Forgetting the Past
Disclaimers: Don't own them, or anything else, really. Just a little fun.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Jag-a-thon, and season 9. Takes place after AMLC, before H&F.
A/N: I kept thinking Clay's drinking would be a problem for Mac. In my story, it is. Also – I want to send a huge thank you to Pixie. She did the beta work, and when I write, that's a lot of work. You really are talented, Pixie.
Summary: Clay's drinking becomes more than Mac will tolerate.
Mac sat down at the table in Clay's apartment. He'd planned a romantic evening. Things between them had been difficult lately, and he was eager to get things back on the right track. She'd gone home, changed into a beautiful dress, and arrived precisely on time with high hopes for the evening. His cooking not being stellar, dinner had consisted of take-out from her favorite Italian restaurant, served on the best china he had.
When Clay emerged form the kitchen he brought two glasses of wine to the table. She couldn't remember the last time she saw him without a drink in his hand. Alcohol was all he had in the apartment anymore. He'd stopped having other drink choices for her in his home. Then he'd started bringing alcohol to her place all the time. There was so much of it there that she'd had to rearrange a cabinet to store it.
And now, knowing everything he knew about her, he was serving her a glass of wine as if it was an everyday occurrence. She knew she had to let him make his own choices, but he should've been clear on where she stood. After all the time they'd spent together, how could he not know that she didn't drink? Knowing her history, how could he ask her to? A little hurt, a little appalled, and a little surprised, she asked for something else to drink.
"I don't drink, Clay. Can you grab me some water?"
"The wine brings out the full flavor of the food."
"The wine brings out some less attractive facets of my personality."
"There's nothing less attractive about you."
"Why thank you, Clay. The water?"
"I'm not asking you to get drunk, Sarah. I'm saying have a drink. Let it help you relax. Let it accent the food, and enhance your enjoyment of the night."
"I'm an alcoholic, Clay. I don't have one drink. I drink until I do something stupid or pass out."
"You were an alcoholic, ten years ago."
"I AM an alcoholic, and I'm only as good as my last sober day."
"Oh God, quotes from the 12-step cult."
"You don't have to understand it, and you don't have to not drink, but I'm not drinking with you."
"You're a Marine, right?"
"You know I am."
"And Marines are full of self-discipline, right?"
"We like to think so."
"Well then put that discipline to the test. The test isn't giving something up entirely. Anyone can do that. The test is learning to do things in moderation. Teach yourself to have one or two drinks a night and then cut yourself off."
"That isn't how it works, Clay."
"What happens when you have a drink that's so bad? You laugh a little, you cut loose a little?"
"I marry people I don't know very well who end up in jail. I get into accidents that cost friends their lives. I say unforgivable things to people I love. I don't turn into some laid-back party girl. Harm said I was a mean drunk once, and he was right. You won't like me that way, but more importantly, I don't like me that way, and I won't go back to that life."
"Rabb has seen you drunk?"
"Once, years ago, during the time Coster was stalking me."
"And what? He could handle you that way but you don't think I can?"
"This isn't about Harm, it's about me, and I don't drink. What's more, you know I don't drink. What 's this really all about?"
"Maybe I'm tired of drinking alone, and of that holier-than-thou look on your face when I pour myself something."
"You know, I've dated plenty of men since I stopped drinking. None of them have been offended by my not drinking, and none of them have ever taken my decision as a personal indictment of their own behavior."
"Ahh – but you have made a judgment about my behavior, haven't you?"
"No."
"Yes you have. I see it in your eyes. You think I'm a drunk."
"I think you drink a lot, yes, but I don't get to judge what's too much for you. To be honest, I didn't really think of it as dangerous until this moment. Encouraging me to drink is a destructive thing to do, and it shows a certain lack of respect for me and what I've been through."
"What about what I've been through?"
"Clay, if you're drinking to forget Paraguay then you're in trouble for sure, 'cause you aren't dealing with the problem, just numbing yourself from the pain."
"Did you get a degree in psychology while I was on my last mission?"
"OK. That's it. I'm leaving. I tell you what I think because I care for you. I want you to stop being haunted by what happened down there, but you won't find peace at the bottom of a bottle, and I won't drink to make you feel better about your own drinking."
"Sarah – wait. I don't want you to leave."
"I think it's for the best tonight. Think about all of this, because the ball is in your court. If you want someone who doesn't care enough to tell you when they're worried about you, then you've got the wrong girl. If you want someone to get drunk with you, you've got the wrong girl. If you want me, call me when you figure it all out."
"Please don't go."
"Call me when you've made up your mind."
Mac picked up her purse and headed out the door. She got in the 'vette, and pressed Harm's speed-dial number.
"Hello."
"Hey Harm, it's me."
"Everything OK?"
"Yeah – I'm alright. Do you still want to work on the Cassidy Court Martial?"
"I thought you had plans tonight?"
"They finished up early."
Harm knew she was having dinner with Webb, and decided not to push it. She was more than a little defensive on the subject, and he didn't want to argue with her.
"Great – if you have the time I'm up for it."
"How about my place at 2000?"
"I'll be there."
"Bye."
"Bye."
Mac continued to drive. It would only take 15 minutes to get home from Webb's apartment, and she had more than an hour to kill, so she rolled down the windows, turned up the radio, and tried to drive off her frustration.
When she finally turned toward home, she found an accident had stopped traffic between her and her apartment. Harm would be there before she was, and would never let her live it down that she was late. Knowing the ribbing she was about to take, she put off making the call. Finally, he called her.
"Hello."
"Hey, Mac. Are you standing me up?"
"Just a little traffic slowing me down. I'm about 15 minutes out. Do you have my spare key?"
"Yeah, it's on the keychain."
"Go ahead and let yourself in. The file is on the coffee table, and the pizza place is on speed dial, #6. Can you go ahead and order us something and it'll be my treat when I get there."
"Yep, I can handle that."
"And make the pizza something reasonable. No spinach-lovers nightmare."
"There'll be at least half with something you love that I'm sure I couldn't bring myself to eat.'
"Thanks. Just make yourself at home. I'll be there in a few."
The pizza request was another interesting piece of the puzzle. It meant that whatever had happened between Mac and Webb, it had kept her from eating. Almost nothing stopped her from eating. He ordered their pizza, each half customized to their own tastes, and picked up the Cassidy file.
He already had lots of ideas on how to defend this guy. He and Mac had both been surprised that it had actually made it to Court Martial at all. There wasn't enough evidence for a conviction, and Harm began drilling holes in the prosecution's case.
He looked around for a pad to take notes on. Mac always had a ton of office supplies around the apartment. He walked over to her desk, but found the piles too precarious to risk disturbing. Then he went to her odds-n-ends cabinet, as she liked to call it. It was the right door of the hutch in the dining room, and was usually overflowing with pads, pens, folders, scrap paper – anything a lawyer would need to sketch out a case.
