A/N: Well, after nearly two years, here we are again. As a refresher, this is the sequel to my first JAG story, Delicate. If you haven't read that one yet, I'd read it first. I think this one only has one or two chapters left but who knows?
A word about Mac/Sarah…early on I made the unfortunate decision to have Harm call Mac 'Sarah' when they're not at work, etc. I regret that! I think he'd call her Mac for the most part—to make up for it, I had Mac not let Harm call her Sarah in Letters to Harm. It would've been too much to correct it in this story.
I just looked back and I screwed up some dates I think in other chapters. I'll fix it eventually. :)
Conquering Never
Chapter 8: I Want to Tell You
September 22nd, 2004
0316 Local
Bethesda Navel Medical Center
Bethesda, MD
I hear footsteps outside the door and I wonder if I dozed off, waking up just in time for the nurse to bring Lydia to us. The steps pass on by, though, and quick glance at the clock tells me she likely won't be back for another twenty minutes.
We've kept our baby girl with us for the most part, only having her to go to the nursery when the nurses or her doctor need to check on her or occasionally at night. She'd be here now if I hadn't been so restless; I try not to give into those all to common feelings of guilt, knowing they don't serve any useful purpose. It's difficult, though, and I can't stop the doleful sigh that escapes me.
At that moment I feel Sarah's hand gently stroking my chest. "Go to sleep, Flyboy," she murmurs, and I don't think she's completely awake. I smile, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as I pull her closer. Her lips curve up as well, her eyes still closed. "Everything will be alright, Harm," she whispers, and it takes me back to another night here at Bethesda, when I was convinced it would never be alright again, a night when I finally let her into my darkness.
August 9th, 2004
1920 Local
Bethesda Naval Medical Center
Bethesda, MD
"We're here for you, Harm. You're safe. We love you. You can tell us anything. Okay, Harm?"
I look down at her hand clasped in mine. "Okay."
I don't say anything more for several seconds, trying to decide how to begin my sordid tale. I take several deep breaths.
"Harm?" Sarah whispers encouragingly.
I clear my throat needlessly. "I, uh, don't know where to start…"
She pulls her hand from mine and cups my cheek instead, letting her finger dance over my ear and her thumb caress my cheek. "Just start at the beginning, sweetheart."
And so, I do.
"Sarah sends her love."
I turn around slowly, wondering if today is the day I'll finally snap and punch that smug grin right off his face. I'm not sure why he feels the need to constantly throw Mac's and his relationship in my face; he really should just be content knowing he got the girl and I got, well, nothing. Not even a goddamned thank you from the woman whose life I saved. The woman who would surely be dead if I hadn't thrown away my naval career for her. Maybe if I'd just killed Webb when she wasn't looking…he wasn't doing too well when Gunny and I broke the two of them out of the hacienda. Would anybody really question his death?
I try to clamp down on these thoughts. I don't really want to kill Clayton Webb. I don't…but the dark thought enters my mind that it's only because I don't want to go to prison, not that it would be immoral to murder someone.
"That's nice," I say noncommittedly, then turn back around to head into Blaisdell's office. Webb can just go fuck himself. I hear the asshole chuckle before the door drops shut behind me.
Minutes later, I'm out the door once again, Webb nowhere in sight. That's to his benefit; I'm tired and not in the mood for another confrontation. My control won't be what it should be.
I think about going to Roosters tonight, but then decide that I really could use a good rest. Instead, I head home, relief spreading through me when I finally lock my own door behind me. I set my bag on the floor in the bedroom before I head to the refrigerator to grab a beer. From the corner of my eye, I see the light on the answering machine blinking, and without even listening, I know it'll be from her.
Mac has been calling me incessantly in the last five months or so. Okay, maybe it isn't incessantly, but sixteen messages are probably enough. I don't want to talk to her; I think she said enough down in Paraguay and frankly, I'm done with her. I'm done with everyone from JAG, though I really shouldn't have a beef with Bud and Harriet. With a pang of guilt, I remember my godson, AJ, and I know I'm a bastard for not keeping in contact with at least him.
Since Paraguay, I haven't really been in contact with anyone from my own life. I've barely even spoken to my parents. I don't know why, but it's probably embarrassment over throwing my career away for nothing.
No. Not nothing. If she weren't here anymore…I don't complete the thought. I really don't want to think about her tonight, but I suppose I should listen to her message. Reluctantly I cross over to my desk and hit the play button. Her voice fills the room, and I close my mind against the flood of emotions that roil through me…
"Harm…" There's a long pause after her greeting, and I push away the thought that she sounds off.
"Um, I guess I don't know why I-I'm calling. Again. Number seventeen! I-I hope you're okay. I'd really like it if you'd, um, call me back. I-I m-miss…I mean, call me, okay? Bye."
