Good afternoon, sir! It's great to see you again. I hope you're feeling better."

"Just fine, thank you, Lieutenant Sims," he tossed off as he breezed past her desk. Brushing past Tiner with no more than an "Is he in?", Webb burst into the Admiral's office.

"AJ, just the person I wanted to see," he declared, not waiting to be offered a seat.

Chegwidden looked up from his paperwork with a resigned expression on his face, and told Tiner to close the door. "What brings you here this time, Webb?"

"Don't worry, I'm not asking to borrow any of your people."

"I should think not, since your last little stunt has left me short-handed."

"Funny you should mention that.... I don't suppose you've given any thought to reinstating Rabb, have you? I agree that he needs to learn that he can't just disregard orders and get away with it, but you could always bust him back a grade or two, maybe transfer him to Keflavik. I'm not convinced Galindez alone could've rescued your Chief of Staff, much less destroyed the Stingers. Naturally you couldn't have ordered Rabb to intervene in a CIA operation, but it doesn't seem fair for it to cost him his career."

"Did he ask you to come here?"

"Absolutely not, AJ. If he had, do you really think I'd be here?"

AJ snorted. "There is that. However, I warned him in no uncertain terms that he was to stay right here. He made his decision, and if he can't handle the consequences, that's no longer my problem."

"I see." Deciding it would be a waste of time to press the matter further, he took his leave and ventured back into the bullpen, trying not to feel guilty as he passed Harm's empty office.

He'd almost escaped when he heard Sarah call his name. Before he could think to pretend not to have noticed, he'd turned to see her standing in her office door. There was nothing to do but go over and suffer through polite inquiries he'd really rather avoid.

Luck was truly against him that day; after he had answered her questions about his recovery with the standard meaningless phrases, she gave him one of those "I know you're lying, so don't bother to deny it" looks she did so well and suggested he come into her office for a more private chat. One look at the expression on her face had him doing as she asked, uncomfortably aware of the trembling in his hand as he carefully closed the door behind them.

She waited until he'd turned to face her before speaking. "How are you, Clay, really?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"You certainly seem to be doing a lot better--"

"I am."

"--but," she continued, deliberately ignoring his interruption, "that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Are you talking to anybody?"

"What about?"

"Don't play ignorant with me; you know very well what I'm talking about. Are you seeing a therapist?"

Unable to maintain his nonchalant pose, he sank into her visitor's chair and regarded her warily. "Why would I be?" he shot back, trying to get a rise out of her. Maybe if he annoyed her enough, she'd let him go.

She refused to take the bait. "I am," she stated simply. "The Admiral insisted, and at first I thought it was going to be a waste of time, but now I'm glad he did. It's helped a lot, and I bet it would be a good idea for you, too."

"Sarah, I don't need--wait a second. Was this the reason for your hospital visit? Part of your therapy?" He gripped the chair arm firmly to mask the returning tremor.

"Yes. No. Well, indirectly. She didn't say I should talk to you, but she's helped me clarify a lot of my feelings--especially about Paraguay--and once I was able to put everything into words for her, I thought there were some things you had a right to know."

"I don't see why it's any of my business."

"I know you, Clay. That heartless spook facade stopped fooling me years ago. Do you think I can't figure out that you're probably feeling guilty about what happened, just like I am? Give me a little more credit than that."

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but--"

"Fine," she snapped abruptly. "If that's the way you're going to be about it, then I have work to do."

Without another word, he stormed out of her office, the fear quickly turning into anger at her prying. What right did Mac have to interfere? Wasn't it enough that he had said things he shouldn't have, and come unconscionably close to getting her tortured? Why couldn't she just leave it alone, now that she was safe and getting on with her life? Leave him alone? Couldn't she see that he didn't want her pity? If she were smart, she'd want nothing more to do with him.

