Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Hmm, mixed comments on that last part. Just hold on for a little while longer; after all, you did hold on for nine years of frustration on the show ... Don't quit now.
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Squatter – Part 7
Gone
Mac's Apartment
Wednesday
0625 Local
Mac woke up from her fitful sleep. 87 minutes straight. And a deep sleep, at that. That was a record. It must be due to sheer exhaustion. She sighed. 87 minutes of uninterrupted sleep and yet she still felt like she had been awake all night. Last night had been—
Last night.
Last night's events rushed back to her. Harm standing in front of her, arms crossed. You promised I'd never lose you. His hand clutching her arm. The way he said her name. Let me be your rock. His hands on her shoulders, around her waist, pressed into her back.The heat of the stove through her clothes. His lips on hers. His kiss. You're afraid you'll get hurt. His eyes holding that indecipherable message. I'm so damn proud of you. The look of hurt and guilt on his face before she turned around. Mac shut her eyes to block out the images. She would not cry. She would not cry.
Oh, god. That deep sense of unease rushed back full force. Mac put a hand over her heart and pressed down. The ache was still there.
Harm had probably left. Booked himself into a hotel somewhere. He would also probably avoid her at work. Maybe in a few weeks time, when he was talking to her again, she would see if she could salvage their friendship. If not … If not? Then what? They were both professional enough to keep working in the same office. Paraguay had proven that.
If not then he would be another person in a long list of people who had left her, whom she'd driven away. The irony of it was that she'd done all this just so that he wouldn't go away, wouldn't find fault in her enough to leave. She wouldn't be able to hurt him if he wasn't too deeply invested in her. Why did he have to kiss her? Why didn't he just listen to her and settle for having her as a friend? Then none of last night would have happened and she wouldn't have to, once again, learn how to lose.
Who was she kidding. She'd known since he came back to JAG that this is how it would end. He'd moved on without realizing it, and she was too far gone to catch up.
Mac pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She was not crying. She felt as though she was somehow bound to Harmon Rabb now, after that kiss by her stove. She would never get over this ... Mac looked at her bedroom door. She'd walk into her living room only to find him gone. And to find that he'd taken whatever was left of her with him. She would get over this. She'd have to. It would take awhile, but maybe in about 50 years or so, the thought of him and the last year and last night – oh, god last night, she squeezed her eyes shut – wouldn't bring tears to her eyes and steep her heart in regret. Some mistakes couldn't be fixed. Some were just fodder for the life lessons that supposedly made people stronger, when all they really did was make people learn to live with less.
Mac stepped out of bed and walked to her bedroom door. She put one hand on the handle. Deep breath. Open the door. Just rip the band-aid off. She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Not a sound could be heard. She looked towards the couch; it was all done up. Rearranged properly, the pillow and blanket neatly folded and piled in a corner of the couch. She could not smell coffee or toast or breakfast. She couldn't see Harm's coat on the hook by the front door. His uniform shoes were gone. Mac closed her eyes. She was not crying.
She wanted this. For him. For them both.
She slowly made her way to the couch and fingered the neatly folded blanket. She looked one more time towards the door. His dress shoes were definitely not there ... Wait. She did a double-take. His running shoes were on the doormat, right next to hers. Mac frowned. He'd forgotten them? He must have left in a rush of anger and frustration, to have forgotten his running shoes.
Mac headed to the kitchen. She needed a cup of coffee. She'd set the percolator to start and then go for a quick shower – work, after all, waited for no man or woman. She opened the cupboard to take out the coffee and saw Harm's box of oatmeal. He should have taken it with him. She'd never touch the stuff. She'd hand it back to him with his running shoes at work today. Drop it in his office when he wasn't in, since she doubted he'd want to see her. And she didn't know if she could bear to see him just yet, not when she could still taste him on her tongue and feel his hands on her skin.
She set the coffeemaker and headed back towards her room. A black duffel bag lying behind her couch caught her eye. That was Harm's travel bag, the one he'd kept his civvies in while he'd been staying at her place. What the hell. Mac frowned. It was unlike him to forget that. Unless ... But, if he was still staying here, where was he? Mac quickened her pace and went into her washroom. All his toiletries were still there. Toothbrush. Shampoo. A couple of his razor blades. But...
Mac retraced her steps to the living room. She scanned the room for any more signs of his presence. Had he just left for work? So early? Her eyes stopped on the coffee table. There. A piece of paper. A note? She walked towards the table and sat down on the couch. She fingered the paper. It was a plain white sheet, folded in half. Her name was written on top in Harm's cursive. Mac.
She picked it up tentatively and rubbed it between her thumb and index finger. For the first time in a very long time, she wished she had a stiff drink. Just to give her that false sense of courage that once upon a time had her doing much stupider things than opening a note she wasn't sure her heart could bear to read. She took a deep breath. She'd have to find some genuine courage from somewhere within herself instead. She thought of Uncle Matt and unfolded the note.
