1. Wager

**A/N: **_So this was going to be a simple, straightforward one-shot. It didn't turn out that way and has ended up needing to be published in two chapters. But having written it as one, all I have is a brief transition bit for the 2nd chap before I can post it, so hopefully it'll be up tomorrow... *fingers crossed* anyway. The next one is where it becomes _decidedly _'M', so I'll do my best to get it you guys as soon as I ever possibly can ;) Hope you like the story as a whole! Thanks for reading!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Mac stripped his shirt off over his head, the warm breeze against his bare skin welcoming him home better than almost anything else could. He closed his eyes and let it flow down his shoulders and back, and wrap around his stomach. It eased away the residual aches of both newer and old injuries. He never quite came back intact. Although this time he'd been more fortunate than on previous occasions. No bullet holes or large pieces of burning shrapnel embedded in his chest, just a simple broken arm and cracked collar bone from a bad helicopter drop.

He felt a shove on his back and his eyes flew open.

"Hey Taylor, what are you doing? Meditating or some shit? Come on, we're waiting on you!"

xxx

"Hey is that the guy you telling me about the other night?" Megan asked, "The one who you were saying was really cute?"

Claire craned her neck over in the direction Megan was indicating, and the small group of guys next to them who were playing some version of beach soccer where apparently the entire ocean line was the goal.

"Which one?" she asked, pretending that she hadn't been eyeing the one Megan was referring to since he had walked on the beach.

"_That_ one," Megan pointed, singling out the darker haired one in cargo shorts, who at that moment, jumped and caught the ball in both hands.

"HEY!" one of his friends protested, "You can't grab it!"

"The fuck I can," he stated in a somewhat peeved tone of voice.

"You can't decide to be goalie just whenever you want, Taylor… only the person who happens to be closest to the waterline, and Montgomery was behind you," his friend gestured over Taylor's shoulder, lying through his teeth.

Claire watched, highly amused, as the one who was obviously Montgomery sidled his way around so he _was_ standing in the waterline.

Taylor whipped his head around. "I saw that!" he said.

"Saw what?" Montgomery asked, innocently.

"Penalty kick," the first one insisted, aloofly, "Come on."

Taylor glowered.

"Come on!"

Glaring daggers, Taylor set the ball down where his friend was exaggeratedly indicating. He backed up so his feet were just at the point where the waves finished coming in.

"You suck, Birchfield. You know that?" he said.

Birchfield grinned. "Yep," he said happily, and with a running start, kicked the ball. It sailed over Taylor's head.

He jumped, but it was impossibly high, and landed a good forty feet out in the water. As he saw it splash down, Taylor turned and flipped off his companion. "Fuck you, Birchfield. Fuck. you."

Birchfield and the rest burst out laughing as Taylor dove into the waves to retrieve the soccer ball.

"Yep," Claire said grinning, "That's the one."

"Damn, he _is_ cute, and cut…!" Megan said in admiration of Taylor's naked upper body.

Claire watched as Taylor waded back out of the waves, wiping his face with his hand, water beading on his chest and back. His shorts, now entirely soaked and weighed down, had settled well below his very trim hips and the graduated tan line of where they normally slouched. And devoid of a peeking waistline of boxers or anything else, she realized that shorts were _all _he had on. She bit her lip, her mind going all sorts of directions it really probably shouldn't.

Megan popped a potato chip in her mouth and leaned over to Claire, "I dare you to get his number."

"What?" Claire said, flustered by the interruption in her chain of thought, "Right now?"

"Uh-huh," Megan said. She smiled slyly at Claire, "You totally want to do him."

"MEGAN!" Claire exclaimed. But she bit back a small grin without even thinking about it.

"ah-HA!" Megan said triumphantly, spotting it, "You _so_ do!"

"Fine!" Claire sniffed, standing "I'll go get his number. But I do not want to '_do_' him."

"mhmm, whatever," Megan said dismissively. "Like I'm buying that. Don't try to tell me you haven't already _entirely _undressed him in your mind. And something tells me he wouldn't mind getting laid either," she continued incorrigibly.

"You're horrible, Megan, you know that? Horrible!" Claire said. But she had to bite back another grin.

Megan just laughed and pulled another potato chip out of the bag. She flapped her hand in the direction of Taylor and his friends. "Well go on, get to it," she ordered.

Claire stuck out her tongue at Megan, squared her shoulders and tucked her hair behind her ears. She walked over to where Taylor and his friends were regrouping.

xxx

Mac, still decidedly peeved about the blatant cheating of his friends, wiped the water out of his face and leaned over to squeeze what he could from the bottom of his shorts.

"Excuse me," he heard a girl's voice say. He raised his head without standing up, and saw one of the girls who had been sitting near them, addressing Birchfield. "You cheated," she said, pointing at his friend.

"I'm sorry, what?" Birchfield said, turning, totally taken aback at the girl's sudden appearance and accusation.

"He," She continued, directing her finger at Montgomery, "Wasn't behind him," she pointed at Mac. She squinched threateningly at Montgomery, "I saw you move."

Mac slowly straightened up, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The girl stood, hands on her hips, waiting for his friends' response.

Montgomery opened and closed his mouth in faltering, silent protest. Birchfield likewise, seemed as equally flummoxed.

"And to what do I owe this defense?" Mac finally spoke up, amused. It was rare that Montgomery and Birchfield were left speechless, but then again, they didn't usually get accosted and accused by strangers on the beach._ A very pretty stranger too_, Mac thought, glancing her up and down and fully appreciating her long legs, form-fitting shorts, and pink floral bikini top.

At his question, Claire turned to look at Taylor. He was standing, soccer ball tucked under one arm, his other hand resting lightly on his hip. His head was slightly tilted to one side and he squinted against the sun, short dark hair glistening. A single bead of water traced down the middle of his chest to his navel, paused before continuing down the 'V' of his flat abs and defined hip line, and disappeared into the waistline, the very low waistline, of his shorts. His shorts, which definitely had no waistband of anything underneath them. Claire mentally gulped and forced her eyes back up. She met his, which had been waiting for her. They sparkled wickedly with an inviting, warm humour.

"Because I think you're hot, and I want your number," she said, cheeks flushing.

Behind her, his friends whistled, and there were sounds of, "oooooh Taylor…! Get it, Taylor!"

Mac looked down briefly in shuffled embarrassment before raising his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You sure my number is all you want?" he asked, eyes dancing.

Claire now blushed furiously. He had noticed her noticing (_well it was HIS fault anyway_, she thought), and it was her turn to be momentarily searching for a response.