By the time he arrived home, he'd worked himself into a grudge against her that lasted for the next few days. Eventually he ran out of the energy to maintain it, and his thoughts converted from anger at Mac to self-reproach for having blamed her for what he could now admit was merely an attempt to be helpful. It wasn't her fault she didn't know what he could and couldn't handle on his own. It also wasn't her fault that he'd been upset by the idea that the things she'd said the last time he'd seen her had come from some psychiatrist who had no idea of what life was really like for people like them, or what they had to do on a daily basis with little hope of ever succeeding in making the country truly safe. He'd just been...out of sorts, lately, and had taken it out on Sarah, whom he'd already put through so much.

The last thing he should have done was get mad at her like that.

Mac was engrossed in going over a rather discouraging deposition in hopes of finding something she'd missed the last ten times she'd read it when a light knock on her open door drew her attention.

"A delivery for you, ma'am."

"Thanks, Harriet. Can you, uh," she looked around at the precariously-balanced piles of folders covering her desk, "just set it on the floor for now, I guess."

"Yes, ma'am. Any idea who it's from?"

"Not a clue," she replied distantly, mind already focused once more on how she could possibly convince a jury her client wasn't guilty. Harriet took the hint, and withdrew.

It wasn't until lunchtime that Mac remembered the package. The box gave no hint as to its origin; even the mailing label had been typed rather than handwritten. No return address.

With a shrug, she cut through the tape and folded back first the flaps of cardboard, then the layers of tissue paper inside. On catching a glimpse of the contents, she couldn't help grinning.

Someone had sent her a teddy bear Marine.

She wasn't normally that into stuffed animals, but this one was cute. Besides, it had come at a time when she needed something to help cheer her up, and the sheer unexpectedness of this gift did the trick. Laughing, she lifted the bear out of the box, then bent to retrieve the note that had fluttered to the ground.

All it said was, "I'm sorry--CW". She wasn't sure what Clay had to apologize for--okay, so he'd been a little snippy the last time they'd talked; still, he'd acted far worse in the past and had never felt the need to send apologies--but liked his choice of methods very much. Less obvious than flowers, not as fraught with assumptions as jewelry. If there was one thing a stuffed animal didn't do, it was put pressure on her to respond to some of the more personal revelations he'd made in recent weeks. Although in the past she'd been known to put that kind of pressure on a certain person herself, now that she was on the other side of the situation she appreciated Clay's patience.

Of course, she was also intimidated by the idea that he could've had feelings for her for who knew how long and never even given the slightest sign of it. Was that devotion, or simple stubbornness? Or, worse, consideration for the fact that as far as anyone including herself knew, she'd been more than halfway in love with someone else? She couldn't just forget what he'd told her, but she also couldn't pretend she returned his feelings. One day...perhaps, but to claim she already did would be an insult to both of them.

She could, on the other hand, offer him her friendship, although he'd traditionally dismissed any such overtures. She thought he might accept it now, for reasons that had nothing to do with "needing" her and everything to do with their recent shared experiences. And it was just possible that, even if he was reluctant to talk to a therapist, he'd be willing to discuss what had happened with someone who had lived through it along with him.

She could also, she decided, make the extra effort to thank him for his gift in person. She'd been a little concerned about how he'd looked the last time she saw him, and doubted there were many people he couldn't fool even without putting much effort into it. She, on the other hand, was a Marine, and could handle anything he might throw at her. Therefore, she resolved, after work she was going to pay him a little visit.

As she stood before his front door, however, she began to question her decision. Clay was an intensely private person, after all, and might not appreciate people showing up on his doorstep without warning. Then again, she was already there, and might as well at least assess his mood before retreating.

When he answered the door, all thought of leaving him alone fled from her mind, despite his curt, "What are you doing here?" He was more disheveled than she'd ever seen him outside of combat-type situations, and had definitely lost weight. Worst of all was the expression in his eyes; even during their worst moments in Paraguay, he had never looked so blank. So empty. So...lost.

Before she could stop herself, she burst out with the first words that popped into her head. "You look like hell!"

"Thanks. That's something I never get tired of hearing," he replied with only a faint hint of the classic Webb sarcasm.

"Sorry, but you do." When he continued to just stand there absently, she cleared her throat. "Um...may I come in?"

