I don't know you anymore
AN: It had been some time since I had listened to my 'Savage Garden' dc, but when I did last weekend I suddenly realized I could make a wonderful story out of one of their songs. Normally, I don't readily do Song-fics, but let this be the second exception. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Song is called "I don't know you anymore" by the Australian band/duo Savage Garden. Needless to say I don't own either the song or the band. Don't own the characters of Jag either. They just make great fan-fiction for someone like me who can't come up with characters of her own and simply fell in love with (the character of) Harm.
Spoilers: Happens at the beginning of season seven. Mac did marry Mic.
On we go:
I would like to visit you for a while
Get away and out of this city
Maybe I shouldn't have called but someone had to be the first to break
We can go sit on your back porch
Relax
Talk about anything
It don't matter
I'll be courageous if you can pretend that you've forgiven me
He hadn't shown. At all. He knew he was supposed to be her best friend, but he hadn't appeared at her wedding. After crashing into the ocean on his way to her rehearsal dinner, he was deemed to weak to attend. Or so everybody claimed. It was easier to believe in the lie.
It wasn't true, well, maybe partially. Part of him was glad that his recovery took quite a while longer than anticipated. It had given him the time to set a few things straight in his life. First, he ended his relationship with Renée. It was based on yet another a lie. He didn't care to uphold any of his past lies or mistakes or faults longer. It was time to clean his slate.
Second on his list was his relocation. Not from his work, but from the apartment that no longer felt like his home. Too many memories were stocked inside its walls, memories of a friendship that had reached its breaking point.
It had been his third, last and most difficult decision. He would not interfere in her upcoming marriage. It was her wish to be married, he would not stand in her way. He'd been given a chance and willingly let it pass him by, all out of fear. Fear of what, he wasn't sure.
But he was sure she deserved a loving husband and whatever the hell he thought was wrong with Bugme, even he couldn't escape the reality that, indeed, he would be good for Sarah. Or at least, better than he would be. Probably.
So they'd gotten married, they'd moved out of the D.C. area, Mac had been offered a relocation she'd gladly accepted (he never knew if she'd been angry for his no-show) and after a farewell-party he again missed (conveniently being sent TAD) she'd packed and left.
He hadn't seen her since. He'd phoned her a couple of times to ask her questions about her cases that were redirected to him and he'd e-mailed her for the same reason. Her current life as well as his never made their way into their conversations. For those who didn't know them, it seemed like they were strangers, having only fleetingly passed in the other once lives, never to even leave a mark.
He only knew a little of what was going on in her life, thanks to Harriet and the tiny bits of news she was willing to give him. No doubt Mac had ordered her not to keep him in the loop about her current life and he couldn't blame her for that.
A year had passed, when the latest scuttlebutt had triggered him into doing something he hadn't even thought about doing anytime soon.
Of course he wouldn't think of telling her how the word that must hurt her tremendously, almost made his heart jump for joy as the thought of a possible inkling of a second chance nestled itself in his heart.
Divorce.
Sarah and Mic Brumby were getting a divorce. From what Harriet told him (and he was grateful she seemed to be a little more talkative than normal), their marriage had gone downhill practically from the get go. Mic missed his homeland and because he hadn't been able to convince his new wife to relocate to Australia, he had made her life hell.
He hadn't been provided with any details, but from what he could piece together from the snippets of information, Mic was very often found at the more dubious kind of bars and clubs, sometimes too drunk or too 'engaged in pleasant conversation' to go home to his wife.
Harm had called her after he heard through his only reliable source that the separation had been finalized and that Mic had moved out of their home. It had taken lots of Dutch courage (AN: as a Dutch girl I can't thank the one who invented this saying enough :-)) before he dared to pick up the phone and dial the number he had memorized, despite of never having used it before. It had been an awkward conversation at best, but after some coaxing, she had agreed to meet him. In her own house, on her own terms.
And now he was heading her way, to talk to her for the first time in a year.
88888888888888
She honestly didn't know why she had agreed to meet him and even less why she wanted to meet him here, in her house. The house where she had wished to start her new life. As Sarah Brumby.