"For now," she said, trying to be aloof, "I haven't decided yet whether I like you enough for anything else. Besides, I could have totally made that block."

There were more choruses from his friends.

"Oh you could…?" he said with a disbelieving arch of his eyebrows.

"Yep," said Claire, "No problem. Easy."

She could hear his friends continue snickering. He nodded, taking a couple steps towards her.

"Alright," he said, "How about this? Dinner with me tonight says you can't make that block."

Claire tossed her hair out of her face, "And if I win?"

He took a couple more steps closer, close enough so she could smell the salt water on him, and notice that his eyes, which never broke contact with hers, were very green.

"You get whatever you want," he said, those eyes dancing outrageously.

Claire blushed even more furiously if that were possible.

He tossed her the ball with a wink.

xxx

"You could have told me you play college," Taylor said, wading back out of the water for the second time. Except this time he didn't seem to mind.

Claire turned from where his friends were high-fiving her for beating him. "You never asked," she said loftily, crossing her arms.

He smiled warmly. "Very true," he said, squeezing the water out of the bottom of his shorts again.

The muscles in his back rippled over each other as he leaned over and wrung the last drops of water from his shorts, and her heart ka-thumped again as he squinted up at her. But with a horrible, stomach dropping jolt, the mention of her playing soccer for University of San Diego acted as a trigger, and Claire suddenly looked at her watch. "Shit," she said, pivoting back towards where Megan was still sitting and watching the whole thing with the most smug grin on her face. "I gotta run. Hey Megan?" she called.

Her friend craned her neck towards them, clearly not happy with the prospect of an abrupt end to an afternoon of sun-bathing.

"Burger joint," Claire said, turning back to him where he still stood, clueless as to what was going on, "Two blocks from my apartment."

"Wait, what?" Mac said.

"I'll call you with directions," Claire said.

"But I haven't even…" Mac started, taking a few steps towards where she was trying to prod the other girl she was with, into packing up.

"Here," Claire whipped around, thrusting a crumpled piece of notebook paper and a pen at him. "Write your number on this." His hands brushed hers as he took the small scrap, and pen, and her heart did more than just ka-thump at the touch of his fingers which lingered ever so slightly longer than they had to. She felt her cheeks flush with heat that was not from embarrassment.

Megan peered over her shoulder as he started writing, and broke the momentary spell.

"Hey, can you write down any of your friends' numbers if they're single?" she asked Mac.

Mac raised his eyes in baffled suspicious disbelief as he still fought to catch up to the swift turn of events.

"MEGAN!" Claire said, horrified.

Megan just continued grinning over her shoulder.

"Don't mind her, she's impossible," Claire told Mac as he handed the piece of paper with his name and number on it back to her. She glanced it over before shoving the scrap in her pocket.

"Is it just _his_ number?" Megan asked.

"For god's sake, yes it's just his number!" Claire told her friend, exasperatedly, "Now hurry up."

Mac choked back laughter.

"Alright, alright," Megan said huffily, "But you still haven't told me what the big rush is for though."

"Our exam…?"

"Yeeeeah…"

"The one that got rescheduled…?"

"uh-huh…"

"Yeah, it's in an hour and a half."

Megan's eyes grew big as she in turn scrambled to pick up her flip-flops, beach towel and one of the coolers they had brought. "Oh shit," she said, echoing Claire's earlier statement of revelation.

"You need a hand with that?" Mac asked.

Claire stood up her arms full. "Nah, I got it," she said. "Thanks though."

"He was asking _me_, thank you very much," Megan informed her friend.

"She has it too," Claire told Mac firmly. "I think you can manage _one_ cooler and a beach towel," she said scathingly to Megan.

Mac's shoulders shook as he fought not burst out laughing as Megan mocked the girl who now had his number, in silent pantomime behind her back.

"Hey," he called after her, with a sudden thought, "You never told me your name."

"Claire. Claire Conrad," she replied, turning as she continued walking backwards. "I'll call you later. Bye!" She turned back around and disappeared around the corner that led to the parking lot.

Mac glanced over his shoulder in the direction she had gone, a smile filling his whole body. _Well, that had been completely unexpected_, he thought.


	2. More than a phone number

**A/N: **_Ok, so here it is. This is my first time writing this stuff, so if you review, please bear that in mind... :/ Oh, and since I didn't say this on the last chap, I own none of the original characters created by CBS, but everyone else are mine. Hope you guys like it!_

_Additionally, no, I did not make a mistake in the reference to Mac's scar. A) CBS is horrible with continuity, and if they can't even have Flack's scars from when he got blown up in s2, nor where Mac got shot in s7, I think I can safely place whatever old battle wounds I want on our dashing young Marine, and B) the scar that Stella notices that IS shown on his chest in s2, he got when he was married - the flashback of the injury happening, if you pause it, shows him with a wedding ring on, therefore that was NOT the injury he later told Stella he got in Beruit.  
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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

"So what do you do?" Claire asked, dunking a french fry in ketchup so that nearly no fry was left visible. She popped it in her mouth, and smothered another one.

Mac eyed the procedure wordlessly.

"What?" Claire said.

"Oh nothing," Mac said, an irrepressible grin twitching at his mouth as a third french fry was drowned. He gestured with a nod of his head, "You got enough ketchup there?"

Claire followed the direction of his gaze. "What? I like ketchup. You got a problem with that?" she continued belligerently.

Mac held up his hands in defense, "No, no, not at all!" He gestured again, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "You want some fries with that though?"

Claire reached across the small table and punched him hard in his shoulder.

"Ow!" he said, completely taken by surprise.

Claire sat back with a small smirk as he rubbed his shoulder. "You deserved that," she said. "So? Tell me, what do you do besides trying to play soccer on the beach?"

Mac put on a hurt face. "Try? Try?" he said in pretend affliction.

"Well you let a girl beat you," Claire continued mercilessly, grinning wickedly at him.

Mac opened and closed his mouth at the speed of her back-handed demoralization.

Claire laughed and popped another ketchup covered fry in her mouth. "So?" she asked.

Mac picked up his burger. "I'm in the Marines," he said before taking a bite.

"Well I had that part figured out," Claire said, feeling extremely gratified at her deductive skills. Although it hadn't been exactly hard. There were a lot of military in San Diego, a lot of Marines particularly, and with his haircut and the way he carried himself, she really hadn't had any doubts. She typically completely disliked the haircuts most the Marines walked around with. But although the sides of his hair were almost as short as they could be, he had it faded, and his was longer on the top than most. She found herself wondering what it would be like to run her fingers through it. "I mean," she said, dragging her focus back, "_What_ exactly do you do?"