Wordlessly he stood aside to let her pass, then led her into his living room. When they were both seated, she brought up the official reason for her visit.

"You don't have to thank me," he protested half-heartedly.

"It was really sweet, Clay. Unnecessary, but sweet." She paused for a moment, then forged ahead. "Listen, I know you said you didn't need to talk about what happened, but I can't believe that's true. If you don't want to discuss it with a professional--if you're concerned about security, and 'need to know'--I understand, but I hope you'll at least talk to me. I don't know what exactly I could do, but sometimes just telling someone what you're going through can help. Trust me, keeping traumatic experiences locked up can only make things worse. Been there, done that, get to spend the rest of my life fighting an addiction because of it."

He just shook his head, still looking at her with that frighteningly blank gaze. "You shouldn't have to hear about it, Sarah. You're safe now; you should be allowed to forget the worst of it."

"Forget? You think I can ever just forget?" Angered by the suggestion that she could be so unfeeling, she allowed herself the luxury of venting. Maybe the truth would reach him when reasoning could not. "Sorry to disillusion you, Clay, but I will never be able to forget one moment of what we went through. I'll never forget the hours of hearing your screams, helpless, unable to do anything but wait to learn if I'd see you again. I won't forget wondering each day, each hour if this time they'd go too far and kill you. I won't forget the shock of seeing what they'd done to you, when each time they brought you back I'd been convinced it couldn't get any worse.

"Most of all, I'll never forget the guilt of knowing you went through all that so it wouldn't happen to me."

Finally there was a flash of real feeling in his eyes. Anger to match her own was welcome compared to the emptiness. "Guilt? You don't know the first thing about guilt!" he accused, jumping up from the couch and stalking across the room to glare down at her in fury. "You were just doing your job; but if I'd been doing mine, you would never even have been there! I took you on that mission for all the wrong reasons, I let you make that foolish attempt to rescue Galindez--who, by the way, also wouldn't have been involved if not for me--and in the end I couldn't even complete the damn mission! The only reason there aren't a hundred Stingers that I personally made useable for Sadiq out there somewhere is that Rabb was fool enough to resign his commission to come find you--which he wouldn't have needed to do if I hadn't botched everything in the first place--and I can't even get him his job back! And to top it all off, the whole fiasco was my idea to begin with. All that suffering on the parts of so many people, because like a fool, I felt I was too good to be stuck in Tierra del Fuego. So don't talk to me about guilt!"

She was relieved to have provoked an honest reaction from him at last, yet at the same time a little frightened by its intensity. Then she noticed that he was trembling, and rushed to ease him back onto the couch. For a long time she gave in to her impulse to hold him close and do what she could to soothe him, trying not to recall the other times she'd done so. It wasn't until much later that it occurred to her to hope he hadn't been having flashbacks of his own.

Eventually he pulled away from her, and knowing how hard it was for him to admit to anything he saw as a weakness, she let him. They sat in awkward silence for two minutes forty-seven seconds until he tentatively asked if she'd like some coffee. She accepted not so much because she wanted the coffee as to give each of them a few minutes alone while he was making it. Now that she'd forced him into talking to her, she was no longer quite so confident that she'd be able to deal with his issues on top of her own. But having come this far, she couldn't go back, couldn't push him until he opened up and then say "oh, sorry, I'd rather not know."

When he returned from the kitchen, she tried to assess his current mood without being too obvious about it. He seemed drained, but present in a way he hadn't been before. Unfortunately, she'd discovered in recent weeks that with all his masks dropped he also seemed very vulnerable, which she was only now realizing had nothing to do with his physical condition. It intimidated her to see him like this, both in the level of trust it indicated and in the knowledge that, far from the untouchable, unfeeling spy he liked to pretend he was, this was a man who could be hurt very easily.

"So...," she began uncertainly.

"Yeah."

He wasn't giving her much to work with, but at least he wasn't trying to shut her out anymore. It was clear from his expression that he was simply too worn out to take the lead. Which simply meant she would have to do it for him.

