A/N: So, here is 17. There will be just one or two more chapters (I had originally intended for this chapter to have more in it, but it became clear that it would have been too much). I have had fun writing it, even if most of the chapters were depressing! I hope you all have enjoyed this and thank you again for all the wonderful reviews.
An Unlikely Angel
Chapter 17: Merry Christmas
Mac rolled over in bed and stretched like a cat. For a moment she was disoriented; it had been so long since she'd had a restful slumber and even longer since she hadn't awoken with soul-crushing despair. She frowned as she sat up, wondering what was different, wondering at the images that began to dance across her mind.
Loren…
An angel…
A glimpse of a world without her in it…
A bottle of vodka and a mix of pills…
The images were clear, but perhaps it had all been a dream, and the bottles of vodka and pills were still sitting in her freezer and cupboard. A darker part wondered if she'd actually drunk the lethal cocktail and was hallucinating. Yes, it was utterly ridiculous, the urge to pinch herself to prove she was here and awake, but pinch herself she did, experiencing a flood of relief when it actually hurt.
But, didn't you want to die? her inner voice taunted her.
She had been ready…so ready…the pills had been set out, the vodka poured…she could see it all in her mind's eye…so what stopped you?
Now rather befuddled, Mac jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to her kitchen. She opened the cupboard across from the refrigerator and saw that all that sat in there was a nearly full bottle of ibuprofen that she'd purchased well over a year ago. She moved to the freezer, finding only two half-empty ice trays and a frozen dinner. Just to be sure, she pulled open the refrigerator, which held only a brick of moldy cheese, three bottles of diet cola, and a carton of eggs that were at least fairly fresh.
Musing that she'd better go shopping tomorrow, she leaned back against her counter, still perplexed about her change of heart. She remembered looking in the refrigerator a few days ago, taking stock of the nearly empty shelves, thinking despondently that at least they wouldn't have a fridge full of rotten food to clean out after they found her. And now here she was, planning a shopping trip.
It was so confusing…
Because for some reason, the image of Loren Singer kept interrupting her thoughts. She didn't really want to dwell on the absurdity of that, so she shook herself and decided to check the freezer one more time for that elusive bottle of vodka. Without thinking much about it, she reached forward and grasped the handle, gripping it harder when the door stuck…
And found herself yelping in pain. She looked down at her bandaged hand, feeling it throb, seeing a spot of blood show through the gauze wrapped around it.
It all hit her then, her mind filling with brilliant, clear images of the night before…
She saw herself raising the glass of vodka to her lips. She'd been about to taste the icy cold drink, when a familiar voice startled her…
Loren Singer…dead for months…in her kitchen…the glass slipping from her grip, shattering when it hit the floor, feeling the world tilt as her vision darkened…finally waking on her couch, her hand bandaged, with Loren sitting across from her claiming to be an angel…
She remembered Bud, separated from the navy, his brother a delinquent…
Her uncle's grave where he was laid to rest after being executed for treason.
Last of all, she remembered Harm…aged and bitter, his life over, his personal demons having destroyed him…
But because Sarah MacKenzie hadn't died in a drunken haze of broken glass and metal at the age of eighteen, none of that had happened.
In a minute, Mac was laughing and crying all at once. She was here, alive, all because of the unlikeliest of angels. "Thank you, Loren," she whispered. She could have sworn she'd heard a quiet 'You're welcome, Sarah'.
Mac gave herself only a few moments before she pulled herself back together. She suddenly had so much to do! She needed to call Harriet and see if her invitation for Christmas dinner still stood. There was a pie to bake, presents to gather…the list grew.
But there was one thing Mac wanted to do before anything else…she needed to hear Harm's voice, hear that he was okay. So, before she lost her nerve, she picked up her phone and dialed the familiar but lately unused number. It rang a few times, and tears sprang into her eyes when he finally picked up with an efficient, "Rabb."
"H-Harm?"
"Mac?"
"Yeah…hey..." She rolled her eyes at her less than brilliant conversation skills, embarrassed when she couldn't hide her sniffle.