"Ah," Mac said around a mouthful of burger, "I'm in the infantry."

"Cool," Claire said, "You like it?"

"It's not bad," Mac replied, shifting in his seat and shutting the door on instantaneous memories before they had a chance to fully surface. "It has its moments, but yeah, I like it."

Claire studied him closely as she noticed the shade that flitted across his body language. She wondered if it had to with how he'd been injured. At least, she now presumed that was how he'd gotten that scar on his chest.

But whatever passed through his head, was just as quickly gone, and he waved a french fry in her direction as he turned the questions towards her.

"So what do _you_ do besides nearly missing exams by beating Marines at soccer on the beach?" he asked, the warm shine in his eye again.

xxx

The two talked for hours until the little restaurant closed and they were forced to leave. Mac couldn't remember ever being able to talk to someone so effortlessly. Claire had quick smile and quicker wit, and engaged him on a level that he hadn't encountered before. It didn't hurt either that he found her very attractive, and he had to sternly tell his mind and body not to run away with themselves.

As the door to the diner swung closed behind them, Mac exited right behind Claire, placing his hand lightly on the small of her back as the door swung closed behind them. Claire felt her face flush and her heart beat quicker at his casual but deliberate touch. He looked down at her as she tucked her hair behind one ear, trying to marshal her racing thoughts

"Can I walk you home?" he asked.

Claire glanced up him. There was the gentlest, most intense look in his eyes. _Come on,_ she told herself sternly, _you only met him a few hours ago. There's no way you can have actual feelings for him._ But it felt as if she'd known him far longer, and she really wasn't ready for him to leave just yet.

"Sure," she said.

xxx

The two blocks back to her apartment had never passed so quickly.

"So you would have had a _felony_?" she asked, laughing.

Mac nodded, "Yep. Apparently trespassing on a Major League field is felony trespassing."

"So how'd you get out of it?" Claire asked as she unlocked the door to her apartment.

Mac cleared his throat. "We had to agree to be banned from the park for a year."

"Banned?" Claire asked, "For only a year? Well that's not so bad." She invited Mac in with a gesture.

Mac followed her through the door. "At the time I would have rather taken the charge than be banned from Wrigley, but dad wouldn't hear of it." He smiled ruefully, "That next season was _the _longest summer of my life."

"That bad huh?" Claire queried.

"When you're twelve, and all you dream about is one day playing for the team, and you know every player and obsessively study how they play and try to copy them, and go to _every_ game? Yeah, it was that bad."

Claire chuckled as she hung up her keys on the hook on the wall. "You poor boy," she said, turning around. Mac was standing still just inside the door and very close to her. His eyes were very deep and bored into hers. She noticed just how his black t-shirt snugged to his chest and shoulders, and how the smell of the beach still clung to him. Claire felt her heart both stand still and start racing as the moment grew long.

He leaned over and kissed her, hesitantly at first, not sure how she'd react to his audacity. His lips were soft and full, and explored hers gently without demanding more. Claire felt her heartbeat quicken as she breathed his clean smell and sensed his completely controlled yet clear desire for more. It filled her with a rush, and she kissed him back, turning in towards him. Mac, her permission freeing him, pulled her close, one hand snug on her hips, the other around the back of her neck and in her hair. He pressed in, tongue exploring her mouth and his hips pressed firmly against hers.

When they finally pulled apart, Claire was left breathless. "Goddamn, Mac," she said.

He simply smiled and leaned his forehead against hers before kissing her again, more slowly this time, but with no less intensity. His hands snaked under her shirt, up her back and lingered on her breast, his thumb tracing around her nipple. Heat rushed through Claire's body, and it was her turn to press harder into the kiss with a moan.

She pulled his shirt over his head, marveling at the lines the muscles in his shoulders and arms made, and pushed him playfully onto his back on the couch. She straddled his flat waist, biting back a grin and her heart pounding a bit more emphatically as she felt him hard underneath her and remembered how he hadn't been wearing anything under his shorts earlier. She leaned forward, resting one hand above his right shoulder. Her respirations came quicker as their bodies grew closer but not quite touching. His clean breath was warm on her face. She traced her fingers across his firm abs, around his rib cage and up his chest. His skin was smooth and firm, and she could feel his muscles tense and ripple under her touch.

Claire's hair fell over her face and brushed Mac's neck and shoulders, and her fingers tracing up his chest sent shivers through him. Her hand passed over the scar on his lower chest. He instinctively tensed. But while he could read a certain level of curiosity about it in her face, there wasn't a flicker of pause or hesitation or an uncertain sympathy. Usually one of those three happened, although as his scar slowly grew a bit less pronounced, so did the reactions to it. Still, they were there, and he hadn't realized that it bothered him as much as it did until this girl's unabashed, unquestioning acceptance. She must have noticed it on the beach too, but her complete non-reaction had made him not even think about it then. A weight he hadn't even really known existed, lifted, and any unconscious hesitancy or restraint he might have had, vanished. He felt free for almost the first time that he could remember since being injured four years ago. She slowly rotated her hips against his, and any further analytical thought was instantly banished as he groaned, feeling himself throb and harden even farther.

Her hand traveled back down his chest, brushing across his nipple before snaking down the inside of his leg. Her fingertips brushed across the head of his erect penis on their way past, and he exhaled sharply and closed his eyes as heated electricity shot through him. His whole body was screaming for more, ordering him to flip her over, kiss her until neither of them could breathe, and fuck her until every bit of energy he had was spent. But he lay still, holding back the fire that coursed through him, and conceding to her playful, teasing control.

Claire raised her eyes to meet those of the young Marine underneath her. They were filled with a barely restrained hunger that made her heart race. She leaned down to kiss him and he raised his head to meet her half-way, their lips meeting, his tongue exploring hers. He was filled with such an unbridled passion it took her breath away. His hands, strong and warm and sure, grasped her waist and slid up her back and around her stomach and up under her bra, deftly undoing it and slipping it off her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, flipping her over so he was now on top, one arm underneath her neck, every muscle in his arms and shoulders defined as he leaned his weight on his hand and elbow. The feeling of his skin against hers was electric. He broke contact with their lips, kissing up behind her ear and down her neck. Claire closed her eyes with a moan.

Mac undid her shorts and slipped his hand beneath the waistline of her panties, and Claire's world all but exploded as without preamble, he slid his fingers inside her, teasing her clit with his thumb at the same time. She gripped his back as he buried his head in her neck again, kissing her. Fire filled her body as Mac slowed down, and sped up, bringing her to the brink.