"I'm worried about you, Clay. I know you don't trust people easily, but I think you realize that this isn't something that will just go away. And even if you are willing to take that risk with yourself, you're too good at what you do to ignore the fact that it will eventually start to affect your work. You'll be out there in some other precarious situation, and something will trigger another reaction like that; and while I think it's good not to repress it now, when it's safe, you know as well as I do how dangerous it would be in the field."

"I really don't think that's going to be a problem," he said softly, staring into his mug.

"You said even before Sadiq that you didn't entirely trust yourself; do you really think you can go back out there now without--"

"You don't understand," he interrupted, glancing back up at her. She couldn't question his sincerity as he continued, "I'm not likely to be going back. I.... Sarah, I'm thinking of leaving the Company."

She was stunned. The idea of Clay's not being part of the CIA was as unfathomable as...well, as the thought of Harm no longer being in the Navy. "I don't.... Are you sure?"

"Mostly. Hell, Sarah, why shouldn't I? Even if you weren't right about how dangerous it would be for me to be in the field again, I'd rather do just about anything than get sent back to Tierra del Fuego. My attempts to get out of there are what started this whole fiasco, don't forget. And in fact I'd probably end up somewhere even worse, though I can't imagine where that might be." She protested, but he brushed her assurances aside. "There's no way my superiors would trust me with anything important after the mess I've made."

"Your superiors? Since when does Clayton Webb admit inferiority to anybody?"

That nearly got a genuine smile out of him. "Point taken. But I mean it, Sarah. I can't go back to struggling through the worst assignments they can find to give me. And there's no way in hell they'd promote me now, which is they only way they could convince me to take a desk job. Maybe it's time to just admit defeat," he concluded with a sigh.

"You're really thinking about quitting? Wow. What would you do?"

He shrugged. "Don't know yet. Not sure it really matters."

"It does. Even if you don't care right now, you will. You'd never be happy doing something that didn't challenge you." A slow grin crept across her face as an image popped into her head. "Have you ever thought about becoming a lawyer?"

Clay snorted. "I'm a little old to be going back to school, don't you think?"

"Eh, who cares about things like that these days?" The moment of levity faded as her mind returned to the bombshell he'd just dropped. "Do you have to decide right away? Maybe now isn't the right time to make these kinds of decisions. It might be better to take some time off to get everything back under control and think about it before you do anything irrevocable. I assume you're on medical leave now?" He nodded. "Do you have any vacation time you could take when that runs out?"

Wonder of wonders, he began laughing. She couldn't think when she'd heard a more welcome sound. "Do I--? Yeah, you could say that. I can't even remember the last time I took a day off. There must be weeks, if not months, of leave coming to me. I could...yeah, that's not a bad idea."

"Good. Trust me on this one, abandoning a career you've spent this long building isn't something you should do on a moment's notice. I did that once--left JAG for private practice--and regretted it almost immediately. I'm just lucky Admiral Chegwidden hadn't processed my paperwork when I came begging for my old job back."

"He was probably hoping he wouldn't have to."

They grew silent again--she, at least, remembering the Admiral's rather different response to Harm's recent petition for similar consideration. Catching the despondence start to creep over Clay's face once more, she decided to take one final risk. "I'm not sure how to say this, so I'm just going to come out with it. I feel a lot better than I did before we had this talk, but I'm still worried that you might try to do too much on your own. Some things, people just can't heal from on their own; I learned that the hard way."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I'd like to help you. If you'll let me."

He examined her expression carefully. She knew he was skilled enough at reading people to figure out what she was--and wasn't--offering without forcing her to hurt them both by putting it into words.

"I think that can be arranged," he said at last.

Mac smiled, relieved. "Good. I should probably go now, but I want you to promise to call me anytime you need to talk or vent or whatever. Pretend that confiding in me is part of your cover, if that makes it easier."

He laughed as he walked her to the door. "Goodnight, Sarah. And--thanks."

As she drove away, she reflected that they just might make it through this after all.