An incredible feeling a sadness runs through me—mainly because she sounds so sad. I reach into my pocket for my cell, noting that she didn't try to call it this time. I almost, almost, dial her number, but in a sudden flash of rage, I throw my phone against the wall. Bits of it shatter, and I curse, knowing that tomorrow I'm going to have to go out and get another new phone. They keep breaking for some reason…
My beer is only half gone when I decide to go to bed. I have a few days off. Plenty of time to get a new phone and continue to torture myself with thoughts of her and Webb together.
Fuck.
I wake up in another hotel in another country once again, but the dream is the same, and I roll onto my back and finish what I started in my sleep. It isn't the same, though.
It'll never be the same.
Three nights ago I finally answered her call. I told her to meet me at Roosters, and the next thing I knew, I had her pressed up against the wall of the building, burying my tongue in her mouth and pressing my body intimately against hers. It didn't stop there; I had her up against my car seconds later, my arousal straining against my jeans, and when she put her hand on it, I think I almost came right there.
It was a long, fevered ride to her place. She teased me, keeping her hand on my imprisoned erection the entire ride there, holding it, stroking it, while I couldn't help but thrust it into her palm.
Our first time together was explosive. I took her up against the wall, pounding into her as she answered every one of my thrusts with her own, and when it was over, my orgasm was so intense I almost blacked out.
Our second time together happened in her bed, and it was slower but no less intense. I've never seen anything as beautiful as a naked Sarah MacKenzie, never felt anything as wonderful as being sheathed inside her warm depths, but the whole thing was tainted by the fact that it was all fueled by anger and lust.
Well, maybe not all of it. There were other emotions at play, and it wasn't until I slipped from her bed and left her behind that I realized that I still loved her. Was in love with her.
Of course, none of that matters.
She's Webb's, and I'll only ever have the memory of making love to the only woman I've ever actually made love to.
It's nearly enough to make me cry, so I let the anger rush in again, because if I don't, I'll break down and I don't know if I'll ever be able to pick up all the pieces of my heart again.
I've been standing outside Mac's apartment for the last twenty minutes or so now, and I know I should leave, but...should and can are two different things. I've just returned from Madagascar, I'm fairly exhausted, but I need to see Mac. My job with the CIA has long since gone beyond "just a pilot" and it's slowly killing my soul. I know I should quit, but my pride won't let me. If Clayton Webb, the ultimate mama's boy, can do it, then I should be able to handle it, right? It should get easier to feel and hear the crunch of vertebrae as my hands end yet another threat to the world, to see blank, staring eyes looking up at me even though their body lies prone at my feet.
It should…but it doesn't…or maybe it is…and it shouldn't. I don't know anymore, but I do know that Mac's body writhing underneath mine will give me comfort, even if all we are doing is the definition of fucking. No, it'll never be just that…I still love her and even if she doesn't love me, being held by her, surrounded by her warmth, will let me feel some comfort instead of nothing at all. I'm numb most of the time and I keep it that way, otherwise the darkness and despair would choke the life right out of me.
It occurs to me that my thoughts have turned to the melodramatic and I'm rather disgusted with myself; I decide in that moment to leave rather than let Mac discover how pathetic I've become, but then I hear a door opening at the end of the hall. I know it's her even before I see her emerge from the stairwell, and for a moment I feel a surge of joy that she's early tonight and here again with me. I can see the wariness emanating from her thin frame, thinner now than at any other time in our history, and it makes me feel like crying; clearly she hasn't fared so well after Paraguay either.
Mac allows me to follow her inside and for a moment I consider telling her how miserable I am and how sorry I am about Paraguay and everything that led up to it. I open my mouth, but of course I immediately lose my nerve. Instead, I let myself take in the curve of her back and the still perfect roundness of her six despite the weight loss, and I can feel the familiar pull in my groin. I want her, badly, knowing it'll make me forget all the wretchedness of my current existence for at least a little while, and so I press myself into her, her back to my front, bending to kiss her neck and nibble on her ear after she sets her things on her desk. Her bottom wiggles against me, and I press my imprisoned erection against it, wondering what it would be like to tear down her skirt and plunge into her. I wouldn't bother to take her panties off; I'd just push them aside and enter her. I wouldn't give her any time to adjust…I'd just pound into her with abandon, relishing her little moans and cries, teasing her clit with my fingers until we both explode as she screams my name. Mac has other plans, though; she pulls away from me, and, with a subtle nod of her head, she leads me down the hall to her bedroom.