As Claire groaned and moved under his first touch, it took all of Mac's self-control not to actually tear his own pants off and plunge his throbbing dick into her there and then. Because while it seemed like admitting the fact monumentally changed his motivation for being with her, the plain truth was also that it _had_ been _months_. And while his mind and intentions dictated a certain course of action, his body had other ideas, and protested him every inch of the way. He kissed her hard, tasting her lips and tongue, breathing in the scent of her light perfume, and forcing back the burning instinct that threatened to overtake him. Claire's fingers dug into his back as he brought her to the edge but not quite over.

Mac's expert teasing excited an agonizing impatience in Claire that she had never experienced. He kept his body close on her, and she could feel his own pulsing desire as he moved his hips in time with the movement of his hand. He was strong and hard and full of passion, and she ached for him. She half-raised her head and reached her hands around to the button of his jeans.

Mac didn't need a second invitation. He raised his upper body enough to give her room as she undid his zipper. Her fingers against his springing erection were maddening. She slipped his down his jeans just far enough to plunge her hand where he'd been dying for it to be the whole time, cupping his balls while running her thumb along the underside of his shaft. Every muscle in his body tightened, and he moaned in pure pleasure and blissful relief.

She pulled away before bringing him too far, and their breathing mutually ragged, the young couple fumbled in their hurry to remove each other's last layer of clothing that remained between them and their desire for each other.

The brief delay and removal of her hand from his groin as she pulled his jeans completely off, restored a certain level of control to the lust that burned through Mac. He gently pushed her back down, and Claire sighed aloud as his mouth and tongue explored their way down her stomach and lingered on the inside of her thighs as he slipped her shorts and underwear completely off, kissing her everywhere except where she wanted him to.

Claire had a sudden thought and half sat up. "Wait, do you have…" she started. But Mac nodded before she had even finished her question, already opening the small packet. He gently pushed her back down, and any further thought was instantly obliterated as his mouth and tongue found her, flicking firmly up and down and side to side seemingly at the same time.

"Oh fuck, Mac!" she whimpered. She threw her head back and gripped his forearms. Then his body was sliding up hers, effortlessly hooking one leg over his shoulder and bringing one arm over her head as he held onto that wrist, and entered her.

Claire sighed aloud as he slid inside her in one smooth motion, and Mac gasped, as pleasure bordering on pain filled him as he finally gave release to his body's screaming demands. He pressed his hips hard against Claire's, grinding them against hers as he thrust inside her. Her free hand reached around grasped his ass as she matched his movements.

Claire moaned, heat and pressure racing through her, building, as Mac pressed hard and fast into her. Sensing her coming, her held her arm down firmly and pulled her hips tight to his. His complete and commanding control made her heart skip even faster. "Oh god, Mac…oh fuck." Her back arched and she involuntarily held her breath as she reached the mind blanking point of no return. Her fingers dug into Mac's lower back, and she all but cried out as, having already been brought almost there more than once by him, she finally climaxed in an electricity of sheer intensity.

The feeling of Claire tightening around him sent waves of pulsing ecstasy through Mac, along with a shattering of the last shreds of restraint he had maintained in order to make sure she was satisfied before he was. As her orgasm subsided, he felt her purposefully tighten and hold the pressure against him. He moaned as she slowly relaxed and tightened again, rotating her hips in the opposite direction of his, accentuating his movement, taking control and slowing him down. She pulled back so he almost came out. He closed his eyes and let out a small sound as she pushed her hips back up flush to his, plunging him back in. Every nerve fiber in his body thrummed in a paradoxically perfect agony of tantalizing delay. He dropped his head and wrapped his arm tightly around her as she slowly sped him back up.

"Oh god," he groaned, getting even harder by the second, and unable to hold back any longer, taking over, thrusting hard and fast as heat and intensity filled every corner of his body.

Claire could feel him reach the edge, every muscle in his back and arms rigid and standing out…she squeezed around him one last time, and held.

Mac's world exploded, and he came hard, pressing his body hard into hers', forehead buried in her neck and crying out his relief in short gasps as he thrust as deep in her as he could.

Slowly the fire died, his grip on her wrist relaxed and he lay on top of her, completely spent. She wrapped her other arm securely around his back and held him close.

The two of them lay there for a long while, catching their breath, and nothing in the world existing except the feeling of each other's slowing heartbeats and the simple safety of each other's arms.

Finally Mac raised his head and propped himself up on one hand. His short hair was damp with sweat, and the ends in the front stuck out at adorable, crazy angles.

"Goddamn, Claire," he said, echoing her statement from earlier.

Claire grinned up into the face and green eyes of the handsome young Marine. "I guess I decided I liked you enough for more than just your number," she said.

Mac felt laughter bubble in his chest. He leaned his forehead on hers'. "I guess you did," he said with a chuckle, eyes dancing.

She giggled and bit her lip, wrapping both arms around his neck. Her hair was spread in a mess on the couch and her blue eyes bored devilishly into his.

_goddamn she was beautiful_, he thought.

He rolled to the side and lay half on his back next to her, gently brushing aside the errant strands of hair which were stuck to her face. Claire adjusted her head on his shoulder, and idly traced her fingers over his chest. "Have you been injured more than once?" she asked.

Mac froze at the unexpected question and looked sharply at her, instinctively reticent and guarded, throwing up instant mental walls around certain feelings and memories. Her eyes rose to meet his and stared unabashedly at him. He searched her face, looking for any sign of a hidden intent to her question. But he found nothing except the most disarming, straightforward curiosity and interest, and he felt his walls edge down ever so slightly despite himself.

"A couple times, yes," he answered, bracing himself for the inevitable awkward follow-up question or response.

But it never came.

Claire simply kissed him where her head lay and pressed closer into the crook of his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his waist with a gentle, protective squeeze.

A cascade of emotions flooded through Mac at her simple, understated acceptance. Relief that she hadn't even been sort of rattled at the implications of his vague admittance… a sense of tremendous freedom at not _having_ to explain more yet knowing the invitation was there should he choose to take it up… and with the safety of that freedom, came an entirely unexpected permission for him to let himself briefly feel his own emotions about those dark events. Pain, grief, guilt, and relief all swirled together in an almost overwhelming tide. With an effort, he gained a grip on the sudden well of emotions that filled his heart and chest, letting the darker parts fade away, and clinging to the residual hint of calm peace left in their at least temporary absence. He tightened his arm around Claire and closed his eyes, kissing her forehead. What the hell had this girl done to him?