Their wedding picture was still on the wall, an "epitome of love" as the photographer had named it. It hung in an ugly, supposedly antique posh frame Mic had bought for her. She wouldn't have given ten cents for it at a garage sale. She hadn't had the heart (or the courage) to tell him how hideous she thought it was. Now, it suited the sham that was their so-called epitome.
Maybe, she mused, it was all her own fault, like Mic had said it was over and over again. He'd blamed everything on her. It was her reluctance to emigrate that had driven him away from her, her lack of understanding that had landed him into the arms of another woman. And another, and another. It was her crush on her former partner that had never allowed her to fully commit to him.
And if only he hadn't mentioned the last reason, she would have been able to shrug off her part of the blame. But she was to blame. It was the truth after all.
She'd been mad at Harm longer than she'd been mad at Mic. But she'd been more forgiving too. She'd felt his absence on what was meant to be the most important day of her life as a betrayal, a direct insult to their closeness, a last stab of jealousy on his part.
Now she understood that, even if Harm had never picked up any of her signals, or never wanted to act on them if he did, seeing her promise an eternity to another man was just too painful to put himself through. In retrospect, it made her one nasty little bitch to make him observe the one thing he would never have with her. And so he hadn't shown and she'd known exactly why.
Never a fairytale knight in shining armor, Harm had refused to sweep her away from her own wedding. Up till this day, she tried to convince Mic (and herself) she was glad he hadn't shown up and made a scene. She would probably not be successful in that attempt till her dying day.
So she had forgiven him. Kind of. Sort of. A little. She had gotten over him, moved on, erased him out of the forefront of her memory, safely on the backburner. She had to in order to become Sarah Brumby. So that's what she did. Kind of. Sort of. A little.
Not even close.
And Mic had felt it too. He had to, he wasn't crazy. And he acted upon those simmering feelings. He hadn't become abusive, just…void. Void of any feelings for her, void of compassion, void of physical attraction.
He would disappear from the face of the planet for days on end, leaving Mac worried the first few times it happened, raging when it kept on happening and completely detached when he displayed no signs of changing. Or wanting to.
With their connection only existing on paper, Mac had filed for divorce when the rumors of his numerous affairs could no longer be ignored. The final straw was reached when a young girl, barely a teenager, appeared on her doorstep, at least six months pregnant, claiming the child was Mic's. Sadly, she had no reason whatsoever to doubt the girl's allegations. Her husband didn't deny either, almost relieved to have a reason to get away from her.
Now, her second marriage was technically over, all that remained were some papers to sign. Mic had come by to collect his personal stuff on a moment she hadn't been home. Since, technically, he was the adulterer and therefore the guilty party, he had to leave most of their shared belongings behind. Not that she cared. In her mind, she was already redecorating. And if she wasn't this exhausted, she would have started even sooner.
She really was exhausted. The worrying, the fighting, the indifference on both his and her part…it had left her emotionally drained.
Then, just as she had reached an all-time low, he had called.
Harm.
Hiding both her surprise and the warm fuzzy feeling she definitely wasn't supposed to feel, she'd managed some small-talk before his voice, so small, so quivering, so hesitant, had asked her the one question she had never suspected he would ever ask her again.
"Sarah…I'd like to visit you. Is that okay?"
She had no reason to deny him access. She had hundreds of reasons. She couldn't think of any. So she agreed, in turn trying to keep her voice from quivering as much as his had done.
"Okay…my place. Saturday afternoon. 14.00 hours."
Silence. Had she given him her new address? She couldn't remember.
"It's 459 Jupi…"
"Jupiter Lane. I know where it is."
"Okay…see you Saturday."
"Yeah…Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks…for seeing me."
He'd hung up before she could say anything else.
Because I don't know you anymore
I don't recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don't talk much anymore
We keep running from the pain
But what I wouldn't give to see your face again
Springtime in the city
Always such relief from the winter freeze
The snow was more lonely than cold
If you know what I mean
Everyone's got an agenda, don't stop
Keep that chin up, you'll be all right
Can you believe what a year it's been
Are you still the same?
Has your opinion changed?