When he opened the door carefully to make sure nothing fell out, he found that she must have rearranged. In the place of office supplies was a fully stocked liquor cabinet, every bottle open.
Harm was immediately concerned for Mac. He thought for sure he would have noticed if she'd been drinking again. They hadn't been as close lately, and with the number of snide comments he'd dished out over the last few months, he could see how he could have made it impossible for her to come to him.
He closed the cabinet door and headed to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and found more of the same. There was beer and wine chilling in the fridge. The twelve pack of Yuengling only had 7 left, and the wine bottle was open.
He grabbed one of the bottles of water in the fridge, and headed back to the living room, deciding how best to approach the conversation with his partner. It was only moments later that Mac flew into the room, apologizing profusely for making him wait. She'd been all dressed up for her evening with Webb, and Harm couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was.
She excused herself for a moment to put on casual clothes, returning in jeans just in time to answer the door. She paid the pizza delivery kid, with whom she was on a first name basis. She dropped the pizza on the coffee table, and hurried into the kitchen.
Harm heard her call from the other room. "Do you need something to drink? I have water, soda, juice, beer, wine. Anything sound good?"
"I already have a bottle of water, Mac. Thank you."
Mac returned with plates and napkins, as well as a bottle of water for herself. Harm held up the bottle of water in his hand. "I hope you don't mind. I helped myself."
"Of course not. That's what I meant when I said make yourself at home."
"There was something different about your fridge."
"What, did you see a vegetable in there or something? Every once in a while one sneaks into my grocery cart and I'm forced to take it home."
Even with the gravity of the conversation he was trying to have he couldn't help laughing a little. "No, actually. I noticed you had beer in your fridge."
"Did you want one? Its fine with me, you know. The sooner it's out of here the better."
"It isn't like you to have it here at all."
Recognition hit Mac's face. He was concerned about her. She wasn't sure why it surprised her. He'd risked everything to save her. He'd given up everything that was important to him to come to Paraguay, but with all the animosity between them since Sadik's compound, she couldn't help but be a little surprised.
And relieved. There had been such distance between them. Even after she stood up for him at Mattie's hearing, it seemed as though the divide between them was too great. They could still work well together, but the personal side had become cold. It felt good to know he still cared.
Then she took in his manner. He wasn't angry. He was simply opening a conversation in case she needed to talk. There was something gentle about his approach, and there was no accusation in his tone. She smiled to let him know she wasn't going to knock him on his six for starting the conversation, and tried to explain it to him. "I didn't buy it, and I didn't drink it. I just haven't thrown it out yet. Really – have one if you like."
"I don't want a beer, Mac. I just want to make sure everything is okay."
"Harm, really. I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."
"I also noticed the reorganization of your 'odds-n-ends' cabinet."
"Yeah. Went looking for a legal pad and found a cabinet fill of liquor? I had to find a place for it. I've been thinking maybe it's time I had something to offer guests when they come over. Maybe its rude of me to not serve alcohol just 'cause I don't drink it."
"OK – that doesn't sound like you at all. Mac – I don't pretend to know what it's like to be you, but don't you think it's a bad idea for an alcoholic to be stocking their home full of liquor?"
"Harm, the concern I appreciate, really, but I'm not drinking. I haven't had a drink since Dalton's murder, and I'm not about to throw six years of sobriety away."
"Do you want to drink?"
"Of course. That's what makes me an alcoholic."
"Is it hard to be around it?"
"Harder than I thought, but I'm handling it."
"Why handle it at all? Just get rid of it."
Mac's tone was quickly turning from calm to annoyed. "I know my own limits, Harm. Besides, it isn't mine. It's Clay's. I can't just throw it away."
"He drinks around you?"
"I've never asked anyone not to," Mac said defensively.
"Yeah – but a little respect would be nice."
"Are you trying to say he doesn't respect me?"
"Mac, no – that isn't what I meant. I just think ..."
"I want him to feel comfortable in my home, Harm. Is that so hard to understand?"
"How about you feeling comfortable in your home?"
"I can't just pour it out every time he leaves. Besides, you have no idea what that feels like. When I have people over, and at the end of the night I pour out all the alcohol they leave behind.... I feel so weak. Like I know I can't handle it. But I can handle it. I can do this."
"You shouldn't have to."
"It's a discussion for Clay and me, not you and me. I understand that you mean well, but this conversation is finished."
"You're playing with fire, Mac. You don't need to prove anything to anyone, not your friends, not your lover. If he cared for you, he wouldn't ask you to."
Now Mac's voice moved from annoyed to angry. "I'm not drinking, Harm. I can handle a few open bottles in the cabinet, and I can handle a drunk Clayton Webb."
"He gets drunk around you?"
"Did you hear me say we're finished here?"
"No – you don't think that it's thoughtless?"
"Enough, Harm."
"Mac, he should have more respect."
Mac had nothing to say. Harm was right. Clay should have more respect. He reeked of alcohol all the time these days. It was so hard to kiss him when he was like that. It reminded her of her daddy kissing her goodnight after he'd spent an evening beating her mother and telling Mac she was worthless. He would start to sober up, and feel bad, and apologize, and come kiss her on the forehead as she slept. She pretended to be asleep, but she never was.
It wasn't the temptation to drink that was the hardest. It was all the memories. The smell took her back to a hundred cheap bars and bad choices. Men who had been unkind, moments she couldn't take back; all flooding back to her with the smell. She could stop herself from drinking. She had the power to do that, but she couldn't stop her mind from reminding her of all of her mistakes.
She found it hard to say no to Clay. There was a debt she had that she tried to repay in every small way she could. He wanted her to go to a party for his mother's charity – she went. He wanted her to have something for him to drink when he came over - she gave him a cabinet to store it in. This was the least she could do.
She sat in silence, thinking about the precarious position in which she found herself.
For his part, Harm had the wisdom to know when he'd pushed as hard as he could. One more word and she would have thrown him out. So he watched her, his heart aching that she didn't know it was okay to expect more from someone. It was as if she still didn't believe she deserved it.
Her face had a sadness to it that hadn't been there before. She looked at Harm, who was still watching her, and feigned a small smile. "The legal pads are in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet now. Ready to work?"
The conversation was over. She had ended that part of the evening. Harm had gotten the information he was interested in. She wasn't drinking, and seemed to be all right. He shouldn't have started in on Webb, and was glad he'd gotten away with it. He decided to let it go. He picked up the file, opened it up and said, "I know how we're going to win this case."
They worked for two hours, and made a lot of progress. They had a direction for the case, and had divided up the work that needed to be done. Harm had two days left on another case, so Mac would get the ball rolling. She would head down to Norfolk for two days and do the interviews they needed. She was glad to be getting out of town.
Harm headed out the door, but threw her a reminder. "Don't forget. Thursday, 1900, La Casa Rosa on F St."
