To Die or Not to Die

I watched with terrifying excitement from my bedroom in the hotel. I sat on the bed, dressed in boxers and a 'Go Navy' t-shirt – I hadn't slept here the night before, but they were the only clothes of my own I was allowed to have.

I stared at the television screen, my hands awkwardly wrung together in nervousness. It was a live picture sent from a camera outside the hotel, one that was trained on a small funeral heading through Arlington cemetery. My own . . .

Flashback

Knock Knock.

The tap wasn't meant to awake me, but it did. I stirred inside my bed, forcing my eyes open. I rolled over. The digital clock on my bedside table read '2:38' and I groaned. This was way to early to awake. I stood up, walking over to the kitchen to get a drink of water when suddenly I heard a click. I short metallic click. And then the creak of my front door opening.

I stood for a moment in numb shock and, getting down so I was less of a target – me being six foot four and all – and then slipped back into my bedroom. I opened my sock drawer and calmly dug my hand in until I felt the gun resting right at the bottom of the drawer. I pulled it out, my fingers tingling.

Soft footsteps echoed behind me. I drew my gun ahead of me, staring into the mirror at the back of the room, my vision trained on the reflection of the door. I could see two feet rest in front of the door, they're shadows only a little darker than the black surrounding the room. And then . . . the door opened.

I whirled around with my gun drawn straight ahead of me as a man barged into the room. My finger tensed on the trigger and then – I released.

"Clay?"

"Harm," he panted. He stood, momentarily frozen at the door, his hand stretched out in front of him. "Please put the gun down."

"What are you doing here?" I persisted, not ready to let it go. I stared into his face, shadowed by moonlight and felt my hands subconsciously grip the gun harder. He had taken Mac away from me . . . he had taken everything.

"Put the gun down, Harm."

"Why are you here!" my hand shook and the gun wobbled unsteadily, flipping from Clay over to the wall.

"Because you're in danger!" he whispered back fiercely. I felt my hand stop shaking, and – very slowly – I lowered the gun. I eyed him through intense blue eyes. Sweat was glistening on his forehead and his three-piece suit was badly wrinkled. He looked like he had run a marathon to get here.

I set my gun down on my bedside table. "Out with it, Webb."

Clay stared at me, our eyes connecting for one long moment. "You're in danger, Harm."

I nodded. "You've said that." I walked out of the room and into the kitchen where I opened the fridge and took out a beer. I thought I would need it. I offered one to Webb and he accepted. This faint way of normally avoiding each other was straining tonight.

"Back in Manila," Webb said, "when you were working for the CIA. We thought we'd gotten them all. The bombers."

I nodded in recognition.

"But we didn't," Webb continued, his voice dropping to a more dramatic low note. "We didn't get Abbas."

"Who the hell is Abbas?"

Webb took a long swig of beer and I did the same. "Ali Abbas, one of the world's best assassins." He paused, "in fact, he's the world's best male assassin."

"And he's out to get me?"

"He's working for someone."

"But he is out to get me."

Webb looked uncomfortable. "Yes."

A long strained silence overtook the room. I stared at my half empty beer bottle and sloshed the inside around, contemplating whether I wanted to drink it or not. "I'm not afraid," I replied suddenly.

"I knew you wouldn't be."

"But . . ?"

"But you're the target," Webb replied, his voice dark. "And Abbas has ways of making peoples' lives hell."

"How so?"

Webb cleared his throat. "His last assassination was Derek Bollinger, two months ago. Bollinger committed suicide."

"Then it wasn't an assassination."

Webb stared at me. "Abbas kidnapped his wife and three children. When Bollinger returned home, he found the body of his wife dressed in lingerie on his bed - her throat slit, the body of his elder daughter strangled in her own closet, and the body of his son chained to their swing in the backyard. He had been stabbed once in the heart, but his hands remained tied to the swing. And the swing was still swaying when Bollinger reached him."

I felt my heart plummet. My hands were still clasped to the beer bottle but I swore I stopped breathing. "And the third child?"