	3. Six kinds of jam

**A/N:** _So I hadn't planned on ever continuing this, but I've been more and more intrigued with coming up with Mac and Claire's story from the beginning given the relationship we've been clearly told that they developed together. I'm sort of treating this as an overarching story with each chapter or two forming their own one-shots so to speak. This is also one of my projects that simply just sits stewing away on the back burner, always developing but not always actively worked on, so unfortunately I can't predict of any updates, just that I eventually want to bring this up to 9/11 where the show takes over. Some of my other backstories which I'm considering canonical given the research I've put together will directly intersect with this, and when that happens I'll direct you to them for further embellishment (one of these is my most recent one - One Bullet). This is also staying 'M' as I most certainly will weave future smut in ;)_

_Hope you all enjoy it and thanks for reading!  
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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Claire slowly opened her eyes. Daylight was making its way through her curtains and she took a moment to enjoy the feeling of having a good night's sleep and not waking up to an alarm clock. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and glanced over at the person next to her in bed. He was still sound asleep, lying on his back with one arm draped over his head and his chest rising slowly and evenly. She pulled her knees up and hugged them as she sat and watched him, taking a moment to fully process the prior night. Her brain and emotions, having had the space that sleep afforded them, were now highly conflicted. She felt both incredibly giddy and happy and flush, and on an uneasy edge all at the same time.

It had been an amazing, incredible night, not just the sex, but the whole evening prior to that. She had never expected to feel such an instantaneous connection to anyone or been so smitten by that smile of his and the way he looked at her. But it had ended in sex, something Claire definitely did not typically let happen or even think of doing on a first date, and now doubts, fear and a sense of personal beratement washed over her and dashed the glow of the prior evening.

It was still relatively early – 7:30 – and Claire contemplated lying back down and trying to go back to sleep. But she was thinking far too much and now going back to sleep next to him was impossible. Releasing her knees, she carefully swung her feet out of bed and quietly padded out of the room.

xxxxxxx

Claire sipped her coffee as she took another bite of her peanut butter and jam toast while watching the weekend morning show on tv. But her attention was anywhere but on the lighthearted report the anchors on the show were talking about. Instead, it was still on the man who was presumably still naked and asleep in her bed. God, what had she been thinking?! _You let your desire to fuck him override any common sense you have_, she thought, answering her own question. And she really had gotten herself into all this. Even though he had initiated that first kiss with her, she knew he wouldn't have gone further if she hadn't. But there had been something very different about him that had prompted her to throw caution to the wind. _Yeah, right_, she now thought sarcastically, _he's just better at knowing what to say and how to act. They all want the same thing, especially a _Marine _of all people. _She hadn't lived in San Diego for the past three years surrounded by military guys without picking up a few things. Her dad had always told her to never date or marry someone in the military, and she had started to see why after she'd moved out here. It wasn't that they were all evil or horrible, but their intrinsic lack of a sense of permanence tended to translate to how they approached girls and relationships. From anecdotal stories she'd picked up and the first-hand experiences of some of her friends, there were typically two outcomes – either the guy was super intense and was talking about marriage or at least moving across the country with him in only a month, or he was simply seeing how many girls he could pick u[ and wasn't interested in anything more than one or two dates, always with sex as the sole goal of the night. It wasn't a fair blanket assessment and Claire knew there were decent military guys out there, but they seemed to be the exception rather than the rule, at least in her limited experience. Most of them knew the power of 'a guy in uniform' and took full advantage. And Marines were the worst offenders of the bunch.

And suddenly several things came crashing back. She realized she'd simply assumed that scar on his torso had come from an injury he'd sustained in the military, especially when he seemingly corroborated that assumption. But now that she was sitting down and thinking everything through, not only did she realize he hadn't given away anything about the actual origin of the injury, but how could it even be possible that he'd acquired it in the line of duty? There hadn't even been any war since the Vietnam War for him to get injured in. At best it was probably just some accident during a training exercise, if it was even a result of the military at all. But a war wound was alluring. Claire groaned, beating herself up for being so gullible. She really should have known better, and now she had to figure out a way how to deal with this whole mess. She wished he'd hurry and wake up so she could get it over with.

But the quiet, non-analytical intuition that had initiated this whole fiasco refused to let her forget the softness in his eyes and the genuine care and gentleness of his voice and in his touch. And as the circle of jaded, logical thought fought with intuition, Claire found herself really really hoping that her cynicism would be wrong on this one.

xxxxxx

Mac rolled over, stretching out one arm that had gone completely numb. But the movement was enough for him to realize where he was and that he was by himself. That yanked him fully awake and he took a few seconds to let himself catch up. He heard the distant sound of a kettle whistle and a tv, and realized the girl he'd gone out with and ended up falling asleep with, must have gotten up already. He propped himself on one elbow, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes and simultaneously realizing with a bit of a jolt that he was still completely naked underneath the covers. _Ah, hell._

Well this he hadn't planned on, he thought. It had been an absolutely amazing night, and he couldn't ever remember sleeping so relaxed so soon after getting back from a deployment or a mission. But it had all gone way further than he had anticipated, and based on the fact that she had already gotten up without waking him, he had no idea how she was now feeling about it. He sighed and threw back the covers. Every last minute of yesterday might have been unexpected, but unlike with other sudden flings he'd had in the past and despite whatever the current situation might hold, he was already quite sure he didn't want this one to be over just yet. Whether she would feel the same might be a different story entirely. What could potentially turn into a one night stand wasn't usually the best way to start an actual relationship. _Ah, hell_, he repeated to himself.

He got out of bed and retrieved his jeans from where they still lay in a haphazard heap on the floor, glad for the chance to get dressed in private. It was weird how that worked – perfectly fine being naked and utterly exposed and vulnerable during sex with someone he barely knew , yet embarrassed and shy with the same person outside that context. He fastened the button on his jeans before zipping them up and glancing around for his t-shirt. It wasn't there. Oh, right, it was probably still out in the other room where it had been discarded the night before. He took another deep breath and unconsciously ran his hand through his hair before opening the bedroom door and heading out.

xxxxxxx

Claire was just sitting down to a second cup of coffee and getting more and more angrily impatient when she heard a quiet noise behind her and looked over her shoulder. He had finally gotten up and was standing hesitantly at the end of the hallway, sleep still in his eyes, his hair sticking out in little tufts on the side of his head that he'd been lying on, and looking a bit embarrassed at the lack of his shirt.

There was a slight, awkward silence.

"Hi," he said at last with a small smile.

"Hi," Claire replied.