The snow had cleared from the roads, the sun was making a hesitant comeback as if insecure it would have what it takes to make a difference. He knew the feeling.
He'd picked out a bunch of spring flowers. Not roses, those days were over, but a nice bouquet of sweetly fragrant buds in pastel colors, softly whispering of a hopeful warm summer ahead. He didn't know if she would look at her immediate future like that, didn't know if she needed the delicate blossoms. He knew he did. Plus, he didn't want to come empty-handed. If anything, it would show her he was trying. Trying to do what? He wasn't quite sure.
It had been one hell of a winter. The summer following her wedding hadn't been all that bad. The cloudless skies had given him ample excuse to take his biplane for long, relaxing flights, his vacation time had been spent in La Jolla, which at least had helped him form some kind of band with Frank, while the sun provided him with a tan that effectively hid the bags underneath his eyes and the sad etches around his mouth.
Maybe not from everybody, certainly not from his mom, but from most people. By the time September came along, he looked almost relaxed. Almost.
But the winter. It seemed like mother Nature had decided to skip the fall and head straight for icy winds and gushes of rain that pelted the streets below. He buried himself in his work, not caring about the weather as it fitted his mood perfectly. Like the summer sun gave him a chance to mask his pain, the dreary conditions now provided him with the perfect excuse to look just as dreary himself. Everybody did.
The holidays came along. Relentlessly. And he hated each and every one of them. Nobody to carve pumpkins with for Halloween, laughing at their often totally messed up creations. Thanksgiving at the Roberts' family without feeling he had anything to be grateful for. No use making non-alcoholic eggnog on Christmas-eve, all the reason to get himself pissed-drunk and sick (luckily, he'd gone to the Wall first, so his dad wouldn't have to be embarrassed) feeling hung-over and deeply ashamed on Christmas day. He was one sad (make that pathetic) excuse for a human being.
Not to mention Valentine's Day. His subconscious fought with his determination for control of memories. The first won, sadly, as images of that day formed themselves in his mind.
The bullpen was littered with flowers, cards, candy, perfume, teddy bears and all other assorted cavity invoking sweetness. He'd rather have a root-canal than hear the romantic plans of even PO Tiner, for Pete's sake!
Somehow, he suspected the Admiral felt sorry for him, for he was ordered to go TAD to the Seahawk, where his love for Tomcats and his friendship with Skates dragged him through the most overrated, sentimental day of the year. His glass of wine with his RIO almost ended up in a kiss, but both of them now blamed it on their intoxicated state and never mentioned it again. Their friendship had prevailed and he was happy with that.
And now he certainly was happy that the lonely season had come to an end. With a hopefully new future. For himself and Mac.
'Cause I don't know you anymore She watched him park his SUV on the curb in front of her house and almost audibly gasped as he got out. He was still an intimidating man, handsome in uniform, but upon closer inspection he'd certainly lost weight and his shoulders were slightly slumped. He looked older, more thoughtful… a little hesitant. More like scared shitless. Deer caught in headlights shitless.
I don't recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don't talk much anymore
We keep running from these sentences
But what I wouldn't give to see your face again
Mac literally had to force herself to move to open the door, all the while praying her own inner turmoil would not get the better of her.
With her frozen on her doorstep and him transfixed on the other side, they just…stared. Measuring the other one up, trying to get to their common ground, both fearing it was something that had eluded them for too long, making it too late to get there again. The path toward the other one had always been obstructed one way or the other, always forced them to take alternative ways, but what if they'd lost their compass, what if the alternatives had shifted beyond their grasp?
What if they were too late?
Sure, MacKenzie. Too late for what? With this man, you've always been too late. For anything.
"Hi." He spoke first.
"Hi." Not much of an answer, but the best she could do.
Silence took over once more. At long last, she was the first to step out, though still not sure how to proceed from their awkward greeting. A handshake was too little, a hug would be too much. Luckily, Harm met her halfway and placed a soft, hesitant kiss on her cheek before pushing his flowers in her hands.
"These are for you."
"They're pretty. Thanks."
How come they were still on her doorstep?
"Please…come in."
TBC...