A/N 1: Ah, Chapter 8. Ooooooh, I've made it to 8 chapters. Please indulge me, I'm impressed with myself, not so much about the story (although I am thoroughly enjoying the writing of it), but that I have made it this far and still want to keep going. I start a lot of stories, either on "paper" or in my head, but due to many things, rarely get this far. I am now all about finishing this thing, wherever it leads. And for all who worry, just know that I am the ultimate shipper. I watched the show for nine years (missed the first season, have watched it on DVDs from Netflix, have the whole set now but don't care to even revisit it) and from the ages of 20 to 29 I reveled in any little moments that screamed "I love you Mac! I love you Harm!" When I rewatched the Mac seasons recently, though I am now 41, I still reveled in it. I also have to say-remember that episode where Mac, Mic, Harm, and Renee were all out on a "date" together? The look Harm gave Mac and Brumby while they were canoodling was so...so...well, you get the idea.
A/N 2: It seems in this story Mac is fairly troubled and quite hard on herself. She always was hard on herself, for one...and like many, I never bought the fact that she just went back to her duties and was all happy, happy until she finally lost it after she killed Sadik. I really think she would have lost it before then and not exactly in the same way. At the very least, there would have been more visible cracks...I would think the utter terror of it all and listening to your partner scream while being given the ol' shock treatment, then torching your whole relationship with your best friend and One True Love would sorta mess you up a little. Nay, a lot. And Quickly. So... Ok, now I'm just rambling so on with the show...
Delicate
Chapter 8: So it Goes
1604 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA
Mac leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and massaged her temples. Her week had not improved, but it had more to do with her inner turmoil than any particular work event.
Her guilt over Clay and Harm had not lessened in the intervening days. She barely slept on Monday night. There were no nightmares that she knew of—she probably didn't sleep enough to even have any—but she lay in bed, tossing and turning, replaying Clay's words in her mind. Harm was probably right…any man involved with her was either dead or felt like they were. She wondered if it was too late to run off and join a convent.
Around 0300 Mac finally rolled over to where Harm had lain hours before. Mac buried her face in the pillow he had used, inhaling deeply. She pulled the sheet up that had covered him and was now completely wrapped up in his still lingering scent. The familiar spicy, manly essence that was just Harm calmed her and she finally fell asleep.
Unfortunately, her inner clock failed to wake her at the usual time. As a consequence, Mac rushed into the bullpen ten minutes late, forgoing a shower, wearing minimal makeup, and in general looking harried and out of sorts. Bud, Harriet, and Sturgis all asked her at various times throughout the day if she was alright; even the admiral looked at her with concern.
She and the admiral had met in the break room, he entering while she waited for another pot of coffee to finish brewing.
"Colonel." He nodded at her.
"Sir."
They stood in awkward silence for awhile, she cursing the slowness of the coffee maker.
"So, Colonel…uh, how was your weekend?
Oh lord, now he was trying to make small talk.
"Okay, sir."
"And the Donovan case…how's that going?"
"Fine, sir. He's pleading guilty. Worked it all out with Commander Turner."
"That's good," he said absently.
Mercifully, the coffee was finally done. Mac motioned for the admiral to get the first cup, but he declined, saying only, "Ladies first." She nodded her thanks, poured her cup with a shaky hand, causing a few drops to land on the counter instead of in her mug. Her gaze flicked up to the admiral, who, much to her chagrin, was looking at her with a somewhat speculative expression. She dropped her eyes down again, cleaned up the spilled coffee with a napkin, and turned to leave. Mac had just made it to the door when the admiral's voice stopped her.
"Colonel?"
She sighed and turned back to him. "Yes, sir?"
"Are you—is everything…" He looked uncomfortable.
"Sir?"
He stared at her a few beats, eyes narrowed, the vertical lines between them on his forehead deepening. "Never mind. Carry on."