There was more awkward silence, but dammit if that tiny, apologetic smile didn't try sneak its way through her resolve. Claire searched his face and body language, and read nothing except an open acceptance of the prior night and an almost adorable timidity about it as he was clearly unsure of how she felt and what they were supposed to do now. Maybe he _was _different.

"You want some coffee?" she asked him, deciding to run with things and see where they went.

"Yes please," he answered, taking a few steps towards the open kitchen/living area space.

'_Yes please',_ she thought. Well, she didn't hear that sort of language much of anywhere, let alone being the sort that one typically used when they simply wanted to fuck and run. She started to let herself believe that little voice of intuition that he wasn't going to suddenly morph into a misogynistic ass. He took his t-shirt from the back of the chair where she had placed it when she had gotten up, and pulled it over his head. "Do you take anything in your coffee?" she asked, trying to sort her thoughts and emotions into some semblance of order and ignore the way his muscles moved as he pulled the shirt down and tucked the front of it into his jeans.

"Just a rounded teaspoon of sugar if you have it," he replied.

"What, not straight black, tough Marine that you are?" she teased back without thinking about it.

"I wasn't aware adding things to coffee was an un-tough thing to do," he said, a quiet, amused warmth in his voice as he took the mug from her hand.

Claire found the doubts and fears that had been turning her stomach into knots and making her brain go round in agitated circles, continue to untie themselves. But she wasn't able to completely shake her ueasiness. They stood in the kitchen for several more seconds while he sipped his coffee, presumably approving of the amount of sugar she'd added. Claire fiddled with her own mug that she'd brought with her from the living room, trying to find anything to distract her, and found herself purposefully avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Claire looked up at his unexpected apology.

"For what?" she asked in genuine puzzlement. For all that she might have her suspicions (be they founded or not), the one thing she didn't doubt was that nothing would have happened if she hadn't wanted it to.

"For jumping the gun and making you feel pushed into anything."

Now Claire met his eyes and could see he really was blaming himself for how she was feeling, which was utterly ridiculous. "Hey I started all of this, remember?" she said.

"Not all," he said with a wan smile. "That whole…_thing_," he gestured with his coffee mug, "On the beach, and dinner, yeah, that's on you."

She smiled at the reminder of the prior afternoon, but it was a thin smile as other, more powerful memories that had been plaguing her all morning overrode it.

"But I'm serious, I shouldn't have started anything else like that. I'm sorry," he finished quietly. And he was.

Claire looked at him. She tried to think of some comeback or something that she _should_ say, but nothing immediate came to her spinning mind and all she could do was take in the genuine, open remorse that was in his voice and face. She sighed and sank her elbows onto the counter as old emotions stirred. "It's just…" she started, "Last time I took a guy home and…_this_ happened, it turned out…badly," she finished in a distant voice staring fixedly at her coffee and clutching her mug with both hands, "Very badly."

Mac looked at her searchingly. There was a weary, angry heaviness that had surrounded her last words, but as traumatic as whatever had happened to her before had obviously been, Mac also knew that he wasn't going to get any further details. He didn't care, he didn't need to know any more. Even though his was for different reasons, he knew that look of carefully contained grief, anger, and hurt all too well. But the origin didn't really matter, the process was all the same. He leaned his elbows on the counter next to her. Neither of them spoke for the longest small while, while across the living room, the morning show anchors on the tv laughed at each other about something.

Mac could practically feel the old pain radiating off Claire and it tugged at every inch of him. He silently reached his hand across and gently squeezed her wrist. "Claire, I am so sorry," he said.

Claire felt her throat catch and had to fight back sudden, unexpected tears at the depth of Mac's simple understanding. She nodded wordlessly, not trusting her voice.

"Is there someone out there I need to go beat the crap out of or something?" Mac asked after a few more moments and Claire finding herself very happy he didn't take his hand from resting gently around her wrist. "It better not be anyone here at Pendleton or I'll make sure they don't get leave or see anything besides the worst kind of extra duty for a year," he continued, a threatening edge to his voice.

Claire looked up at his offer of retaliation on her behalf and let out an amused, grateful laugh at his sentiment. "Yes," she said, draining back the last of her coffee and in the process reluctantly letting his hand fall from her arm back to the counter. "There is," she said, "But he's back in New York if he's still where I knew him."

"Hey, I don't have to report to work until 0500…sorry, 5am," he corrected, "Monday morning. Plenty of time to fly there and back."

Claire laughed again, "Who says I didn't already beat his ass into a coma?"

Mac grinned at her, "You know, I wouldn't be surprised in slightest."

"Damn straight," Claire returned fiercely. She looked at the unpretentious twinkle in Mac's green eyes and made up her mind. Maybe this would all turn into something or maybe it wouldn't, but either way, she could read the inherent goodness in this particular Marine's face and intentions and decided to give him a shot. "So, what do you want for breakfast? I have toast and peanut butter, or toast and butter, or toast and peanut butter and jam, or toast and butter and jam."

"Quite the options," Mac observed, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a grin.

"I had three exams and a twelve page paper due this week," Claire informed him in a 'I-dare-you-to-object' voice, "Grocery shopping was not at the top of my priority list, nor was having guests over to watch trashy Saturday morning tv with me part of my plan."

Mac pulled his face into one of utter contriteness. "I'll have toast with peanut butter and jam then."

"What kind of jam?" Claire asked, "I have peach, strawberry, blackberry, grape jelly, apricot and plum."

"Sooooooo, you don't have anything but toast and peanut butter for breakfast, but you have six kinds of jam…" Mac observed, barely contained amusement all but spilling over.

"Oh shut it!" Claire told him defensively, glaring over the door of the refrigerator at him.

"I'll…just…go…finish my coffee…" Mac said, pointing over at the couch in response to Claire's now volcanic 'I-dare-you-to-object' look.

"Wise choice," Claire sniffed, "One or two pieces of toast?"

"Two, please," Mac replied meekly.

The two of them held each other's gaze for a split second longer before they both laughed and Claire dropped two slices of bread in the toaster before joining Mac on the couch.


	4. First homecoming

**A/N: **_I debated whether to publish this installment of my "Mac and Claire relationship saga" yet as I couldn't decided whether I wanted to write a chapter that would bridge some of the time between the 'morning after' fic and this. But even after all this time I didn't get any specific inspiration for something else and decided to post this - the first time Mac returns from a mission after he Claire are together. Hope you all enjoy it!_

_Warning: serious angst ahead..._

* * *

><p>"<em>Claire?<em>" she heard on the other end of the phone in a tone impossibly tired and weighted, "_Can you come pick me up?"_ She clutched the phone handle tighter at the sound of his voice. She'd never heard him like this.