"What?" Mac asked, confused.
"The day after tomorrow. Gunny is in town for a few days and we're all meeting for dinner. La Casa Rosa, 1900 hours."
"Wow – I totally forgot. Thanks. I'll be back from Norfolk in time. I promise."
"See you there."
The next morning Mac was an hour into the drive to Norfolk when her cell phone rang. Not bothering to look at the caller id, she answered it with the hands-free set.
"Hello."
"Sarah."
"Clay."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For everything?"
"Not good enough."
"Let me take you to lunch and explain the many things I did wrong last night."
"I can't. I am on my way to Norfolk as we speak."
"Dinner then."
"Won't be home until tomorrow night."
"You're making it hard to grovel."
"I don't want groveling. I want you to make a clear decision based on what you want, not on emotions or alcohol."
"I want you."
"Not good enough."
"What do you mean? You told me to decide what I want. I want you."
"Clay, I'm not having this discussion with you while I'm driving. I'll be home Thursday night, and we can talk on Friday."
"Why not Thursday night?"
"Because I have plans."
"When did you find out about this trip? You didn't mention it last night."
"It came out of some case work I did last night after I left your place."
"With Rabb?"
"Let it go, Clay – I'm on the trip alone, and I don't like what you're implying."
"I want to have this conversation now."
"Which conversation, the one about your paranoia over Harm, or the one about your drinking?"
"I am not paranoid, and I am not a drunk."
"I can't be a part of it, Clay. I can't have an apartment full of alcohol. I can't smell you drunk every night in bed."
"I can change."
"You can't change for me. You have to change for yourself."
"So I can't change for you, but I have to change to be with you. You make no sense at all sometimes. I swear to God, Sarah – if that isn't an ultimatum, then what is?"
"Consequences. There are consequences to your actions, Clay. That isn't my fault. It's just how life works."
"So that's it? I don't even get a chance to work it out?"
"Clay, it's more than the drinking, or the insecurity about my relationship with Harm. You're never around. You're life is shrouded in mystery."
"You go away, too, and there's plenty that you don't tell me."
"There is no equal footing in this relationship, Clay, and I can't do anything about that. You come and go as you like and I'm supposed to be here waiting. You say little or nothing about your life and I'm supposed to be okay with that. You do as you like, and I'm supposed to change to fit your mood. I can't ever repay you for the pain you suffered for me, Clay. There's no way to make reparations for that, but I can't live in a situation where you think I owe you all the time, or where I think I owe you. That isn't how love works."
"I don't want you to owe me, Sarah."
"Clay, Paraguay will always be what brought us together, and what pulls us apart. It changed us both, and even if we might have worked before, I think it can't ever work now."
"You don't mean that."
"I do."
"Lets talk about it when you get back."
"I'm done talking about it."
"So you're just going to throw away what we have while you're driving down I-95?"
"I told you I didn't want to have this discussion now. You forced my hand, now you have my decision."
"This isn't over."
"It is. I'm sorry, but it has to be. It's tearing me up inside too much. Love shouldn't do that."
"Sarah, I...."
Mac hung up the phone.
The interviews went as scheduled. Mac didn't answer her cell again the entire time she was gone. She even turned it off to preserve the battery, because Clay was calling all the time. She checked in with JAG by email, and was glad for the quiet of the hotel room that night. She finished up her work on Thursday afternoon, and headed back to D.C. as planned.
Mac arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes to spare. The table was ready, and Harm and the Admiral were already seated. Gunny arrived a few minutes later. Mac looked up and saw Webb walking towards the table. Leaning towards Harm, she whispered, "What is he doing here?"
"I assumed you invited him."
"We broke up yesterday."
"Then I guess Gunny got in touch with him on his own."
"Oh, great," she said, clearly not looking forward to an evening with Clay.
"Are you going to be alright?"
"Yeah. I just was expecting him."
Dinner was uneventful. They listened to stories about where Victor had been, and told some of their own. There was a lot of laughter, except from Webb. He was sullen and brooding. The breakup wasn't sitting well with him, and the bottle of wine he'd all but finished by himself had barely numbed the sting.
He watched Mac. She was sitting right next to him, but she might as well have been a thousand miles away, she was so far out of reach. She was finished with him, and he wouldn't get her back. He'd been willing to die for her, and now they were over and she was carefree and happy.
As the gathered group finished their dessert, Webb poured the last of the wine into his glass, and then some into the glass in front of Mac. He lifted his glass and made a toast to the man who had saved his life.
"A toast. To Victor."
"To Victor."
Mac lifted her water goblet to salute her fellow Marine. Clay noticed, and the alcohol already swimming around his head blurred the lines between appropriate and not, public and not. In his mind it was another of her backhanded rebukes for his drinking. "Come on, Sarah, surely Victor deserves more than a toast with tap water."
"I could toast Victor with an empty Dixie cup and he would still know that he's loved and respected."
"It must feel nice for someone to be sure you love them. I wouldn't know. The great Sarah Mackenzie is still a mystery to me."
Mac looked around the table at the looks of pity from her coworkers and friends. Determined to have the evening end well and not cause a scene, she ignored Clay's comments, and turned to her friends.
"Dinner was great. It was so good to see you, Gunny. I promised Chloe I'd give her a call tonight – some new teenage life-crisis. I don't want to let her down, so I'm going to take off. Make sure you let us know when you're heading through town again."
"I will, Ma'am."
They knew she was lying. She was trying to preserve the peace of the evening by not being baited into an argument. She made a polite story to spare Webb the embarrassment of her ripping him apart in front of other people. She didn't argue with drunks. She walked away.
"Goodnight, everyone."
Everyone said their goodnights as Mac left the table. Harm was furious with Clay for driving her away, but he was determined to let her fight her own battles. He could see the anger running across her face. She was showing more class than anyone else would have. He'd call her later to make sure she was okay.
But Clay couldn't let it go. Too angry to drop it and too drunk to know better, he went deep into the reaches of his memory. He thought of a story she'd told him once when she was explaining why she and Harm had never gotten together. She'd told him Harm didn't think of her like that. Clay had told her she was wrong, and to prove her point, she'd told him something Harm had said that made it clear there would be nothing between them. She was two steps away from the table when he called it out.
"Everyone who has ever been involved with you is either dead or wishes they were. Isn't that what Rabb said about you? Boy, was he right on the money. Look at what you leave in your wake. Battleship Mackenzie strikes again."
She froze. The table froze. Harm closed his eyes at the thought of having been so callous when he'd said it originally. All these years later he still wished he could take it back. When he looked to see if she was okay, he saw her turning slowly to face the table. Her eyes were glassy with tears she refused to let fall, and she looked squarely at Clay.
"I guess I should come with a warning label. Beware: involvement with this woman can lead to death or destructive behavior. You should have signs made, and you can post them around JAG and my apartment; maybe save the next poor soul."