Webb's lips formed a grim line. "There was a tape left on the kitchen table for him. An hour's worth of his daughter – his youngest child – screaming. It drove Bollinger insane. He thought she might still be alive. Apparently she just died with the rest of them, only he taped her screams. She was beaten to death." Webb sighed heavily. "She was only six years old."

I felt frozen in my chair, my form stiff and unmoving. I stood up and my legs threatened to sway. I sucked in a deep breath. I walked over to my room. On my bedside table were two framed photographs. I picked up the first. It was a picture of AJ and Jimmy with AJ's arm wrapped tightly around his little brother and Jimmy with his tongue sticking out. It was adorable.

I felt a tightened not in the middle of my stomach. I wouldn't let anyone hurt a single hair on their heads. I put that photograph down and reached for the one behind it.

The glass was covered in my fingerprints, from how many times I had stroked its cover. Underneath it was a picture of Mac from the first time we had ever gone flying. We had been working on a case involving my own flight instructor and I had wanted to test the flight rout. Mac had been willing to come with me.

I grinned slightly as I remembered how I'd held her when she'd thrown up violently afterwards.

The moment I had seen her walking towards the tomcat in flight gear I couldn't have helped the smile that had come over my face. And when she was busy for a moment, I had taken out a disposable camera that I had bought a while ago and taken a picture of her smiling into the sun. And I stood by what I'd thought the moment the picture had been developed. She was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts I didn't see or hear Webb come up from behind me. He smiled at the picture. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" he said softly.

I put the frame down and rubbed my arms up and down. Even the vision of Mac sent goosebumps all over me. I stood there for a minute, thoughts cramming into my brain. "Alright," I said, dreading my words already. "What do you want me to do?"

End Flashback

I watched as my coffin was lowered into my grave and I took in the scene before me. Mom and Frank stood off to the side. Mom was crying and Frank was holding her. Bud and Harriet were beside them. Harriet was crying nonstop and Bud was left holding a wailing Jimmy with AJ stood very solemnly in front of them, like he might never be happy for them.

The Admiral stood of to the side, his arms crossed in front of him, like a soldier who had just lost a son. His eyes were dark and ominous, and his face serious. Tiner stood to the left of him, standing in the same position as the Admiral but with one arm around Petty Officer Jennifer Coates. Sturgis stood on the other side of the Admiral, his posture sort of stiff and business like, not looking at all like someone who had just lost a friend.

I stared around the screen, my eyes squinting in search for someone. And then I found her – standing alone and in the corner. Tears rolled softly down either cheek and she made no move to blot her eyes. She stood there with ragged breathing, her eyes trained on the coffin. I doubted any of the words that were being said even came through to her.

I felt tears stain my own eyes. Why did it have to come to this?

Flashback

"How long, Webb?" I asked him, my voice shaking. Webb stood and studied me for a moment, before walking out of the room.

"A year."

"A year!" I exploded. I ran after him. "I can't be away that long. My friends, my family, M – " I stopped myself. Mac wasn't mine any more. She'd never been. I stared at Webb with cold loathing. She was Webb's.

"Look, Rabb, I'm doing this for your own damn safety!" Webb shot back. My voice dampened instantly. "I bloody well don't want your body staining my floor nor do I happen to want you dead!" He stared at me vehemently. "And I know you. You wouldn't want to endanger everyone else."

I stared at him hotly but knew he was right. I wouldn't. I looked back at my bedside table and the pictures of Mac and the boys stared right back at me. I felt something stinging behind my eyes and I wiped it away. I sighed heavily.

"A year's an awfully long time."

Webb shrugged. "A year or at least until we capture Abbas."

"And if you capture Abbas soon?"

"Then you're free to come home."

It seemed like such a simple concept. "So after a year I can come home because Abbas will think I'm dead."

"Or he will have moved on," Webb continued, nodding slightly. "Abbas won't wait a year to finish a job. He is paid millions for just one hit. He won't hang around." He caught my skeptical look. "We're sure of that."

I felt my head spinning. "So do I just . . . disappear?"

Webb shook his head. "That will give Abbas all the more motivation to find you."

"Then . . ?"

Webb breathed in sharply and I knew in an instant that I was not going to like the next words coming out of his mouth. "You're going to have to die . . . in a manner of speaking."