"Mac, are you okay?" It warmed her heart to hear the concern in his voice.
"Y-yeah," she answered with a watery chuckle. "I'm okay. I just wanted to see how your night with Mattie went."
"Oh." Harm sounded surprised. "It was fine. Great, actually." She heard the smile in his voice.
"I'm glad. I'm—I'm so happy for you, Harm." And she was. Ecstatic, really. For many reasons.
"Well, I have you to thank for it, Mac." His tone was warm, and his voice was like velvet.
"You are most welcome." She swallowed the happy lump in her throat, taking a deep breath before she spoke again. "Well, I'll let you get back to Mattie. I just wanted to check in."
"Uh, thank you, Mac." There was a moment of silence. "Mac?"
"Yes?"
He didn't answer right away, and she wondered what was going through his mind. "Harm?"
"Um, uh, nothing. Merry Christmas, Sarah."
The sound of her given name on his lips nearly caused her tears spill over again, but she choked them back. "M-Merry Christmas, Harm." And then she hung up.
See you soon, she whispered into the air.
Mac was just about to put her pie in the oven when a knock sounded at her door. She was surprised; she certainly wasn't expecting anyone. She had the fleeting thought that it might be Clay, but she rather hoped not; despite what everyone thought, she had never been involved with him in the romantic sense though he would have welcomed that.
She walked briskly to her door and checked the peephole, absolutely stunned by who was waiting there on the other side.
"Harm!" she grinned as she pulled open the door. "Come in! Where's Mattie?" she asked, surprised when she didn't see the teenager behind him.
"Hey, Mac. Can I come in?" Harm looked awkward and uncomfortable, and it struck her then that save for his ill-fated visit to ask for her help with Mattie, he hadn't been to her apartment since before he'd spent his month in the brig, accused of Singer's murder.
"Of course, Harm," she replied, concern growing when he still remained outside her door despite now telling him twice to enter. Finally, she took him by the arm and pulled him bodily inside. "What's up?"
He didn't answer, didn't move; he only stood there, studying her with an intenseness that made her blush. His hand eventually came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin underneath her eye and she couldn't help leaning into him. How long had it been since he'd touched her, was gentle with her? How long since she'd been gentle with him?
"Mattie?" she prodded, hyperaware of his continued touch.
His thumb passed under her eye again as he answered her almost absently. "Fine. She's fine. I dropped her off early at Bud and Harriet's."
Mac nodded against him, wondering at this impromptu visit of his. She longed to throw her arms around him and tell him how glad she was that he was in her life, but something in his posture held her back.
"Harm?" she questioned, and he abruptly dropped his hand as he looked down at his feet. She saw him swallow a couple of times, and then he looked back up at her, his eyes red-rimmed.
"Mac…I, uh, haven't been…treating you…very well, have I…"
Mac blinked at Harm for a long moment. Slowly, she shook her head back and forth, stunned into absolute honesty by the question. It killed her to see the pained expression on his face. He swallowed again as his eyes took on a tell-tale glassy sheen.
"I'm sorry." Those simple words were spoken in a ragged whisper, his voice breaking at the end, and there was no mistaking his fierce sincerity.
Mac swallowed a few times herself, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. She couldn't stop the tears that spilled over her cheeks, and she only cried harder when she felt Harm's warm hand on her, his thumb swiping the tears away.
"It's okay, Harm…I'm sorry too." She leaned into him and nearly stumbled when he abruptly took his hand away, the harshness in his voice startled her when he spoke again.
"No, Mac. No! You have nothing to be sorry for! Nothing!" His head turned away, his posture deflating. "Nothing…" he whispered
Mac looked at him askance. Nothing, Harm? I'm the one who started this. Paraguay…not finding a way to see you in the brig…
But then, if you had told me what you were thinking with Singer…
But if she was going to rehash all the moments in their relationship that led them to this point, their issues with communication started long before that…
Their time on the bench…her running off to the Guadalcanal, then giving him an ultimatum there, running off before he'd even had time to answer.