The self-doubt and pain in her eyes was unmistakable, and yet she stood there, even-tempered, quietly responding to Clay's venom.
"Oh, and by the way Clay, battleships are named for states: The Iowa, The Wisconsin. Carriers and destroyers are named for people. I guess that makes me the Destroyer USS Mackenzie. Goodnight everyone."
Her acceptance hit Harm harder than anything else. She didn't defend herself. It was as if she believed it all. She should have said that Harm was an ass when he said it then, and Clay was an ass for saying it now, but she didn't. She took the hit as if she had it coming, and then turned and walked away. She didn't run; she didn't retreat. She got in the 'vette and took off on a drive that would last all night.
The table sat in stunned silence. It only took a moment for the reality of what he had just done to hit Clay. He was instantly sorry. "Oh God, Sarah," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else, and went to catch up to her. While his mind felt keenly aware of what had just happened, his reflexes were still feeling the effects of the alcohol. His exit from the table had not been graceful, and despite his anger, Harm decided to make sure he didn't try to drive.
As Clay reached the valet stand, Harm caught up with him and took the ticket out of his hand. "I think you've done enough damage tonight. Don't make it worse by driving."
"I'm fine, Rabb. I need to find her."
"You're not fine, you're drunk. And she doesn't need to be found, she needs to be left alone."
"Oh, and you're an expert on what she needs? I doubt that."
"I know her well enough to know that you won't catch up with her tonight."
"Where is she going?"
"Yeah – like in your condition I'd tell you."
"Damn it, Rabb – this isn't any of your business. Just tell me where she's going and go back inside."
"Not a chance."
Clay stepped into Harm's face. "Well, I might not know where she's going, but I know what she's thinking. She's hearing your words over and over in her head. What do you think hurt her more, hearing them repeated by a drunk brooding over a break-up, or hearing them from her so-called best friend, stone-cold sober in the middle of her office. She'll forgive me, but she'll always doubt you."
"We're past it, Webb. You can't use it drive a wedge between us."
"I don't know. She usually runs to you, but now you're here with me, and she's off on her own."
"You're the one she's getting away from."
"She'll never be happy until she gets you out of her system. Maybe this helps her remember that the two of you would never work out."
"The only thing this is going to help her remember is why she dumped you."
"She'll come back. She hates being alone. She'll think about you, and how you think she's poison to everyone around her, and she'll rethink this sudden burst of independence, and she'll be back."
"You don't think it's a little sick to play on her insecurities? To make her doubt herself to get what you want? What the hell kind of relationship is that?"
"It's the kind where I get to be with Sarah and you don't."
"Yeah – by convincing her that she doesn't deserve anything better. That isn't love."
"You're just a sore loser, Rabb."
Harm was furious. He grabbed Clay's shirt and put him against the brick wall behind them. "It isn't a game, Webb. You're too selfish to see that your brand of love is destroying her sense of self-worth. It's breaking her heart. Now that she's finally sent you packing you will not drag her back down. I won't allow it. Respect her wishes. Stay the hell away form her, or I'll make you sorry."
Clay saw a look on Harm's face he couldn't ever remember seeing before. It was unmatched determination. As Clay struggled to respond to Harm's clear threat, it was actually AJ's voice that ended the confrontation. "Everything all right out here, Commander?"
"Yes, Sir. Webb was having some trouble standing up straight, but I think the wall helped him get his balance back."
Harm handed some money to the restaurant's valet, and told them to put Clay in a cab. Then he got in his own car and called Mac's cell phone. It went immediately to voicemail. He was sure she'd taken the 'vette to Shenandoah to Skyline Drive where she wouldn't get a signal. It was her favorite road to lose herself on: loud music and curves to hug for hours. It was peaceful to her.
Harm headed home and checked on Mattie, then he camped out at Mac's for a few hours. He poured all the alcohol in her apartment into the sink, and took all the bottles with him when he left at 0200. Then he went to grab a few hours of sleep before he had to be at work in the morning.
When Harm got to JAG at 0810, Mac was already deep into her caseload for the day. She was completely squared away, but her eyes were distant. He approached the doorway to her office as he watched her work, and knocked on the doorframe to get her attention.
"Shenandoah?"
"You know me so well," she said, unable to suppress a smile. "I drove for a few hours and got home around 0400. I think you might have come by looking for me."
"I hope you don't mind."
"Nah – while I might have gotten some satisfaction out of throwing away everything that was his, it was better this way. Isn't that something? The only thing that was his in the whole apartment was the booze. That should've been my first clue there was something not right."
"I'm the last person to defend him, but you two shared something powerful. Things that intense can be confusing."
"Thanks."
"Come by my place and have dinner with Mattie and me tonight. It'll be relaxing. I promise."
"Nah, I think the Destroyer USS Mackenzie will take in a quiet evening at her home port."
"He was drunk, and trying to be hurtful. You have to know it isn't true."
"Are you so sure? Years later, and I'm still causing havoc to people who bother to care for me."
"It's never been you, Mac. Never. You've enriched my life every day that I've known you."
"Every day?"
"Okay, well maybe almost every day. No one is a prize every day. Look at me. You probably want to kill me as often as have dinner with me."
"You have your moments."
"Is this a good one or a bad one?"
"You're doing fine."
"Then come have dinner with Mattie and I. It'll be fun. You can pick a movie. Any movie."
Mac couldn't help but smile. "Is 1830 all right? I won't get out of here much before then."
"Perfect."
He turned to walk away. He'd made sure she was back from her driving escape in one piece, and she seemed to have survived the confrontation with Clay with her spirit intact, but there was something else he needed to do. He felt somehow a party to her pain since it had been his words that had been used to hurt her.
She looked at him lingering the doorway. "Was there something else?"
"Did I ever tell you I was sorry?"
"Harm, it was years ago. Forget it."
"But did I ever tell you I was sorry?"
"I'm sure you did."
"Any time I'm reminded of that moment I still cringe that I could ever have been so thoughtless. I'm sorry, Mac."
"It's in the past. Forget it."
"Why did you tell him?"
"Because he was convinced that I would only stay with him until you wanted to be with me, so I told him the story to illustrate that you would never want to be with me. Why did you say it?"
"Because I was tired of people second guessing my feelings for you, and I wanted to put an end to it, so I said something cavalier and cruel to slow down Turner's imagination. I never meant to hurt you. Never."
"Never. What an awful word."
"You thought it was perfect to describe us once."
"And any time I'm reminded of that moment I still cringe that I could ever have been so thoughtless," she said repeating his words back to him. They had both made mistakes. They had both caused the other pain.
"You'd just been through so much. I should've let it go."
She had relived those moments in her head a hundred times. "Ever wonder where we would be if we could take those two moments and erase them from our history?"
"All the time."
"Where does that leave us?"
"Dinner, tonight. You, me and Mattie. And we'll take it from there."