"Of course," she replied instantly, "Where are you?"

"_You remember where the helipad is on base?"_

"Yes."

"_Just, meet me there._"

"When?"

"_Now._"

Her stomach twisted at the hoarseness in his voice. "Ok," she said, "I'll see you in twenty to thirty minutes then."

* * *

><p>He looked dreadful. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed and heavily shadowed and she could see he was working on not swaying as he walked. "Mac, are you okay?!" she asked, placing one hand on his waist as she met and they walked back to her car.<p>

"I've slept only about six hours in the last seven days, and none in the last three," he said in a voice almost too quiet to hear, "There's no way I'd make it driving home."

Claire gaped, "Three days… six hours… jesus, Mac! And you look like you haven't eaten for that long either."

He shook his head, fighting off a wave of dizziness at the movement, "Not much."

"Christ, why aren't you at a hospital?" Claire asked, feeling him lean his weight against her as he caught himself from stumbling.

"Just, take me home, please," he snapped.

Claire was silent as, with pressed lips, she unlocked her car and Mac all but collapsed into the passenger seat. She got in the driver's side and glanced over at him. His head was leaned back against the head-rest and his eyes were closed, the rest of him all but limp. He looked, if possible, even worse than before.

"Mac, are you sure…" she started.

His eyes flew open and they were filled with a haunted, near-dangerous intensity. "I am goddamn fucking sure," he said.

"Okay, okay," Claire said, taken aback by this side of him she'd never seen before. The flame in his eyes lost a bit of its edge at her reassurance and he leaned back again, completely overcome with exhaustion.

Traffic heading out of the city had increased, and it took Claire a good forty minutes to drive to Mac's apartment. She couldn't help looking over at him every chance she got. He had fallen asleep before they had even left the base, and with his body limp, eyes closed, head fallen to one side, and dirt looking like it had gotten ground into his skin, he looked vulnerable in an almost painful way.

It looked as if it was physically painful for him to drag his body out of the near-coma he'd sunk into on the drive back to his apartment, but something in his body language still exuded that current of hostility and held Claire back from helping him out of the car even though she desperately wanted to. There was more than physical weariness to him, and it _hurt_ to see his obvious suffering on such a deep physical and emotional level and feel as though she couldn't help him with it. She put a steadying hand on his waist again once they were in the building, half wondering what his reaction would be, but he didn't pull away.

Everything he did seemed to be in slow motion as Claire closed his apartment door behind them and he fumbled with the buttons of his fatigue jacket, swaying slightly as he stood in the entryway and looking as though he was about to collapse at any moment. Claire wordlessly placed her hands over his and gently undid the buttons for him. For the longest second she thought he was going to resist and snap again, but either he recognized that he needed the help or he was just too tired to put up a fight. He tossed the jacket into a corner and fell heavily into one of his kitchen chairs to take off his boots.

Claire watched as his hands shook slightly from fatigue and hunger. Seeing him in the amount of pain he was clearly in was horrible and she felt so uselessly helpless in the face of his resistance.

"There's gotta be something more I can do for you," she said finally, as he removed his second boot, "Can I make you something? Get you a change of clothes? Anything?"

"A peanut butter sandwich would be great," he said slowly, as if he had to make his mind work, "I don't think you'll find anything else that's not expired."

"Just that?" she asked.

"Yeah. I already had a complete MRE on the flight back. If I have anything more it'll make me ill."

He spoke with a heaviness of experience and suddenly it was all real to Claire. This was the first time he'd come back from anything while she was with him, and the impact that this was what he _did_, what he went through and what he endured, hit her. Knowing it intellectually was one thing, but _seeing_ the effect on him was a different world entirely. She found herself staring at the source of that look that came into his eyes every so often. This was who he was, stripped of the comfortable "normal life" shield that had existed in their relationship so far. And the thing was, Claire had been convinced that it was already "not normal" and that she knew quite a bit simply by virtue of the fact that she was dating someone who was a spec ops Marine. But now she realized that she knew nothing. It was as if him and his past and current reality had suddenly been blown wide open and she struggled to catch up with its weight, scope and implications.

"Just peanut butter?" she asked in a small voice as she finished spreading the bread.

He paused, not in order to make up his mind, but seemingly to simply comprehend and process the question. "I think there's grape jelly in the fridge," he said at last.

Claire nodded and opened his fridge door, finding the half-finished jar of jelly and adding it to his sandwich before handing it to him. He took it silently, his hand still shaking slightly as he held it out. He took a bite as he pushed himself up. "I'm going to go take a shower," he said. Claire watched as he made his way slowly down the short hall and closed the bathroom door behind him, and she wondered what the hell had happened and what exactly it was that he did.

Ten minutes later he emerged, leaning against the bathroom doorframe with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. "I'm going to bed," he said in a quiet, flat voice, looking as though he was struggling not to pass out where he stood, "Don't feel like you have stay." He turned to go into his bedroom.

_Don't feel like she had to stay?_ He said it with a matter-of-fact near-bitterness that took Claire by surprise. She stood up from the armchair she had sank into while waiting for him and hurried after him. She caught him just as he dropped the towel in a heap in front of his closet and collapsed onto his bed, too tired to put anything on or do anything more than pull the covers half up, his eyes immediately drifting closed. Claire crossed over to him and finished pulling the blanket over him.

"Whad're you doing?" he mumbled, blearily opening his eyes, as exhausted as he was, that resistive, suspicious hostility still tingeing his voice.

"Taking care of you," she told him.

"You don't have…" he said, for some reason almost angrily.

"I want to," she interrupted him. She leaned down and kissed him, "Now go to sleep."

She could practically see the edge he'd been nurturing since she'd picked him up, vanish. He relaxed and Claire watched as the tension left his face and his eyes once again fell closed. His chest was rising and falling in the slow rhythm of deep sleep before she had managed to make it out of his room.

* * *

><p>He slept straight through to 11am the next morning.<p>

Claire was watching one of his videos when he appeared at the end of the hallway. He had put on a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt and seemed to be taking in the fact that she was still there.

"I told you you didn't have to stay," he said, and while it wasn't as pronounced as the day before, the edge in his demeanor had returned. But now that absolute exhaustion wasn't a factor, Claire could tell it was more defensive than anything else and she thought she read a flicker of fear in his face. What the hell was he afraid of? If he thought she had taken any actual offense to how he spoke and acted the previous day, he was very wrong. It was bad enough when she pulled all-nighters for studying; she couldn't imagine what going three days without sleep under whatever conditions he'd been in would induce. Yeah she'd been surprised and a bit hurt in the immediate moment as he'd never responded like that before, but that's all it had been – an immediate, momentary feeling that had almost instantly evaporated.