I stared at him, aghast. "You're going to fake my death?"

"It's the only sensible solution."

"That's crazy, Webb!"

"Well, have you got another plan?" Webb shot back strongly. My silence said it all.

"Look, Rabb," Webb began again. "This is going to be hard on you. You and everyone else. But it's for your own safety – and for theirs."

End Flashback

"Would anyone like to speak?" Reverend Turner looked at the crowd. I felt my heart hammering within my chest and my palms suddenly felt sweaty. And then Mac took the stage . . .

I closed my eyes, breathing in and out. I watched as she pushed back her hair sort of nervously, but mainly because she was remembering me. I smiled suddenly, thinking back to whenever her hair got windblown, I'd push it back gently and then she'd smile in annoyance at me.

I felt my heart pounding. Only Mac could make me feel this way . . . only Mac.

Flashback

"What do I pack?" I called to Webb from my bedroom. He was in the kitchen and I had the nagging suspicion he was helping himself to another beer. Great, just what I needed. A drunken Webb.

"Nothing!" Webb called back. "This has to be as authentic as possible. If anyone even gets the suspicion that you're not dead, we could be in trouble."

"So, I'm not supposed to take anything?" I replied incredulously. "Not even clothes?"

"Nothing," Webb confirmed. "Mac's sharp. She'll notice if something of yours is missing."

"Mac doesn't count my pants."

"Something I'm eternally grateful for."

I shot him a look. "I'm taking a pair of jeans."

"You're not taking anything."

I mumbled something to him and turned away. He was going to make me get into his car in boxers. I turned off the light in my room and was just about to exit when something caught my eye. Something I knew I couldn't leave behind.

I stole a quick glance at Webb in the hallway and then stole back into my room. I picked up the framed picture of Mac in the flight suit and then slipped it under my t-shirt. Some things come at a price.

End of Flashback

Mac cleared her throat, more for confidence than anything. She stared at everyone gathered around the funeral and her body began to tremble like it had when she first received the news. She closed her eyes and bit back the cry that threatened to overtake her.

"Yesterday we lost someone special. Someone who fought and was continuously willing to fight for his country. Someone who cared so much about people and was willing to do anything for his friends. Someone who was courageous and caring, someone who always listened when someone else spoke. He was a brilliant lawyer and a damn fine pilot, and he was someone that everyone loved," Mac choked on her words. "Everyone."

I leaned back on my bed and felt the tears pour past my eyes. How could I do this to her? I saw as Harriet leaned her head on Bud's chest, brokenly sobbing. How could I do this to all of them? The funeral marched past, and I watched as everyone moved away, walking from the grave. Everyone except Mac.

She stayed in sight of the camera, kneeling before the gravestone. A slow sad smile formed on her lips and she stretched out her arm, touching the freshly carved name on the stone.

'HARMON RABB, JR.

DARING PILOT,

TRUE PATRIOT,

LOVING MAN.

Mac ran her fingers over the words and let her tears flow freely down her face. She stood up suddenly, willing herself to walk away. I watched her from the screen walk past the grave and then . . . off the camera.

"No!" I screamed at an empty room and rushed from my bed to the window, which overlooked Arlington Cemetery. One last glance I told myself. One last glance.

I stood at the window, my eyes desperately searching for her. And then I saw her, right by the entrance to the cemetery, almost directly in my view. She seemed to be thinking about something. I watched as her brows furrowed into an almost thoughtful frown, her eyes mirroring desperation, and then – almost magnetically – her head turned up towards mine.

And in that frightening millisecond, our eyes connected. I stood there, frozen, my penetrating blue eyes sinking into her chocolate brown ones. And then . . . I came to my senses.

I broke the eye contact and ran to my bed, practically falling onto the pillows. I couldn't stop myself as tears rolled down my cheek, nor the fact that I couldn't let go of Mac's photograph.

A/N: Hey people, sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. If you didn't see the end of JAG, OH MY GOD, IT WAS BRILLIANT. I mean that in every sense of the word. Thank god it had a happy ending or I might just have had to go and shoot Bellisario my self. If you didn't see it, email me – my address is in my profile – and I'll give you a recount of what happened.