"I can't wait."
Disclaimers: Don't own them, or anything else, really. Just a little fun.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Jag-a-thon, and season 9. Takes place after AMLC, before H&F.
A/N: I kept thinking Clay's drinking would be a problem for Mac. In my story, it is. Also – I want to send a huge thank you to Pixie. She did the beta work, and when I write, that's a lot of work. You really are talented, Pixie.
Summary: Clay's drinking becomes more than Mac will tolerate.
Mac sat down at the table in Clay's apartment. He'd planned a romantic evening. Things between them had been difficult lately, and he was eager to get things back on the right track. She'd gone home, changed into a beautiful dress, and arrived precisely on time with high hopes for the evening. His cooking not being stellar, dinner had consisted of take-out from her favorite Italian restaurant, served on the best china he had.
When Clay emerged form the kitchen he brought two glasses of wine to the table. She couldn't remember the last time she saw him without a drink in his hand. Alcohol was all he had in the apartment anymore. He'd stopped having other drink choices for her in his home. Then he'd started bringing alcohol to her place all the time. There was so much of it there that she'd had to rearrange a cabinet to store it.
And now, knowing everything he knew about her, he was serving her a glass of wine as if it was an everyday occurrence. She knew she had to let him make his own choices, but he should've been clear on where she stood. After all the time they'd spent together, how could he not know that she didn't drink? Knowing her history, how could he ask her to? A little hurt, a little appalled, and a little surprised, she asked for something else to drink.
"I don't drink, Clay. Can you grab me some water?"
"The wine brings out the full flavor of the food."
"The wine brings out some less attractive facets of my personality."
"There's nothing less attractive about you."
"Why thank you, Clay. The water?"
"I'm not asking you to get drunk, Sarah. I'm saying have a drink. Let it help you relax. Let it accent the food, and enhance your enjoyment of the night."
"I'm an alcoholic, Clay. I don't have one drink. I drink until I do something stupid or pass out."
"You were an alcoholic, ten years ago."
"I AM an alcoholic, and I'm only as good as my last sober day."
"Oh God, quotes from the 12-step cult."
"You don't have to understand it, and you don't have to not drink, but I'm not drinking with you."
"You're a Marine, right?"
"You know I am."
"And Marines are full of self-discipline, right?"
"We like to think so."
"Well then put that discipline to the test. The test isn't giving something up entirely. Anyone can do that. The test is learning to do things in moderation. Teach yourself to have one or two drinks a night and then cut yourself off."
"That isn't how it works, Clay."
"What happens when you have a drink that's so bad? You laugh a little, you cut loose a little?"
"I marry people I don't know very well who end up in jail. I get into accidents that cost friends their lives. I say unforgivable things to people I love. I don't turn into some laid-back party girl. Harm said I was a mean drunk once, and he was right. You won't like me that way, but more importantly, I don't like me that way, and I won't go back to that life."
"Rabb has seen you drunk?"
"Once, years ago, during the time Coster was stalking me."
"And what? He could handle you that way but you don't think I can?"
"This isn't about Harm, it's about me, and I don't drink. What's more, you know I don't drink. What 's this really all about?"
"Maybe I'm tired of drinking alone, and of that holier-than-thou look on your face when I pour myself something."
"You know, I've dated plenty of men since I stopped drinking. None of them have been offended by my not drinking, and none of them have ever taken my decision as a personal indictment of their own behavior."
"Ahh – but you have made a judgment about my behavior, haven't you?"
"No."
"Yes you have. I see it in your eyes. You think I'm a drunk."
"I think you drink a lot, yes, but I don't get to judge what's too much for you. To be honest, I didn't really think of it as dangerous until this moment. Encouraging me to drink is a destructive thing to do, and it shows a certain lack of respect for me and what I've been through."
"What about what I've been through?"
"Clay, if you're drinking to forget Paraguay then you're in trouble for sure, 'cause you aren't dealing with the problem, just numbing yourself from the pain."
"Did you get a degree in psychology while I was on my last mission?"
"OK. That's it. I'm leaving. I tell you what I think because I care for you. I want you to stop being haunted by what happened down there, but you won't find peace at the bottom of a bottle, and I won't drink to make you feel better about your own drinking."
"Sarah – wait. I don't want you to leave."
"I think it's for the best tonight. Think about all of this, because the ball is in your court. If you want someone who doesn't care enough to tell you when they're worried about you, then you've got the wrong girl. If you want someone to get drunk with you, you've got the wrong girl. If you want me, call me when you figure it all out."
"Please don't go."
"Call me when you've made up your mind."
Mac picked up her purse and headed out the door. She got in the 'vette, and pressed Harm's speed-dial number.
"Hello."
"Hey Harm, it's me."
"Everything OK?"
"Yeah – I'm alright. Do you still want to work on the Cassidy Court Martial?"
"I thought you had plans tonight?"
"They finished up early."
Harm knew she was having dinner with Webb, and decided not to push it. She was more than a little defensive on the subject, and he didn't want to argue with her.
"Great – if you have the time I'm up for it."
"How about my place at 2000?"
"I'll be there."
"Bye."
"Bye."
Mac continued to drive. It would only take 15 minutes to get home from Webb's apartment, and she had more than an hour to kill, so she rolled down the windows, turned up the radio, and tried to drive off her frustration.
When she finally turned toward home, she found an accident had stopped traffic between her and her apartment. Harm would be there before she was, and would never let her live it down that she was late. Knowing the ribbing she was about to take, she put off making the call. Finally, he called her.
"Hello."
"Hey, Mac. Are you standing me up?"
"Just a little traffic slowing me down. I'm about 15 minutes out. Do you have my spare key?"
"Yeah, it's on the keychain."
"Go ahead and let yourself in. The file is on the coffee table, and the pizza place is on speed dial, #6. Can you go ahead and order us something and it'll be my treat when I get there."
"Yep, I can handle that."
"And make the pizza something reasonable. No spinach-lovers nightmare."
"There'll be at least half with something you love that I'm sure I couldn't bring myself to eat.'
"Thanks. Just make yourself at home. I'll be there in a few."
The pizza request was another interesting piece of the puzzle. It meant that whatever had happened between Mac and Webb, it had kept her from eating. Almost nothing stopped her from eating. He ordered their pizza, each half customized to their own tastes, and picked up the Cassidy file.
He already had lots of ideas on how to defend this guy. He and Mac had both been surprised that it had actually made it to Court Martial at all. There wasn't enough evidence for a conviction, and Harm began drilling holes in the prosecution's case.
He looked around for a pad to take notes on. Mac always had a ton of office supplies around the apartment. He walked over to her desk, but found the piles too precarious to risk disturbing. Then he went to her odds-n-ends cabinet, as she liked to call it. It was the right door of the hutch in the dining room, and was usually overflowing with pads, pens, folders, scrap paper – anything a lawyer would need to sketch out a case.
