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.

Notes: Drama, drama. drama... Sorry about that. But while I never planned on including Mattie in this story, I kept thinking about how eagerly he moved into this weird family situation with Jen and Mattie, and... well... this happened.

Part Twenty-Five - Mac

"Have you spoken to him since?"

"Nope."

Dr. Peyton makes a face, and I can tell she's exasperated with me. She's gotten to know me well over the past few months, and I'm pretty sure she had guessed that I'm in a bad mood before I even managed to sit down.

"How long has it been?"

I shrug, and study my hands. She watches me and finally gives up waiting for me to speak. She sets down her notepad and leans forward.

"Sarah. If you're not going to talk to me, then you might as well leave. The silent treatment and one-word answers aren't doing either of us any good.

Her words surprise me and I flinch. She's never asked me to leave before. Ever. In the beginning when I was similarly monosyllabic, she would wait me out. I'm not sure what's changed, but whatever it is bothers me. I don't like knowing that she does have a limit, and it is possible for me to push her away.

"You want me to leave?"

She sighs and shakes her head. "No, I want you to talk to me."

I stay sitting, but I don't say anything. I'm not sure what to say. I barely know how to talk about Harm when things are good between us. I really don't know how to talk about him when things are bad - at least not since we've been together.

She stares at me, and finally I relax a bit and sink into the cushions. "I had my first boyfriend when I was fourteen," I blurt out.

"I'm listening."

I let out a breath and reach for my glass of water. I take a sip and return it to the coaster. "His name was Bobby, and he was a few years older than me. We only went out for a few weeks."

"What happened with Bobby," she asked in that gentle, calming voice of hers.

I shrugged again, but this time I wasn't being nonchalant, I honestly didn't know. "I'm not sure," I say. "He went to a different school, so we only saw each other in the evenings. One night we went to the movies, and he put his hand up my skirt. I remember how I pulled his hand away from my inner thigh, and how he leaned in and told me just to relax and let it happen. His hand had trailed up my thigh again, and he…" I trailed off, thinking about that night. His hand slid past my panties, and I once I pushed him away the second time I had started to cry. "He didn't manage to do anything to me," I told her. "He just called me a tease and got up and left. He left me there."

"That must have been hard." Her voice is kind and I find comfort in her.

I nod. "It was. I called my mom to come pick me up, and on the way home I told her what had happened. And she-" I lick my lips and remember her words. I can almost hear her voice and smell the cheap perfume she used to wear. "She told me not to say anything bad about my boyfriend to anyone ever."

Her eyes widened, and I felt a small jolt of victory. I always love getting any kind of reaction from her.

"Your mother told you that?"

"Yeah." I turn my attention back to my hands. "She said that other people don't know him like I do, and that other people may think less of him if I tell them what happened."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No, but he did." I bite my lower lip and will myself not to cry. "He did. He lied and told everyone at his school that I was easy and he made it to third base with me in a movie theater." Despite my best efforts the tears manage to fall, and I lean forward to accept the tissue she hands me.

"So, you feel uncomfortable talking about Harm because of advice your mother gave you when you were fourteen?"

A sound that's almost a laugh escapes and I nod. "Crazy, right? This woman abandoned me, but I still hold onto her little pearls of wisdom."

"It's not crazy," she says gently. "But Sarah, it's okay to talk to me, or to your friends about what's going on in your relationship. We're not here to judge."

"It's easy to say that," I argue, "but is it actually that easy? I remember everything I've told you about him. And a lot of it has been bad. I'm sure knowing all of that makes anything he does now sound even worse."

She leans forward and picks up her notepad. She jots something down and then turns her eyes on me. "I think the real issue here is that it makes whatever he's done now sound worse to you."

I sit up straighter, knowing she's right. "We haven't spoken in a week." I drink more water, and then get up to refill the cup. "We were babysitting for Holly, and started talking about this deal we made a very long time ago to have a baby together someday." I'm careful not to look at her when I say this, because I don't want to see her reaction to that. "I told him that I didn't want to go through with it, and we argued."

"What happened next?"

I settled on the sofa and made myself comfortable. "He said he was going home, and I asked him not to leave, and he said he wasn't going to argue with me in front of Emma; that he wasn't going to act like my parents."