Mac needed no further encouragement. Tossing a 'yes, sir, thank you, sir' over her shoulder, she hurried out of the break room, ignoring any colleagues that she passed along the way back to her office. She shut both the door and blinds behind her and fell into her chair, setting her coffee down hard on the desk. She looked in utter disgust at her shaking hands, cursing her weakness.
For all her efforts to be indifferent to the attitudes of her colleagues, the loss of Harm, and the emotional aftermath of Paraguay, she could never quite manage to suppress this frustrating and damned idiotic reaction to the admiral. It was just one more gift from that Ill-fated trip to South America.
She had no issues when dealing with the admiral in a strictly professional capacity; she actually met with him often in her position as chief of staff. Her military training and marine bearing served her well and during those interactions she never left his office in a quaking ball of nerves. More casual contact was an entirely different matter, however.
Any attempt at small talk, brief encounters in the hall, even passing inquiries about how her day was going would allow all those carefully buried emotions to roil to the surface. She'd vacillate between panic and rage, rage the likes she hadn't felt since she dried out on Red Rock Mesa almost two decades ago. She tried to analyze this exaggerated response—much of the anger, she knew, stemmed from the admiral refusing to let Harm back in, the rest…well, the shit show that started with Singer's murder and ended at a taxi stand in Ciudad del Este did not do anything or anyone any good. There was the admiral's order to have no contact with Harm while he was in the brig, followed a few weeks later by him expediting Harm's resignation.
Well, maybe we need to back up here a little bit…why, in fact, did Harm resign, Sarah? Damn that inner voice...so chatty lately...
But, ah yes...that. Harm resigned to save her, while the admiral was satisfied to leave her down there to die. Tortured, terrified, alone…dead. How could he—why didn't he want to—
Well, that was certainly where the remainder of her rage came from. As for the panic…that came from the knowledge that once again she didn't matter, not to the admiral, not to JAG, and, as she soon found out, not to her 'friends.' Just like she didn't matter to the mother who abandoned her and the father who preferred booze to his daughter. Her presence at JAG was not of any import, digging herself out of the abyss of alcoholism and lifting herself up to finally being a highly ranked, successful marine attorney was not impressive. The reality was that she was still just a drunk, just Joe McKenzie's stupid, tramp daughter.
She didn't matter.
She remembered standing beside Harm in front of the admiral, hearing the vitriol thrown at the now former naval commander. She'd uttered a few pat words in Harm's defense, then found herself snappily asking to return to her duties. Permission thus granted, she turned on her heel, walked smartly to the door, passed Coates at her desk without acknowledging her, then found herself heading straight out of the bullpen. She walked to the stairwell as fast as she could without actually running, down the steps to the next floor, and exited the stairs to find the single, private bathroom that existed off one of the courtrooms. Relieved it was not in use, she quickly entered, closing the door and locking it behind her. She sat down on the stool, trembling, fighting the urge to vomit, hyperventilating in the effort to hold back the nausea and tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She emerged thirty minutes later, poised, in control, and ready to resume her duties. And, of course, missing a giant piece of herself in the form of one very tall, heroic, naval commander. The same commander that was rewarded by her 'never' in thanks for him giving up all to rescue her.
Unfortunately, she couldn't blame that part on the admiral...
And now it was finally Friday. That should have been a relief to her, but tomorrow's looming date with Clay had her stomach churning. Between that and the obscene amount of coffee she was downing to stay alert and focused, she figured she should buy stock in TUMS.
After Monday night she did manage more sleep, having only one of those awful nightmares where she woke up screaming in a cold sweat. She knew she dreamt the other nights too, she just couldn't remember the specifics. She only awakened unsettled, still tired, with vague images and words fading away before she could capture them. During the day, however, her arguments with herself about Clay and Harm distracted her, along with the intrusive visions of her second night (evening?) together with Harm. The intensity of their union in her bathroom, the feel of his body covering hers, the feel of her body over his (who said they both wanted to be on top? Clearly it was at least physically possible to take turns), floated into her mind at the most inopportune moments. It was very disruptive, and certainly no 'extra' work was getting done.