When he opened the door carefully to make sure nothing fell out, he found that she must have rearranged. In the place of office supplies was a fully stocked liquor cabinet, every bottle open.
Harm was immediately concerned for Mac. He thought for sure he would have noticed if she'd been drinking again. They hadn't been as close lately, and with the number of snide comments he'd dished out over the last few months, he could see how he could have made it impossible for her to come to him.
He closed the cabinet door and headed to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and found more of the same. There was beer and wine chilling in the fridge. The twelve pack of Yuengling only had 7 left, and the wine bottle was open.
He grabbed one of the bottles of water in the fridge, and headed back to the living room, deciding how best to approach the conversation with his partner. It was only moments later that Mac flew into the room, apologizing profusely for making him wait. She'd been all dressed up for her evening with Webb, and Harm couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was.
She excused herself for a moment to put on casual clothes, returning in jeans just in time to answer the door. She paid the pizza delivery kid, with whom she was on a first name basis. She dropped the pizza on the coffee table, and hurried into the kitchen.
Harm heard her call from the other room. "Do you need something to drink? I have water, soda, juice, beer, wine. Anything sound good?"
"I already have a bottle of water, Mac. Thank you."
Mac returned with plates and napkins, as well as a bottle of water for herself. Harm held up the bottle of water in his hand. "I hope you don't mind. I helped myself."
"Of course not. That's what I meant when I said make yourself at home."
"There was something different about your fridge."
"What, did you see a vegetable in there or something? Every once in a while one sneaks into my grocery cart and I'm forced to take it home."
Even with the gravity of the conversation he was trying to have he couldn't help laughing a little. "No, actually. I noticed you had beer in your fridge."
"Did you want one? Its fine with me, you know. The sooner it's out of here the better."
"It isn't like you to have it here at all."
Recognition hit Mac's face. He was concerned about her. She wasn't sure why it surprised her. He'd risked everything to save her. He'd given up everything that was important to him to come to Paraguay, but with all the animosity between them since Sadik's compound, she couldn't help but be a little surprised.
And relieved. There had been such distance between them. Even after she stood up for him at Mattie's hearing, it seemed as though the divide between them was too great. They could still work well together, but the personal side had become cold. It felt good to know he still cared.
Then she took in his manner. He wasn't angry. He was simply opening a conversation in case she needed to talk. There was something gentle about his approach, and there was no accusation in his tone. She smiled to let him know she wasn't going to knock him on his six for starting the conversation, and tried to explain it to him. "I didn't buy it, and I didn't drink it. I just haven't thrown it out yet. Really – have one if you like."
"I don't want a beer, Mac. I just want to make sure everything is okay."
"Harm, really. I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."
"I also noticed the reorganization of your 'odds-n-ends' cabinet."
"Yeah. Went looking for a legal pad and found a cabinet fill of liquor? I had to find a place for it. I've been thinking maybe it's time I had something to offer guests when they come over. Maybe its rude of me to not serve alcohol just 'cause I don't drink it."
"OK – that doesn't sound like you at all. Mac – I don't pretend to know what it's like to be you, but don't you think it's a bad idea for an alcoholic to be stocking their home full of liquor?"
"Harm, the concern I appreciate, really, but I'm not drinking. I haven't had a drink since Dalton's murder, and I'm not about to throw six years of sobriety away."
"Do you want to drink?"
"Of course. That's what makes me an alcoholic."
"Is it hard to be around it?"
"Harder than I thought, but I'm handling it."
"Why handle it at all? Just get rid of it."
Mac's tone was quickly turning from calm to annoyed. "I know my own limits, Harm. Besides, it isn't mine. It's Clay's. I can't just throw it away."
"He drinks around you?"
"I've never asked anyone not to," Mac said defensively.
"Yeah – but a little respect would be nice."
"Are you trying to say he doesn't respect me?"
"Mac, no – that isn't what I meant. I just think ..."
"I want him to feel comfortable in my home, Harm. Is that so hard to understand?"
"How about you feeling comfortable in your home?"
"I can't just pour it out every time he leaves. Besides, you have no idea what that feels like. When I have people over, and at the end of the night I pour out all the alcohol they leave behind.... I feel so weak. Like I know I can't handle it. But I can handle it. I can do this."
"You shouldn't have to."
"It's a discussion for Clay and me, not you and me. I understand that you mean well, but this conversation is finished."
"You're playing with fire, Mac. You don't need to prove anything to anyone, not your friends, not your lover. If he cared for you, he wouldn't ask you to."
Now Mac's voice moved from annoyed to angry. "I'm not drinking, Harm. I can handle a few open bottles in the cabinet, and I can handle a drunk Clayton Webb."
"He gets drunk around you?"
"Did you hear me say we're finished here?"
"No – you don't think that it's thoughtless?"
"Enough, Harm."
"Mac, he should have more respect."
Mac had nothing to say. Harm was right. Clay should have more respect. He reeked of alcohol all the time these days. It was so hard to kiss him when he was like that. It reminded her of her daddy kissing her goodnight after he'd spent an evening beating her mother and telling Mac she was worthless. He would start to sober up, and feel bad, and apologize, and come kiss her on the forehead as she slept. She pretended to be asleep, but she never was.
It wasn't the temptation to drink that was the hardest. It was all the memories. The smell took her back to a hundred cheap bars and bad choices. Men who had been unkind, moments she couldn't take back; all flooding back to her with the smell. She could stop herself from drinking. She had the power to do that, but she couldn't stop her mind from reminding her of all of her mistakes.
She found it hard to say no to Clay. There was a debt she had that she tried to repay in every small way she could. He wanted her to go to a party for his mother's charity – she went. He wanted her to have something for him to drink when he came over - she gave him a cabinet to store it in. This was the least she could do.
She sat in silence, thinking about the precarious position in which she found herself.
For his part, Harm had the wisdom to know when he'd pushed as hard as he could. One more word and she would have thrown him out. So he watched her, his heart aching that she didn't know it was okay to expect more from someone. It was as if she still didn't believe she deserved it.
Her face had a sadness to it that hadn't been there before. She looked at Harm, who was still watching her, and feigned a small smile. "The legal pads are in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet now. Ready to work?"
The conversation was over. She had ended that part of the evening. Harm had gotten the information he was interested in. She wasn't drinking, and seemed to be all right. He shouldn't have started in on Webb, and was glad he'd gotten away with it. He decided to let it go. He picked up the file, opened it up and said, "I know how we're going to win this case."
They worked for two hours, and made a lot of progress. They had a direction for the case, and had divided up the work that needed to be done. Harm had two days left on another case, so Mac would get the ball rolling. She would head down to Norfolk for two days and do the interviews they needed. She was glad to be getting out of town.
Harm headed out the door, but threw her a reminder. "Don't forget. Thursday, 1900, La Casa Rosa on F St."