Mac:
The General called early this morning. I have to go out of town for a couple of days to investigate charges of misconduct on the Henry, currently docked at Norfolk. I will be back Friday, Mac, and you and I are going to sit down and talk. I listened to what you had to say on Sunday, and kept my silence. I don't know if that was the right thing to do, but it was what you wanted. It's your turn: You're going to listen to what I have to say this Friday, Sarah.
I can see that you're struggling with something, and I'm going to help you see it through. Whatever you want or don't want from me, whatever you feel or don't feel for me, I am not going to leave you to struggle alone. We can be resilient when we need to, Mac, but it always comes at a price: whenever we fight something alone, we lose a part of ourselves to that fight. I only learned that lesson when you came into my life, when you tracked me down on my fool's quest to avenge Diane's death, when you followed me to Russia on my half-cocked mission to find my father. You kept that part of me safe, you kept me from losing myself.
You will not lose yourself to your fight. You have my word, Sarah.
Harm.
Mac stared at the note. She read it again. A third time. A fourth. She could not understand what he was telling her. It didn't make sense with all she'd been telling herself ever since she'd heard Clay welcome Harm into the CIA, ever since she'd left 17 unanswered messages on his machine. She clutched the note between her hands and stared at it until her vision blurred. Then she buried her face in the blanket and pillow Harm had neatly piled in the corner of the couch. They still smelled of him. She was not crying.
--
Mac's Apartment
Wednesday
2213 Local
Mac pulled her feet up on the couch and hugged her knees. She pointedly ignored the pile of case files, stacked on her coffee table, that she'd brought home from work. She looked around her living room. She could make out the outlines of her coffee table in the moonlight that filtered through her windows. She could make out the candlesticks and photo frames on her mantle, above the fireplace. There were photos of her godchildren in various poses, and photos of her and Chloe at one of their 'slumber parties' from a few years ago.
She hadn't spoken to Chloe in a while. Her little sister was in her freshman year of college, and busy figuring out her social life. Mac thought she'd call her over Christmas to wish her happy holidays. She'd have to make the call, not that she thought Chloe would miss it if she didn't, given how busy Chloe had been lately. Or maybe she would. She hadn't seen Chloe in person in so long, and with her new university life, her little sister was hard to get a hold of over the phone, and inconsistent in replying to emails ... She felt like she didn't have a solid idea of who the kid she'd brought to JAG, who'd attended her aborted wedding, was anymore. It was another relationship that had faltered, slipped from her grasp. Weakened.
Enough, Mac told herself. Enough. She wasn't sitting here thinking about those kinds of things. Enough.
Mac closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her knees. She was exhausted. She just wanted to sleep. And yet she knew she couldn't. Not when her stupid brain kept dissecting stupid things like old photos on her mantle. She wouldn't be able to get any sleep. Not the kind of sleep that left one rested and rejuvenated. Hell, she'd even forgotten what that felt like. What would it take to feel that again? To remember what a quiet sleep felt like?
Maybe if she sought out a prescription for sleeping pills, went to see a doctor? That might –No. What the hell was she thinking? Add another addiction to her list? She was an alcoholic, for god's sake. Did she really even want to touch that can of worms with a ten foot pole? No. She did not. It was better to stay away from all that. Better not to start down that road.
Mac looked at her closed bedroom door. Maybe if she just lay down in bed. Rested her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. Maybe sleep would come. Mac thought of her yellow-cream bed sheets, and her one deep burnt-orange wall. She thought of Harm sitting in the middle of her room, assembling her light fixture. She thought of the look in his eyes, when he was straddling her in the centre of her bed during their pillow fight. She remembered how the sunlight had caught in his hair and danced across his face. She remembered the longing and wonder in his gaze, the way his fingers felt as they trailed along her cheek; rough, calloused, gentle, tender...
She squeezed her eyes shut, and buried her head in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. It wouldn't do to think of him. It wouldn't do to think of that. It wouldn't do.
The note he had left for her was lying on the coffee table. She'd left it there this morning, before heading to work. Just to see if it would still be there when she came back, or if instead she'd imagined the whole thing out of some exhaustion-induced delirium. But no, it was still there. And it still contained the exact same words and message and sentiment as it had that morning.
She didn't know how to feel about it. Whatever you want or don't want from me, whatever you feel or don't feel for me. This was not the same man who'd left her after Never. She didn't know what to make of it. She supposed she would have a better idea of what to make of it all on Friday, when he came back and he sat her down to listen to whatever he had to say.
Mac opened her eyes, and looked around her room. She should switch on the lights. She should get some dinner, something to eat. She still had the Chinese take-out in the fridge. She wasn't really hungry, though. Maybe if she looked hard enough, she could find some leftover beef stroganoff. Or Faisinjan. She wondered how her chilli from last night turned out. She had forgotten about it.
