((AN - POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING - Some minor gun violence in this chapter so please skip this one if that is something you would rather not read.))
Chapter 8: Solitude and Superstitions
Mac wasn't surprised that she'd only been able to sleep for an hour or so before the nightmares caused her to bolt straight up in a panic. She couldn't remember everything she'd been dreaming, but she remembered seeing Harm in his dress blues surrounded by a crowd of faceless figures in generic grey suits. As she'd tried to push through the crowd to get to him, they'd closed in around him like the shifting walls in one of those cheap horror movies. She'd attempted to scream his name, but her voice had been drowned out by something that sounded like the engine of a jet, though there was none in view. As she struggled to get closer to him, one of the suits turned and she was face-to-face with Webb.
"You waited too long, Sarah. You can't have him back. He's not your Harm anymore. He's ours now." Webb told her. She looked over Webb's shoulder and panic caused her throat to tighten as she realized the throng had closed in around Harm completely and she could no longer see him.
"Get away from him! He's not one of you!" Mac had yelled. She instinctively reached for her hip and found a pistol there. "I will shoot you Clay. Let him go!"
He smiled that smug, self-confident smile that she hated and simply repeated "He's ours now."
"He'll never be like you," Mac growled as she leveled the gun at him and pulled the trigger. He dropped and she stared down at him for a moment. When she looked up to try and spot Harm, she gasped. All around her the grey suits had turned to face her, and Webb was wearing them all. Dozens of his face stared back at her.
"You can't save him, Sarah," one close to her said. BANG! He joined the first Webb on the floor.
"You can't kill all of us, Sarah." BANG! Another Webb down.
"He's here because of you." BANG!
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" BANG!
"He won't last much longer." BANG!
She couldn't hear what they were saying after that. She just kept firing until she'd emptied the magazine and fifteen bloodied suits lay on the ground around her.
"You should really pay more attention, Sarah," yet another Webb commented with a smirk. He pointed to the last suit that had fallen at her feet.
She looked down and gasped as she saw Harm laying there. She dropped to the ground and put her hand to his chest. "Harm, look at me."
"I told you, he's ours now." Webb smirked. "The only way out is to give us what we want."
Mac looked down at Harm again and pulled a bloodied hand away from his chest. "What have I done?" she whispered.
"Watch…" Harm's voice was the last thing she heard before she jolted awake.
"Watch out for what?" she whispered as she tried to shake off the image of Harm from the dream. She got up and took a shower since there was no point in trying to get back to sleep. Even if she weren't riding an adrenaline surge right now, she would have tried to stay awake for fear that she might have the same dream again. Despite the near scalding water pelting her body, she shuddered as a chill ran down her spine. She stayed under the hot spray until she couldn't stand the droning sound of the water anymore. She dressed in the clothes she'd brought for the next day and glanced at the clock. She sighed as she wondered if her internal Rolex would ever work again or if it was one more thing that was permanently damaged. It was nearly 2:00, it would be a long night at this rate.
She sat in the small armchair near the window and opened letter #11. She wasn't completely sure she wanted to read it, she still had the nightmare and the words from #9 lurking too close to the surface of her mind. She tried to stifle the disappointment she felt when she saw that this letter was quite short. It was more of a note than a letter.
Sarah,
So, I've come to a decision; if I somehow make it through all these assignments and come out of all this in the right number of pieces, and that's a big if at this rate, I want you to see these letters. All of them. It feels like it would be a waste at this point to have made all these confessions and not have you know about them.
I hope I get to give them to you, if I do, maybe we still have a chance. If I don't, well, I know it doesn't make things better, but at least you know the truth. Granted, I still don't know for sure that you feel the same way, but I hope that you do.
Take care of yourself, Marine.
I love you,
Harm
"You jackass," she muttered at the paper before folding it back into itself and putting it back in the envelope. "Not sure if I feel the same way? Really? What kind of thick-headed, oblivious male BS is that?" she huffed at the envelope.
She stared out the window for a few moments. A movement in the distance caught her eye. It was a plane, likely a military one based on how quickly it was skimming across the horizon. She wondered if it was a Tomcat. She then wondered if she'd ever be able to see an F14 without hoping for a moment that it was him.
An unexplained sense of urgency came over her. She needed to read the rest of his letters. She wasn't sure why, but she needed to get through them.
She opened #12 and had that same sense of displeasure that it was much shorter than some of the other letters he'd written. Was he running out of things to write to her or was it that he didn't have enough time to be able to write before he was sent out on the next mission? How short were they cutting his prep time? Was there even time to adequately prepare for the assignment and review the profile thoroughly?
Sarah,
It's been a long time since I had a chance to stop and look up at the night sky. Looking at the stars reminds me of the desert; huddling together on the ground, holding onto one another to conserve body heat. It was killing me holding you like that and not being able to touch you the way I wanted to. I kept watching the sky that night because I was sure if I looked at you I was going to lose control. Me and my ridiculous need for control.
Watching the stars tonight reminds me of a line by Sarah Williams… Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. I don't know if I'll have the chance to hold you under a star-filled sky again, but I hope I will. I finally understand it, and it's thanks to you. It's taken all this time, but I get it now.
It might be too little, too late, but I'm not scared of the idea of you seeing these letters anymore, Sarah. I want you to see them and I want to be able to tell you how much I mean every word and so many more that I couldn't commit to these pages. I can only hope Fate is on our side for once and I get the chance.
Take care of yourself, Marine.
I love you,
Harm
"Damnit Rabb," she muttered as she folded the letter. "I guess Fate was against us yet again." She looked at the next envelope. "Lucky #13, let's see what fresh hell this one is…" Mac slipped the single sheet of paper out of the envelope and opened it.
Sarah,
No assignment this time.
Figured telling you how much I miss you was as good a reason as any to put this number to bed.
Apparently I'm becoming superstitious in my old age. Don't hold it against me, okay?
Take care of yourself, Marine.
I love you,
Harm
Mac shook her head. Like being superstitious was anything new. They'd had their little rituals for years now. How many times had she called him in the middle of some ocean or another from who knows where to wish him good luck on his quals?
She looked at the dwindling pile of unread letters and felt a tightness in her chest. What would she do when she reached the last one? Once she read all that he'd written, how would she be able to hold onto him then?