"What?" Mac asked, confused.
"The day after tomorrow. Gunny is in town for a few days and we're all meeting for dinner. La Casa Rosa, 1900 hours."
"Wow – I totally forgot. Thanks. I'll be back from Norfolk in time. I promise."
"See you there."
The next morning Mac was an hour into the drive to Norfolk when her cell phone rang. Not bothering to look at the caller id, she answered it with the hands-free set.
"Hello."
"Sarah."
"Clay."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For everything?"
"Not good enough."
"Let me take you to lunch and explain the many things I did wrong last night."
"I can't. I am on my way to Norfolk as we speak."
"Dinner then."
"Won't be home until tomorrow night."
"You're making it hard to grovel."
"I don't want groveling. I want you to make a clear decision based on what you want, not on emotions or alcohol."
"I want you."
"Not good enough."
"What do you mean? You told me to decide what I want. I want you."
"Clay, I'm not having this discussion with you while I'm driving. I'll be home Thursday night, and we can talk on Friday."
"Why not Thursday night?"
"Because I have plans."
"When did you find out about this trip? You didn't mention it last night."
"It came out of some case work I did last night after I left your place."
"With Rabb?"
"Let it go, Clay – I'm on the trip alone, and I don't like what you're implying."
"I want to have this conversation now."
"Which conversation, the one about your paranoia over Harm, or the one about your drinking?"
"I am not paranoid, and I am not a drunk."
"I can't be a part of it, Clay. I can't have an apartment full of alcohol. I can't smell you drunk every night in bed."
"I can change."
"You can't change for me. You have to change for yourself."
"So I can't change for you, but I have to change to be with you. You make no sense at all sometimes. I swear to God, Sarah – if that isn't an ultimatum, then what is?"
"Consequences. There are consequences to your actions, Clay. That isn't my fault. It's just how life works."
"So that's it? I don't even get a chance to work it out?"
"Clay, it's more than the drinking, or the insecurity about my relationship with Harm. You're never around. You're life is shrouded in mystery."
"You go away, too, and there's plenty that you don't tell me."
"There is no equal footing in this relationship, Clay, and I can't do anything about that. You come and go as you like and I'm supposed to be here waiting. You say little or nothing about your life and I'm supposed to be okay with that. You do as you like, and I'm supposed to change to fit your mood. I can't ever repay you for the pain you suffered for me, Clay. There's no way to make reparations for that, but I can't live in a situation where you think I owe you all the time, or where I think I owe you. That isn't how love works."
"I don't want you to owe me, Sarah."
"Clay, Paraguay will always be what brought us together, and what pulls us apart. It changed us both, and even if we might have worked before, I think it can't ever work now."
"You don't mean that."
"I do."
"Lets talk about it when you get back."
"I'm done talking about it."
"So you're just going to throw away what we have while you're driving down I-95?"
"I told you I didn't want to have this discussion now. You forced my hand, now you have my decision."
"This isn't over."
"It is. I'm sorry, but it has to be. It's tearing me up inside too much. Love shouldn't do that."
"Sarah, I...."
Mac hung up the phone.
The interviews went as scheduled. Mac didn't answer her cell again the entire time she was gone. She even turned it off to preserve the battery, because Clay was calling all the time. She checked in with JAG by email, and was glad for the quiet of the hotel room that night. She finished up her work on Thursday afternoon, and headed back to D.C. as planned.
Mac arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes to spare. The table was ready, and Harm and the Admiral were already seated. Gunny arrived a few minutes later. Mac looked up and saw Webb walking towards the table. Leaning towards Harm, she whispered, "What is he doing here?"
"I assumed you invited him."
"We broke up yesterday."
"Then I guess Gunny got in touch with him on his own."
"Oh, great," she said, clearly not looking forward to an evening with Clay.
"Are you going to be alright?"
"Yeah. I just was expecting him."
Dinner was uneventful. They listened to stories about where Victor had been, and told some of their own. There was a lot of laughter, except from Webb. He was sullen and brooding. The breakup wasn't sitting well with him, and the bottle of wine he'd all but finished by himself had barely numbed the sting.
He watched Mac. She was sitting right next to him, but she might as well have been a thousand miles away, she was so far out of reach. She was finished with him, and he wouldn't get her back. He'd been willing to die for her, and now they were over and she was carefree and happy.
As the gathered group finished their dessert, Webb poured the last of the wine into his glass, and then some into the glass in front of Mac. He lifted his glass and made a toast to the man who had saved his life.
"A toast. To Victor."
"To Victor."
Mac lifted her water goblet to salute her fellow Marine. Clay noticed, and the alcohol already swimming around his head blurred the lines between appropriate and not, public and not. In his mind it was another of her backhanded rebukes for his drinking. "Come on, Sarah, surely Victor deserves more than a toast with tap water."
"I could toast Victor with an empty Dixie cup and he would still know that he's loved and respected."
"It must feel nice for someone to be sure you love them. I wouldn't know. The great Sarah Mackenzie is still a mystery to me."
Mac looked around the table at the looks of pity from her coworkers and friends. Determined to have the evening end well and not cause a scene, she ignored Clay's comments, and turned to her friends.
"Dinner was great. It was so good to see you, Gunny. I promised Chloe I'd give her a call tonight – some new teenage life-crisis. I don't want to let her down, so I'm going to take off. Make sure you let us know when you're heading through town again."
"I will, Ma'am."
They knew she was lying. She was trying to preserve the peace of the evening by not being baited into an argument. She made a polite story to spare Webb the embarrassment of her ripping him apart in front of other people. She didn't argue with drunks. She walked away.
"Goodnight, everyone."
Everyone said their goodnights as Mac left the table. Harm was furious with Clay for driving her away, but he was determined to let her fight her own battles. He could see the anger running across her face. She was showing more class than anyone else would have. He'd call her later to make sure she was okay.
But Clay couldn't let it go. Too angry to drop it and too drunk to know better, he went deep into the reaches of his memory. He thought of a story she'd told him once when she was explaining why she and Harm had never gotten together. She'd told him Harm didn't think of her like that. Clay had told her she was wrong, and to prove her point, she'd told him something Harm had said that made it clear there would be nothing between them. She was two steps away from the table when he called it out.
"Everyone who has ever been involved with you is either dead or wishes they were. Isn't that what Rabb said about you? Boy, was he right on the money. Look at what you leave in your wake. Battleship Mackenzie strikes again."
She froze. The table froze. Harm closed his eyes at the thought of having been so callous when he'd said it originally. All these years later he still wished he could take it back. When he looked to see if she was okay, he saw her turning slowly to face the table. Her eyes were glassy with tears she refused to let fall, and she looked squarely at Clay.
"I guess I should come with a warning label. Beware: involvement with this woman can lead to death or destructive behavior. You should have signs made, and you can post them around JAG and my apartment; maybe save the next poor soul."