I'm awakened hours later by a restless Mac. She's turned away from me again, something she seems to do as we succumb to sleep, and it breaks my heart that once again she's huddled near the edge of the bed, about as far away from me as she can get. Despite our passion and pleasures, she obviously doesn't trust me anymore. And can I blame her? I was such a jackass in Paraguay. I've used her for sex…or at least it must seem like it, and save for an intense but gentle moment as we stood in her bathroom as I cared for a nasty cut on her finger, I've given her no indication that I love her beyond all reason. I followed up that gentleness by roughly taking her from behind as she leaned over her sink, and though I know we both enjoyed it, it still left me feeling empty. We were never meant to be like this…
Mac whimpers then moans, surprising me when she turns over and holds her arms out to me. My name is a sob on her lips, though I can tell she's still asleep, and I quickly pull her into my arms. She shudders against me, and I wonder what scenes are replaying in her mind. Is she remembering those two missionaries being slaughtered in front of her? The sound of Webb's screams as they tortured him? I hate the mother fucker, but even I wouldn't wish that on him…or is she remembering when she herself was strapped on that blood and urine-soaked table? Or maybe it's something else entirely, for as I cradle her close, she whispers a single phrase in her sleep…
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"
Incredible, I think to myself. Webb has managed to fuck up another mission and he isn't even here to help me clean up his mess. It was supposed to be a 'simple' protection detail. Our guys would stay behind the scenes, gathering intel while monitoring those assigned to visibly protect Ambassador Dubotu. The former professor from Sudan will soon be the ambassador to United States, lately having finished his tenure as the ambassador to Belgium. Despite his inspiring words the night of another Webb-run mission, the situation in Sudan is still tenuous. General Zulake rules, and Dubotu remains a thorn in his side. I actually wonder how the man is still alive, but then again, he's universally beloved in his country so keeping him alive likely helps maintain the "peace." Unfortunately, it seems someone has decided that doesn't matter anymore, thus, here we are.
As usual, though, things aren't as cut and dried as Webb implied. Dubotu's visible protection detail has been compromised, two of our guys have been eliminated, and suddenly I find myself hunted while being the last bulwark against the assassination of the pacifist Ambassador Dubotu. He truly is a great man, and though I could have bailed a long time ago, I refuse to give up on him the way my own colleagues have given up on me.
Unfortunately, I'm unarmed for reasons I won't go into, though I've honed certain techniques since that ill-fated trip to Paraguay. It'll only take seconds to eliminate the figure currently taking aim at Dubotu who now stands at an open window across the courtyard. Absolutely silent, I glide across the floor. My hands reach out and in one smooth motion I end this murderer. He falls to the ground and I manage to pull the weapon from his spasming hands, but not, unfortunately, before he reflexively gets off a shot. I don't see where the bullet goes, but it didn't hit Dubotu, which is all that matters.
Almost automatically, I begin searching the body for more weapons and ammunition. My job in the CIA has made me an opportunist, and as I am otherwise unarmed, I swallow down my disgust at myself as I pull the camouflaging garments away from the body. I'm working quickly, focusing only on removing a knife and more ammo from the dead assassin, not wanting to see his lifeless eyes staring back at me. It would make this too personal, and I can't do that to myself yet again. My soul is already irreparably tarnished; no need to ruin it completely.
I keep an ear focused on the ambient sounds around me as I check one last spot on the body, and that's when I see it…
The assassin before me isn't a man. It's not a boy, either…it's obviously female. I'm even more disgusted with myself now; maybe it's sexist of me, but there is just something different about killing a woman. Even killing that terrorist woman on the tiger cruise with Josh Pendry all those years ago weighed heavily on me, despite her being an utterly despicable human being who deserved the bullet between the eyes.
It becomes clear to me as I finally glance up at her dead eyes that I've been ignoring something from even before I acknowledged the sex of my "victim." My hand drifts down her body to rest on her stomach, and I can no longer ignore what I've tried to block out of my mind.
She's pregnant.
Her belly still feels warm, and under my hand, because only scant seconds have actually gone by since I ended one life, I can feel the frantic movements of a baby starving for oxygen.
August 9th, 2004
2022 Local
Bethesda Naval Medical Center
Bethesda, MD
"Harm, sweetheart, breathe. Just breathe for me. We're here, honey. I'm here. It's okay, baby…it's going to be okay…"
I can hear Mac's gentle words as if from a great distance, but my mind can only focus on the scene that has dominated my nightmares for months…that of a dead woman and a dying infant…a little being completely innocent that I ended before it could even really live.
Dimly, I hear the admiral calling my name too, and suddenly his strong arm is around me as well. I'm hyperventilating now but between the calming words of my fiancée and my former CO, I find the strength to slow my breathing and finish my story…the story of what continues to eat at me, slowly destroying my heart and soul, because if I don't finish it, my destruction will be complete.
"I-I could…I could tell the—the baby was fighting…and for a moment…I considered using the knife in my other hand to c-cut the ba—the baby out…but then I could hear footsteps…shouting…they were coming from the floor below…and I—I hesitated. The shouting got closer…there were gunshots…but I decided I couldn't leave without trying to save the baby. I ripped open the rest of her close and lifted the knife…but then…the movement just…just stopped. I was too late. I'd just let this baby die. This baby had done nothing to deserve what I had done to it…and then…because I could hear soldiers closing in, I-I just left her there and ran…and now…now every time I feel our baby move, Sarah…I feel that other baby die underneath my hand. Over and over and ov— "
I can no longer speak as Mac draws my head down to her shoulder. I sob into it as she strokes my back and my hair, crying even harder when she tells me she loves me over and over, while the admiral's strong hand rests on my shoulder, doing his best to transfer some of that strength to his utterly broken officer.
End Chapter 8