CHAPTER 10

It is a moment clearly divided from all the moments that came before Paraguay happened and your world stopped existing in one single continuous line. What seemed dubious slowly takes shape. What was vague, now has more colour. It feels more real and you no longer feel like a lost balloon floating on nothing. There is solid ground beneath your feet.

Maybe sanity is not completely lost to you.

"First…" Harm's voice brings the focus on him and you make the effort to be there and not float away somewhere that is not real. "Do you remember showing me the fake belly. In my apartment?"

Strange that he doesn't have to explain. You already know where he is going with that question. That knowledge grounds you a little bit more. This is real. Harm is real and there. "I remember. You were angry. And I was… I think I was scared."

It doesn't occur you to be reticent, to lie or avoid the question. You think maybe the who you were before wouldn't have offered such a straightforward answer.

Harm nods at your words and shifts his weight and you realize that he didn't know. Perhaps there was no way for him to know how you were feeling in that moment. It occurs to you that you both had gotten too good at concealing things from each other. Speaking half-truths, gaging the other's reaction to every word and every dig. You are not sure when the impulse to do that changed for you, but you don't want to do that anymore.

Telling him that will have to wait, though. You are ignoring Sawyer, but she is still there and there is much you need to know and much you don't want her to find out. And Harm… You need Harm to make things clear, to clear the fog that has taken over your mind and your sanity, but has thinned out somewhat in the last few moments.

"I remember Clay and getting there and Gunny and being taken. I remember Clay screaming…" Your voice breaks at the end. Those are not just words. It was real and you can still hear him screaming. Over and over again. You think maybe that was the moment your mind left your body and fragmented into too many pieces for you to piece them back all together. Not alone.

You look at Harm, he looks at you, and you both know. This easy understanding without words, this unquestioning acceptance is not something that has come effortlessly in the last few years. You have lost sight of each other without noticing and you missed it dearly. It is another thing that makes you feel more solid, more real.

"Do you remember the shack?"

You don't say it, confirm it or deny it. You can't say it or think it. It is real, though, and despite rejecting the thought, you are suddenly back there, strapped to that table and nothing else exists but the certainty that you are going to suffer, that you are going to die a most horrible death.

Vaguely, you hear a voice. A strong, solid, male voice that doesn't make you shudder in fear. You don't know what he is saying, but the words are less important than the voice saying them. Next, you hear a beeping sound and another voice invades your ears. You are not in Paraguay, the jungle or that horrible, horrible shack. You are in the hospital, in a bed, strapped to machines that betray your every fear and every ounce of control you don't have. Harm is here.

Harm is here.

You are safe.

It is only when the thought hits you unawares that you realize how important knowing that is. Nothing has felt safe since that dreadful jungle and you think, perhaps, that has kept anything from feeling quite real. It wasn't safe.

It is safe now.

You breathe and breathe again, focusing on each intake and each exhale of air. The beeping sound stops jumping all over the place and steadies to a soothing rhythm. Harm's blue eyes become your focal point.

"I remember."

"Mac… remember how you knew where I was in the Atlantic?" Harm is speaking in riddles and you almost smile. Sawyer would have a hard time connecting the dots on this one. You nod and keep his intense gaze in sight. "I knew you needed out of there ASAP."

"So, you did come."

"I came."

That one piece of information helps you put everything else into perspective. Harm came. Harm was there and he got you out. Almost like the scene from a movie you would have booed under normal circumstances, because it couldn't possibly be real, Harm arrived just in the nick of time.

That means something, your brain is screaming at you. That means a lot of little somethings. Things like you being mean to Harm, and fawning over Clay and landing a plane without wings and saying never.

What a stupid thing to say.

You feel detached now. And it takes you some time to realize the lack of feelings and the sense of nothing being real for what it is. You are in shock, you are processing the trauma and apparently, not doing a very good job of it.

Knowing is not enough to help you snap out of it, though, and you really let it settle in your soul the inevitability of something you loathe. You need help. Not the kind of help you needed in Paraguay and that in itself is already a very large and round pill to swallow. The type of help you need requires a shrink and notifying the Admiral and admitting defeat. You are not stronger than this. Not alone.

But you are strong enough to fight it, to come back. Sadik does not get to ruin your life. Your determination is stronger than the fear and the moments of disconnection and the panic attacks. This is just another enemy to fight.

And Marines don't surrender.

"I'm sorry I was mean to you." Harm laughs and takes your hand and shakes his head.

"Well, we've both been guilty of that, one time or another."

It's true. You are quite good at it. Hurting each other. It is a bad habit and you really should stop doing it. One more thing to add to the list of bad habitts to break.

"And the never… I didn't mean it."

Harm sighs and you can see it in his eyes how much those words weighed heavily on him and the regret bursting on your chest grown tenfold. You try to remember exactly why you felt the need to hurt him so poignantly and so directly. Why you only recall feeling like a soldier with a gun in her hand, shooting blindly in his general direction, fearing for her life and taking it out on her one and only savior.

"Let's talk about that later." Harm squirms on his feet and you want to push the issue and make him talk because the not knowing is enough to rob you of breath. But you don't. You don't push, you don't talk and you only mildly panic. Perhaps you don't want to have this conversation with Sawyer in the room, either.

"Okay."

"Do you know what happened at JAG?" You can tell that he is steering the conversation to other topics, moving it along, and you want to be grateful and mad at the same time. Until you realize what he is saying and the light stroke of panic from before explodes into full blown anxiety. You don't want to talk about losing your shit in front of every single colleague you work with or your CO. You don't want that final, terrible nail on the coffin of your career. To speak it out loud. To say it in front of Sawyer. There would be no going back.

"Harm…" The stupid machine is blaring and announcing for all to hear that your heart is most certainly racing. You want to rip the pads from your chest and play it off as faulty machinery. You know it won't stick.

"What was it, Mac. What snapped you out of it?" He is not being forceful, but you narrow your eyes at his insistence. You don't want to talk about it. Not here, not now and certainly not in front of the shrink, who really doesn't need more ammunition against you, your sanity and your career. "C'mon, Mac. You need to get it out. Whatever happened, it affected you deeply and the only way you are getting the help you need to get back to your feet and back to work, is by saying it out loud."

Your anger and your hurt and your panic are all there, like sharp knives that won't let you breathe. You want to be alone and the need to run is growing within. There is something else, though, stronger and bigger and more all-consuming than all other emotions and it makes it you pause.

This is not normal.

You sigh, not wanting to put it into words and make it real. But you know what it is. You know that the trauma was too great for you to brush it off.

"I… Harm, please. Can we not do this…"

"Sarah, pret-" His words are stopped by Sawyer getting up from her perch and coming to stand on the other side of your bed. You don't want to look her way, but Harm is giving you that pointed look you hate and you know exactly what it means. You hate that he knows you too well.

Maybe hate is too strong a word.

"Colonel, you have experienced a most traumatic event and your natural coping mechanisms weren't enough to deal with it. There is nothing wrong with that. But Harm here is right. We have to deal with this now, not later." Her voice is not cold or unfeeling and her words aren't meaningless. But you don't want to hear it. You don't want her here, crowding you, when you are just beginning to feel safe and not crazy.

Much, anyway.

She is right, though. Like Harm is right. You definitely hate that.

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