The self-doubt and pain in her eyes was unmistakable, and yet she stood there, even-tempered, quietly responding to Clay's venom.
"Oh, and by the way Clay, battleships are named for states: The Iowa, The Wisconsin. Carriers and destroyers are named for people. I guess that makes me the Destroyer USS Mackenzie. Goodnight everyone."
Her acceptance hit Harm harder than anything else. She didn't defend herself. It was as if she believed it all. She should have said that Harm was an ass when he said it then, and Clay was an ass for saying it now, but she didn't. She took the hit as if she had it coming, and then turned and walked away. She didn't run; she didn't retreat. She got in the 'vette and took off on a drive that would last all night.
The table sat in stunned silence. It only took a moment for the reality of what he had just done to hit Clay. He was instantly sorry. "Oh God, Sarah," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else, and went to catch up to her. While his mind felt keenly aware of what had just happened, his reflexes were still feeling the effects of the alcohol. His exit from the table had not been graceful, and despite his anger, Harm decided to make sure he didn't try to drive.
As Clay reached the valet stand, Harm caught up with him and took the ticket out of his hand. "I think you've done enough damage tonight. Don't make it worse by driving."
"I'm fine, Rabb. I need to find her."
"You're not fine, you're drunk. And she doesn't need to be found, she needs to be left alone."
"Oh, and you're an expert on what she needs? I doubt that."
"I know her well enough to know that you won't catch up with her tonight."
"Where is she going?"
"Yeah – like in your condition I'd tell you."
"Damn it, Rabb – this isn't any of your business. Just tell me where she's going and go back inside."
"Not a chance."
Clay stepped into Harm's face. "Well, I might not know where she's going, but I know what she's thinking. She's hearing your words over and over in her head. What do you think hurt her more, hearing them repeated by a drunk brooding over a break-up, or hearing them from her so-called best friend, stone-cold sober in the middle of her office. She'll forgive me, but she'll always doubt you."
"We're past it, Webb. You can't use it drive a wedge between us."
"I don't know. She usually runs to you, but now you're here with me, and she's off on her own."
"You're the one she's getting away from."
"She'll never be happy until she gets you out of her system. Maybe this helps her remember that the two of you would never work out."
"The only thing this is going to help her remember is why she dumped you."
"She'll come back. She hates being alone. She'll think about you, and how you think she's poison to everyone around her, and she'll rethink this sudden burst of independence, and she'll be back."
"You don't think it's a little sick to play on her insecurities? To make her doubt herself to get what you want? What the hell kind of relationship is that?"
"It's the kind where I get to be with Sarah and you don't."
"Yeah – by convincing her that she doesn't deserve anything better. That isn't love."
"You're just a sore loser, Rabb."
Harm was furious. He grabbed Clay's shirt and put him against the brick wall behind them. "It isn't a game, Webb. You're too selfish to see that your brand of love is destroying her sense of self-worth. It's breaking her heart. Now that she's finally sent you packing you will not drag her back down. I won't allow it. Respect her wishes. Stay the hell away form her, or I'll make you sorry."
Clay saw a look on Harm's face he couldn't ever remember seeing before. It was unmatched determination. As Clay struggled to respond to Harm's clear threat, it was actually AJ's voice that ended the confrontation. "Everything all right out here, Commander?"
"Yes, Sir. Webb was having some trouble standing up straight, but I think the wall helped him get his balance back."
Harm handed some money to the restaurant's valet, and told them to put Clay in a cab. Then he got in his own car and called Mac's cell phone. It went immediately to voicemail. He was sure she'd taken the 'vette to Shenandoah to Skyline Drive where she wouldn't get a signal. It was her favorite road to lose herself on: loud music and curves to hug for hours. It was peaceful to her.
Harm headed home and checked on Mattie, then he camped out at Mac's for a few hours. He poured all the alcohol in her apartment into the sink, and took all the bottles with him when he left at 0200. Then he went to grab a few hours of sleep before he had to be at work in the morning.
When Harm got to JAG at 0810, Mac was already deep into her caseload for the day. She was completely squared away, but her eyes were distant. He approached the doorway to her office as he watched her work, and knocked on the doorframe to get her attention.
"Shenandoah?"
"You know me so well," she said, unable to suppress a smile. "I drove for a few hours and got home around 0400. I think you might have come by looking for me."
"I hope you don't mind."
"Nah – while I might have gotten some satisfaction out of throwing away everything that was his, it was better this way. Isn't that something? The only thing that was his in the whole apartment was the booze. That should've been my first clue there was something not right."
"I'm the last person to defend him, but you two shared something powerful. Things that intense can be confusing."
"Thanks."
"Come by my place and have dinner with Mattie and me tonight. It'll be relaxing. I promise."
"Nah, I think the Destroyer USS Mackenzie will take in a quiet evening at her home port."
"He was drunk, and trying to be hurtful. You have to know it isn't true."
"Are you so sure? Years later, and I'm still causing havoc to people who bother to care for me."
"It's never been you, Mac. Never. You've enriched my life every day that I've known you."
"Every day?"
"Okay, well maybe almost every day. No one is a prize every day. Look at me. You probably want to kill me as often as have dinner with me."
"You have your moments."
"Is this a good one or a bad one?"
"You're doing fine."
"Then come have dinner with Mattie and I. It'll be fun. You can pick a movie. Any movie."
Mac couldn't help but smile. "Is 1830 all right? I won't get out of here much before then."
"Perfect."
He turned to walk away. He'd made sure she was back from her driving escape in one piece, and she seemed to have survived the confrontation with Clay with her spirit intact, but there was something else he needed to do. He felt somehow a party to her pain since it had been his words that had been used to hurt her.
She looked at him lingering the doorway. "Was there something else?"
"Did I ever tell you I was sorry?"
"Harm, it was years ago. Forget it."
"But did I ever tell you I was sorry?"
"I'm sure you did."
"Any time I'm reminded of that moment I still cringe that I could ever have been so thoughtless. I'm sorry, Mac."
"It's in the past. Forget it."
"Why did you tell him?"
"Because he was convinced that I would only stay with him until you wanted to be with me, so I told him the story to illustrate that you would never want to be with me. Why did you say it?"
"Because I was tired of people second guessing my feelings for you, and I wanted to put an end to it, so I said something cavalier and cruel to slow down Turner's imagination. I never meant to hurt you. Never."
"Never. What an awful word."
"You thought it was perfect to describe us once."
"And any time I'm reminded of that moment I still cringe that I could ever have been so thoughtless," she said repeating his words back to him. They had both made mistakes. They had both caused the other pain.
"You'd just been through so much. I should've let it go."
She had relived those moments in her head a hundred times. "Ever wonder where we would be if we could take those two moments and erase them from our history?"
"All the time."
"Where does that leave us?"
"Dinner, tonight. You, me and Mattie. And we'll take it from there."
"I can't wait."