She should have waited. She should have known that whatever his answer was going to be, he'd need time to think it out before he'd be able to articulate it.
And then it seemed like outside forces conspired against them as well…namely Rene's father dying just as she and Harm were going to maybe, just maybe, figure things out. Of course, that was when she'd run…
So many missteps, miscommunications…
Sydney…not finding the words to tell him how you felt before he left to fly, not supporting him in his need to either close that chapter in his life or soar with it. Treating him like a leper when he returned, then springing all of that on him in Sydney.
No, she was just as at fault, perhaps even more so, for the status of their relationship.
"Harm, I—"
"No, Mac…I know…I know you're sorry…but I just can hear that right now."
What? "Why not, Harm?"
"I, I just…my god, Mac! The things I've said to you—the other night when I asked for help with Mattie…saying those things about your—your addiction…in front of…everyone…Mac, whatever you think you've done to me, what I've done is a thousand times worse." Harm hung his head, and it tore at her heart.
"Harm, no." She was not going to let him fall on his sword and take all the blame here.
But Harm clearly had other ideas.
"No, Mac…don't." He squared his shoulders. "Look, I should go…Mattie…you…I'm sure you have plans. Webb's probably waiting…" Harm abruptly turned around and went for her door, paused, then looked back at her over his shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Mac." He reached for the knob, but Mac was determined not to let him go that easily.
"Harm, wait!" He paused, but then shook his head again and pulled open the door.
"Harmon Rabb!" she called in her best DI voice. He whirled around and the door shut behind him with a thud.
"What?" He had that deer in the headlights look about him.
"Get back in here and talk to me. Don't—don't walk out on me this time." Her voice broke a little as she remembered once again the last time he was here, when he'd stormed out in anger. The two stared at each other for a minute, and when Mac was convinced he wasn't going to just bolt again, she motioned him toward her living room. "Harm, please…go sit down. I need to put something in the oven and then we'll talk, okay? Please?" Harm's expression was unreadable, but at last he nodded and turned toward her couch.
Mac nodded to herself, relieved, and then quickly went to put her pie in the oven. On her way to the kitchen, she happened to look down and noticed an obvious blood trail in the carpet. She lifted her bandaged hand up in front of her face and scowled. She wished she would have noticed that last night; it was going to be harder to clean up now. But, then again, she'd often thought about putting wood floors down in the place. Maybe now that she was sticking around, she'd finally do it. She smiled to herself, excited at the prospect of looking forward to something once again.
Sliding her pie into her oven, Mac consulted her inner clock. The pie would take a little over an hour to bake and would then need time to cool a bit. Harriet said dinner was at 1300, so she figured the pie would be perfect by dessert. Mac closed the oven door and laughed at herself when she realized she had started singing some cheerful Christmas carol. It had been a long time since she'd burst out into song out of sheer happiness or had even sung along with the radio. She hummed the same tune as she set the timer on the stove, not wanting to have to think about it while she spoke to Harm. They had a lot to go through, and the first thing she wanted to discuss with him was Webb. More specifically, the absence of Webb in her life.
Mac decided to make them some hot chocolate before she went back to Harm, thinking that the rich drink would be comforting as they hashed a few things out. She reached up into the cupboard for the mugs and set them down, then turned to get the mix from her pantry…and yelped when she realized Harm had materialized at her side without her knowing it.
"Goodness, Harm! You startled me!" She raised her eyes to his, expecting to see an apology or amusement in them. Instead, she found herself staring into darkened, stormy-grey eyes, hardened like stone. "Harm, what—"
"What's this, Mac?" He raised his arm in front of her.
"What?"
"This. What is it?" Utterly confused, not understanding the apparent fury in his voice, she could only shrug and shake her head.
"I don't—"
"Don't lie to me, Mac!" he shouted. "What. Is. This?!" Harm's hand was directly in front of her face now, and Mac finally saw what had so vexed him.
There, clutched in his white-knuckled fist, was her suicide note.
End Chapter 17