Title: Turn Back the Clocks
Summary: A post-Paraguay story. Mac is forced into counseling, and comes to terms with Paraguay, Harm, and her life in general.
Part Eleven – Mac
"I just don't understand your reasoning. You tell him you're not going to give up on him, but it doesn't seem like you're actually doing anything to make him a part of your life again."
Sophie pushes back from the table, and I just stare at her. I've told her bits and pieces about Harm, and our relationship over the past few weeks. Today I told her everything. Well, as much as I was allowed to. And I have a feeling that this is why Dr. Peyton wanted me to find a friend. Sophie is blunt. She doesn't tip toe around things, but instead just says what she thinks. And she says what she thinks I need to hear. I appreciate that. I've never had a friendship like this one. We're both straight, so it's purely platonic, and since she's not in the military there isn't that sense of propriety that automatically creates a feeling of distance.
But even though I need to hear what she's telling me; I don't really want to hear it. I know I should reach out to Harm more, but I'm not sure if I can. After weeks of this, he has to know that I call on Tuesday and Thursday. What would he do if I called on a Friday or a Sunday? Would he answer, thinking it's someone else? Would he blow me off? I don't know. I have no idea what would happen if I called him on one of the other five days of the week, and that's scary. There is so much about my life that's up in the air right now. But being able to call him and leave a message is one thing that is reliable.
"I've just always called him after my appointments. It started as a homework assignment from my therapist. And now it's just what I do."
She shakes her head and stabs at the remnants of chocolate cake that sits between us. "Sarah, if you keep doing the things you've always done, things will stay the way they've always been."
I groan. "You sound like a piece of motivational bathroom art."
She snorts and eats another bite of cake and then shoves the plate to me. "Okay, I've finished my half. The rest of yours." She sips her water and then turns her attention back to me. "Motivational bathroom art aside, I'm serious. Call him when he's not expecting you too. Maybe he'll answer. And if he doesn't, oh well. You've gotten really good at leaving him messages."
I don't say anything, because there isn't really anything to say. I eat a few bites of the cake while she watches me, and then I sigh and put the fork down. "I'm afraid that if I call him more, I'm eventually going to end up saying something that makes him decide he doesn't want me in his life."
She frowns and I wince. "So, what? You're going to spend the rest of your relationship with him walking on eggshells because you're afraid you'll say something he won't like?" She shakes her head and I look at my hands. "Sarah, you can't live like that. And that's not a real relationship - romantic or otherwise. Want my advice?"
I stare at her as if she's grown a second head. "Of course, I do. That's why I'm telling you all of this to begin with."
Sophie nods slowly. "Okay. I'd call him, and tell him the things you think he doesn't want to hear." I open my mouth to protest, but she raises a hand. "If you think these things could be eventual deal breakers, why wait to tell him? Tell him now. That was if he tells you that he never wants to see you again, you won't lose as much as if you wait six months down the road."
She's right. I know she's right. But I don't want to do it. I don't know if I can do it. How do I tell him about my night with Webb? I thought he'd never have to know. But now I know that he does. Now I feel like the idea of rebuilding a friendship with him isn't as far-fetched as it seemed a few months ago.
"You're right."
"I know."
Her smile is kind, and once again I'm so relieved that she's in my life and has become my friend. I slide the plate of cake back to her. "Good advice earns you the majority of the cake."
I unlock the door to my apartment, and my gaze immediately goes to the phone. I have to call him. I have to tell him all of the things I'm afraid to tell him. It's just after ten on a Friday; is it too late to call him?
Wait.
I glance at the clock on the microwave, and I feel my mouth drop open. The bright blue digital numbers read 10:02, and I feel euphoric. My sense of time is coming back. I stare at the clock and watch it change to 10:03 and I let out a breath.
Getting back something that I thought I had lost forever, and truly missed, gives me the boost of confidence I need to pick up the phone and dial his number. His answering machine picks up after four rings, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. All of this is so much easier to do via answering machine. I finally hear the beep and I swallow.
"Hey, it's me. Mac." I blush at my constant need to identify myself. "I slept with Webb." My own eyes widen at my blunt admission. I hadn't meant for it to come out like that, and I pause to regain my composure. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just blurt it out like that. It happened one time, about a month and a half ago. I went to his place to bring him dinner and see if he needed any help with anything. But Catherine Gale was there, and she insinuated that the two of you were together." I swallow, remembering that night and how badly her comment had hurt. "Anyway. I just thought you should know. Sophie told me-"
Shit. The machine cut me off. I feel like it used to give me a little more time before it cut me off. I disconnected the call and dialed his number again, and waited for four more rings and the beep. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for telling you. Although, maybe you don't even care. But I told you I wasn't going to give up on our friendship without a fight. And Sophie told me that I needed to go ahead and tell you the things I was afraid to tell you. She thought it would be easier for me if you told me you never wanted to hear from me again now than several months in the future. I guess she's right, I don't know. I think you telling me you don't want me in your life will hurt no matter when I hear it. So, that's it. My dirtiest secret. I know everyone thinks I'm a whore. Maybe you do too, now. Who knows?"