It wasn't just the sex itself that kept her mind occupied; the soft kiss to her hair, the gentleness of his embrace as he tended to her injured finger filled her daydreams even more. She would be working on a case or report and suddenly find herself staring off into space replaying the kiss over and over. At one point, P.O. Coates had to say her name several times before Mac finally came back to earth. She felt the warmth spread across her cheeks as Jennifer informed her with barely concealed irritation that the admiral needed to meet with the senior staff in five.
If there was anyone who hadn't thawed since Harm's departure, it was Jen. Harm had saved her career and he was definitely the brother Jen never had. Mac suspected she had a little crush on him as well. Her tone was never blatantly disrespectful, but there was a distinct edge. Mac let it go, figuring Jen had a right to be upset with her. She still did what Mac asked of her, quickly and efficiently.
Ugh, what she wouldn't give to be on a on a tropical island paradise by herself, soaking up the sun and leaving all this crap behind her.
Mac gave up fighting her headache and reached into a drawer for some ibuprofen. That likely wasn't helping her stomach either—she had definitely upped her intake of that as well. She nibbled on a protein bar that she had opened up yesterday; she had not been able to finish it. Her appetite, never that great these days anyway, was another casualty of all the stress.
She rubbed her hand over her face and selected another case file to review. This one would be going to court next Tuesday, and she wanted to make sure everything was in order. She decided she'd do this last task and bring the others on her desk home for the weekend. The cases were starting to stack up again, and Commander Imes wouldn't be back from Spain to help fill the gap left by Harm's absence until next week.
She briefly entertained the thought of calling Clay and begging off for tomorrow, but quickly dismissed it. She owed something to Clay, although what she was going to say to him was still a mystery to her. She couldn't technically say there was someone else; she and Harm were most certainly not in a relationship. The old "it's not you, it's me" excuse was beneath her. She guessed she would have to just tell him the truth…that she realized she didn't feel that kind of love for him. Maybe it wasn't the whole truth, but she certainly was not going to tell him about her clandestine rendezvous with Harm. Not for the first time did she berate herself for the situation she had now drawn them all into.
The phone rang just as she was packing up her briefcase. Cursing silently to herself, praying it wasn't some last-minute emergency, she picked up the phone with a terse, "MacKenzie."
"Hello, Sarah." It was Clay, sounding rather subdued.
"Clay…what's wrong?" Her mind briefly went to the worst-case scenario—that he knew about her and Harm.
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. This whole thing down here has escalated and I have to head out to—well, never mind, but I'm not going to be back for a while. We'll have to reschedule our dinner."
A reprieve! Thank god... of course, that is only delaying the inevitable... "Oh Clay, that's okay. You know I understand."
"I know, honey, but I really wanted to see you."
"Yeah, me too, Clay. Please, don't worry about it. We'll get together when you get back."
"I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, Sarah. It may be weeks." Clay sounded so sad and her heart clenched a bit. She could hear it in his voice—he really did love her.
"It'll be okay Clay." No, it most certainly wouldn't.
"Well, Sarah, I have to go. Don't run off with anyone while I'm gone, okay?" What? What did he know?
She forced herself to calm down. Clay wouldn't know anything about her and Harm. How could he? Well…he is a spook…
"Sarah?"
"Huh?"
"Are you still with me?"
Oh, lord, Clay, don't ask it like that. "Yeah, Clay I'm here. Listen, everything will work out. Please, don't worry about anything. Do what you have to do. I'll still be here."
"Okay, Sarah. Goodbye, then. I love you."
To her relief he hung up before she could say anything else. She finished packing up her briefcase, grabbed her cover, and rushed out before anything else could delay her. A hot bath and a steaming mug of hot cocoa were awaiting her.
Nothing or NO ONE had better interrupt that.
She could kill someone with her bare hands in a hundred and thirty ways. And right now, she was perfectly willing to demonstrate it.
No matter who showed up.
End Chapter 8