She stood up and went to turn on the lights. Her hand hung in midair, above the light switch for a moment before she let it drop. In the darkness, she turned and made her way to the kitchen. A cup of tea would do just fine.
--
JAG HQ
Thursday
1635 Local
"Excuse me, Ma'am." Bud poked his head into Mac's office, flagging her attention.
She looked up from her work, and offered a smile.
"Hi, Bud."
Bud grinned in return.
"Harriet was wondering if you're able to come over for brunch on Sunday. It's been a while since we've gotten together outside the office. AJ's been asking non-stop about you. He loved the dinosaur model you gave him; carried it around with him everywhere for three weeks." Bud rambled.
Mac's smile turned genuine at learning of how much AJ enjoyed the gift, even as she tried to suppress her guilt. She'd shirked her duties as a godmother too, apparently. She hadn't been over to see AJ since the mess of Clay's 'death' and the discovery of her endometriosis.
"Of course, Bud. I'd love to." She could hardly refuse. Maybe it'd do her some good to see AJ and Jimmy. It usually did.
"Great! He'll be so excited." Bud himself seemed excited, and Mac wished she had his optimistic outlook on life. She wondered how he had the courage to overcome his bleak childhood and build his happiness with Harriet and the kids.
"Do you know if the Commander will be coming in today?"
"Uh, no." Mac tried to hide her anxiety at the mention of Harm.
"That's alright." Bud answered easily, oblivious to her discomfort. "I'll just give him a call and invite him over, too." Bud grinned at Mac, who tried to return his smile despite her unease. The thought of Harm was enough to make her nervous. She remembered his note, it was still lying on her coffee table and she still didn't know what to make of it. Or how she felt about it.
With a final nod, Bud headed back to his office. Mac sighed. Sunday brunch with the Roberts and Harm. Just like old times. She wondered if she would still fit into that setting now, after all that happened. She didn't think so. Well, she'd found out in a couple of days.
Mac began packing away her files and organizing her desk. She was securing early because she had a doctor's appointment. Tonight, she'd find out the extent of the damage caused by the endometriosis. Mac focused on packing away her files and clearing her desk and not thinking about the kids she may never have.
--
Mac's Apartment
Thursday
2008 Local
Mac opened her front door, dropped her briefcase to the floor, and stood still at the entrance to her apartment. She looked to her bedroom for a brief moment before heading to the couch and taking a seat.
She leaned back into the cushions. She needed to change out of uniform. Get some dinner ready. Go over some case files to finish the paperwork ... But she'd just sit here for a bit, first. She wanted to rest a while, listen to the silence in her dark, empty apartment. She wasn't that hungry, either. And she had until the morning to work on her paperwork.
Mac pulled her feet up on the couch and hugged her knees. She looked around her living room. This time, she wasn't looking at anything, wasn't seeing anything. All her attention was on the words she kept hearing. The words the doctor had told her just two hours ago at her appointment. Less than four percent chance of conceiving. Piss poor odds, she thought. Dismally weak, piss poor odds. She remembered Harm's note. In fact, his words had come to mind the moment the doctor had said four percent.
In 37 hours 43 minutes, his words had become a mantra for her. You will not lose yourself to your fight.
You have my word.
She couldn't explain the reasons why, but she believed him. He had never lied to her, never gone back on his word.
Maybe she wasn't alone. Well, even if she was, the thought of not being alone gave her immeasurable comfort. After tonight's news –four percent – she needed something to hold on to. But could she accept that from him? Could she hold him to his word? Four percent. Harm deserved better than someone whose best was four percent. Four dismal, piss poor percent. She didn't know if she was angry or sad. She didn't know what she felt, and she sure as hell didn't want to think about it, so she just leaned back into the cushions on her couch and stared at the darkness.
She would not be getting much sleep tonight. Yet again. She should've just stopped by McCool's office, it was right down the hall, after all. A few steps away. But Harm's words had been running in a loop in her head, you will not lose yourself to your fight, so she hadn't stopped to seek out sleeping pills. She'd driven straight home and checked whether the note was real and lying on her coffee table, it wasn't a figment of her imagination.
He did seem intent on being there for her. Could that be the reason why he hadn't left for a hotel on Monday or Wednesday morning? She'd been difficult to be around, and yet ... He was still here. The realization wrapped its claws around her heart, tightened its grip until her heart struggled for each beat. She took one deep breath and another. She rubbed her hand over her chest in an attempt to ease the dull ache. He was still here ... It didn't compute. She couldn't make sense of it. She wanted to stop thinking about it, yet she couldn't.
She didn't know how to feel about his ... support. How to react. What to think. Mac rested her forehead on her knees. She wished she could wrench herself out of this limbo. She wished she could pull herself out of the fog of uncertainty and doubt that had settled around her. She wished she could stop going from anger to sadness to guilt in one movement, over and over again. She wished she could sleep. She wished Harm was here, so she could see him instead of the yellow-cream sheets and one deep burnt-orange wall that lay behind her closed bedroom door.
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