The machine cuts me off again. I dial his number and am ready as soon as I hear the beep. "I just want you to know I don't have feelings for him. I felt indebted to him. I felt like I owed him for keeping me alive long enough for you to come rescue me. My therapist has been working with me on seeing my value based on my merits and not based on how a man responds to me, and I feel like it's working. Anyway. I thought you should know." I feel like I'm starting to babble and repeat myself, so I end the call before the machine can cut me off and I take a deep breath. I hated telling him about Webb. I know how bothered he was by our closeness when we were in Paraguay. But Sophie was right, and I feel a little bit lighter.
I don't expect Harm to call me back. I've now left him eleven voicemails and he hasn't returned a single call. I'll admit that I sat on the sofa and pretended to watch a movie for a little while, but when I realized I was spending more time watching the phone than the movie, I turned it off and went to take a bath.
If I had to make a list of my top five favorite things, a luxurious bath would be number one on the list. I decided to make myself the most decadent bath I could. I broke out my last bottle of the ginger oil I've been hoarding, and light every candle in the bathroom. I pull my hair into a high ponytail and then sink into the steaming water. The temperature is perfect - just a few degrees shy of too hot, and I close my eyes as I'm engulfed by the warmth and the smell that I find most comforting.
I've only been in the bath for about twenty minutes when I hear someone knocking on my door. Not knocking. It's more like pounding. The sound makes me jump, and I curse whoever it is for destroying my peace. I lean back and rest my head against the porcelain and I try to block out the sound. The knocking finally stops, and for a second, I mentally pat myself on the back. Then I hear footsteps, and my head jerks up. I'm momentarily frozen; unsure of what to do next. I'm naked in the bathroom, I have nothing in here to wear except for my robe and a towel, and I have nothing to use to defend myself against whoever has invaded my space. The footsteps come closer, and finally the intruder stops in the doorway of my bathroom.
It's Harm. My body briefly relaxes, no longer fearing danger, and then I stiffen. Harm is standing in the doorway of my bathroom. I'm in a bathtub. And the deja vu of this moment is so strong it's overwhelming.
He takes a step into the bathroom, and I feel a twinge of satisfaction when his eyes roam over my body. In Paraguay there were bubbles to at least give the appearance of modesty. Here there is nothing covering me but crystal-clear water, clear and I know he can see every inch of my body. His eyes meet mine and his face turns red. I watch as he swallows and then he turns, so his back is to me.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have barged in."
His voice is thick and I'm instantly aroused. It's been so long since I've been turned on. But instead of being able to enjoy it, I reluctantly stand and reach for my towel. I towel off, and then slide into my robe.
"I'm decent. And what are you doing here?"
He turns to face me and swallows again. "I got your messages. I spent half an hour trying to call you."
I shove my hands into the pockets of the robe, and try to push down the feelings that are bubbling to the surface. I'm both terrified and elated that he tried to call me. And that he's here. I gesture to the tub. "I always turn the ringer off when I take a bath."
He nods, even though he had no way of knowing that. "I should go. I shouldn't be here."
He turns his back to me again and hurries out of the bathroom. I run after him.
"Harm, wait. Please. Why are you here?"
Harm turns to me again, and he reddens again. I can see his jaw is twitching and I take a deep breath. I don't know what he's about to say, and I hate that. I've spent the better part of the past eight years learning his facial expressions and becoming fluent in his body language. I could tell what he was thinking or what kind of mood he was in with a single glance. I can't anymore.
"Why are you here?" My voice is softer this time. I'm careful about that. I don't want to sound antagonistic or demanding.
"I slept with Catherine Gale."
My body jerks, and I take a step back. I wasn't expecting that. I hate hearing it, but I remind myself it's not the worst thing he could say. Not by a long shot. I nod, but I can't bring myself to say anything. What am I supposed to say? What could I say? Okay? Congratulations? I figured? I can't say anything like that. Instead I say nothing.
"It happened just the one time." He swallows and then takes a deep breath. I watch as he lets it out slowly. "She told me that you and Webb were together. She told me that you had moved on and it was time that I did the same."
I nod again, but now I want to cry. The thought of him with someone else makes me want to cry. And the thought of him with someone else because he thought I had moved on makes me feel physically sick. I watch his fists clench and then relax, and then I meet his eyes. "I'm not with him. And I-" I trail off, not sure how vulnerable I want to be. I take a breath and let it out slowly. "I haven't moved on."
His eyes darken, and the intensity nearly makes me shudder. "I should go."
"Why did you tell me about Catherine?"
He looks at me for what feels like a month without saying anything. Finally, his eyes soften slightly and he shoves his hands in his pockets.
"I don't really know. To be fair, maybe?" He shakes his head. "I don't know." He looks me over again. "I'm sorry for barging in like that." He reaches into his pockets and pulls out his key ring. His fingers go to the key with a green topper. The key to my apartment. He put a green topper on it because I'm a Marine. And he gave me a blue topper for the key I have to his apartment. I watch horrified as he starts to remove it from the ring.
"Don't. Please." His fingers stop moving and our eyes meet. "Please keep it."
He doesn't say anything. He just nods and moves the key back to where it was, and I let out a sigh of relief. "I need to go."
I nod, and say nothing as he opens the door and walks away.
I stand there for a minute, before locking the door and heading back to the bathroom. I run more hot water into the tub, and then slide back in. I close my eyes and I think of him. Of his beautiful face and eyes. His dazzling smile. It's been so long since I've seen that smile, and I have to believe I'll see it again someday.
End Part Eleven