"Yeah, and I told you I wanted to," she replied.

He didn't say anything and Claire could tell he still hadn't quite exited whatever mode he'd come home in, and he fairly exuded an air of discomfort.

"I got you some milk and eggs for breakfast if you want me to make you something," she added into his continued silence.

"No, I'm fine, I'll make it," he cut in almost harshly, raising his hand to stop her from getting up. He marched to the kitchen and yanked the fridge open, and just stopped as Claire stared at his back in disbelief. He sighed and took a deep breath, slowly closing the fridge door and turning around, leaning his elbows on the counter and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry," he said, "I just…" he gestured helplessly before letting his palm fall to the counter.

Claire stood. "No, it's okay," she said, "Here, sit down, let me make you something." She guided him to one of the chairs at his small kitchen table. He slowly sat down and leaned his forehead on the heels of his hands as Claire pulled a small frying pan from one of his cupboards and cracked three eggs into a bowl. She snuck glances in his direction as she whipped the eggs with a fork, added salt and pepper, and melted a pat of butter in the frying pan. Not once did he lift his head and there was an almost invisible tremor in his whole upper body. As she poured the eggs into the pan, she couldn't take his silence anymore. "Mac, what's wrong" she asked him.

"I'm fine," he said, lifting his head and the snap in his voice was back, "I'm just still tired. I've got a week's worth of sleep to catch up on if you hadn't noticed."

Now Claire did start to get peeved. She slid the cooked eggs onto a plate, drizzled taco sauce over them as he liked and wordlessly set them in front of him, taking the seat opposite him. Neither of them said anything, Claire opting not to press the subject until he'd finished eating. "It's not just you being tired," she said as he got up and rinsed the plate in the sink.

"Jesus Christ, would you let it go?!" he exclaimed, clattering the plate in the sink and turning to face her.

"Look, if it's something you_can't_ tell me, then at least tell me that!" Claire exclaimed back in frustration.

"Fine! It's something I can't tell you! You happy?"

"No!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Mac rolled his eyes as he turned away and anger now coming off him. "What do you want, huh? I told you you didn't have to stay!"

Claire just sat where she was, _feeling_ what she wanted to say but completely unable to put it into words.

"You didn't need to see any of this," Mac added into the silent tension.

That snapped Claire's spinning thoughts into a coherent focus. "But I _wanted_ to, Mac!" she practically yelled back at him, standing up, "I didn't stick around to help you because of some pretty little girlfriend obligation! I _care _about you…"

"I killed a kid, Claire," Mac yelled back, interrupting her and whirling to face her.

Claire just stared at him, stunned into absolute silence.

"There! _Now_ are you happy?! Not exactly what you were expecting me to say, was it?!" He turned back to face the sink and leaned his hands heavily on the counter, dropping his head.

Claire had no idea what to say. All she could do was watch as he lowered his forearms to the counter and leaned his forehead down on them.

"How?" she finally asked in a small voice.

"He was probably only thirteen, maybe fourteen," Mac said in quiet voice without lifting his head, "We were escorting this group of…" he caught himself before he gave away any actual details, "Well-meaning idiots out of somewhere they knew they had no business being. Let's just say that the enemy recruited quite young. The kid raised his rifle to shoot…" his voice drifted off, "It was automatic reflex," he finished, finally raising his head and looking over his shoulder at Claire.

Claire's heart about broke for him as she saw the shine of unshed tears in his eyes.

"Like I said, you don't have to stay."

"Well tough. I'm not going anywhere," Claire retorted. And inexplicably she saw a return of his anger.

"Why not?!" he bit back.

"Why would I?!" she returned in complete non-comprehending frustration.

"Better now than later!" he yelled back instantly, his hands now in fists at his sides, pain trying to edge out the flashing anger in his eyes.

"Do you think I'm going to leave you?!" Claire asked him, tears starting in her eyes from both the fact that he was clearly speaking from experience and the hurt that he would think in the end she would do nothing more than up and bail on him.

"Because this is what I do!" he returned desperately, "This is who I am!" His voice cracked with emotion and self-loathing. "And I can't…it's not fair to simply expect you to deal with the consequences."

"What do you mean?!" Claire answered, as equally desperately.

"You don't get it, do you?!" Mac answered, "Now it might be fine, maybe even kind of cool to have to pick me up after some mission or extended training exercise and stay all night, make sure I'm okay, be all understanding at whatever shit I bring back with me. But this isn't a one-time occurrence, Claire. It gets old." His voice finally quieted, "And I can't ask you to shoulder any of it, especially stuff like this." He took a shuddering breath and turned away.

Claire crossed to him and forced him to look at her. "No, Mac, you're the one who doesn't get it! Now you listen to me and listen carefully because I'm only going to tell you this once. _I want to_. No, I didn't exactly anticipate the reality of all of this, but you think I haven't thought about it? Thought about the fact that you're constantly in a state of being able to be gone for weeks at a time with only the most minimal notification and what that would be like long-term? You think I would somehow like _you_ less just because you have to experience horrible things and then are expected to figure out a way to cope with them afterwards?

"And you think I don't know that this won't be the last time you come back wiped out in one capacity or another? I wish it would be for your sake, but I'm not naïve. I _love_ you, Mac, and as much as you might want me to walk out even temporarily so I won't have to 'deal' with your shit, that's just too bad. I am _not_ leaving you here to struggle on your own. I'm not expecting you to lay your soul bare or anything like that or suddenly spill all your deepest darkest secrets. I know that's not you. And I know you've been burned, and that is _so totally_ unfair. But I am asking that you trust me and don't shut me out," she reached up to gently lay her hand on his cheek, her fingers curving slightly around the back of his neck, "Because I'm not going anywhere."

He stood completely still and didn't say anything, but his eyes never left hers and slowly the fight went out of them, replaced by an almost broken look. "I can't get his face out my head…" he said at last in a voice barely above a whisper, "…and how his pants were at least three sizes too big for him…" Tears shone in his eyes again.

Claire couldn't take it anymore. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, her own vision swimming. "It's not your fault," she told him.

"Yes it is," he said, finally accepting her offer of support and almost clinging to her, pressing his forehead into her neck, "Yes it is."

Claire held him and knew as he tightened his grip on her, the muscles in his thin but solid body trembling, that at least for now, there was nothing she could say that would make him believe otherwise.


End file.