She cocks her head to the side and studies me. "And that comment upset you."

It was more of a statement than a question, and I find myself getting angry just thinking about that argument. "It did hurt. Not the dig at my parents, because my parents were terrible. But just the fact that he thinks that I would ever act like them in the first place."

"Sarah," she leans forward as she says my name, and even though I want to look anywhere else, I meet her gaze. "It's not really my place to analyze Harm, considering I've never met him. But have you ever realized that he lashes out the way he does when he feels hurt or rejected by you?"

I wince. Of course, I realize that. "That doesn't make it okay."

"It doesn't," she agrees. "But based on what you've told me about him, I feel that you're not the only one with abandonment issues. His father went missing, his mother remarried, his brother left, his ex-girlfriends have all left him."

I feel myself growing defensive and annoyed. After all, she's my therapist. Is it so wrong for me to expect her to take my side? And she's telling me things I already know. "What's your point?"

My voice is cool and she raises an eyebrow. "Did you tell him why you didn't want to go through with the deal?"

She's ignored my question and I'm tempted to ignore hers. But I don't. I've come so far since I first set foot in this office. I'm no longer that sad, frail woman, and I don't ever want to be her again. "No, he didn't give me that chance." I look down at my hands and study my light brown nail polish. The color is called chocolate marshmallow, and every time I look at my nails, I suddenly crave a s'more. "I wanted to tell him that I still want a to have a child with him, but we're together now. We're in a real relationship, and we don't need to fall back on an impulsive agreement we made nearly five years ago."

She lets out a breath and run her fingers through her hair. "Sarah, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you leave him twenty messages before the two of you ended up together?"

My face heats and I shrug. "It wasn't twenty. Sixteen. Seventeen. Something like that."

She makes a face and I know she's struggling not to roll her eyes. "Fine. Almost twenty messages. But you left him all of those messages when things were bad between the two of you, but you haven't called him one time in the past week to tell him that you still want to have a child with him?" She shakes her head and frowns. "Sarah, if you want this to work, you're going to have to actually do the work."

Her words frustrate me and I stand and begin to pace. "But why should I have to? Jesus. He walked out on me. Why is it my responsibility to reach out to him?"

"Because it doesn't seem like he's going to. Not yet anyway." She looks up at me, and she's quiet until I return to my seat. "He should," she says softly. "He absolutely should. But if he doesn't, is this the hill you're willing to let your relationship die on?"

I decide to go by Harm's after therapy, but by the time I get to his loft, I can't bring myself to go inside. I don't want it to be like this with him. I don't want him to storm off every time I tell him something he doesn't want to hear; and I really don't want to be the one always running to him to make up. Even before we began dating it feels like I was always the one wanting to make up.

A light is on his apartment, and I watch the window for a moment and think about that night I stood out here in the rain and watched him embrace Renee. I know why he chose her that evening, and I don't blame him for that. But will he ever be able to choose me? Will he ever fight for me? I don't know, and I hate that.

I can't do this right now. I'll talk to him. I'll try to make things right. But I'm not going to do this right now, not when I'm this angry and frustrated and hurt.

There's a gentle tap on my window and I jump. I gasp and put my hand over my heart. I turn to look at the window and see Harm on the other side of the glass. Seeing him should reassure me, but instead my heart begins to beat faster. We stare at each other for a moment, but I don't move to open the door. He gestures for me to roll down the window, and I keep my eyes on him as I push the button and the window lowers.

"What are you doing here?"

I shrug lightly. "I'm here to see you."

He raises an eyebrow and bends over to rest his folded arms on my door frame. "My apartment is up there."

"I couldn't decide if I actually wanted to talk to you." He straightens and I shrug. "I mean, it's been a week and I haven't heard a word from you. Obviously, you haven't been that desperate to talk to me."

"I've wanted to talk to you," he argues.

"You haven't called. Or emailed, or stopped by, or… hell, I don't know. You could have sent a carrier pigeon." His lips twitch just a bit there, and I know he wants to smile. Anyone else would have missed it, but I know him. I know his face and his lips as well as I know my own.

"Sorry; the pet store was out of carrier pigeons." He bends again, and we're eye level. "Come upstairs, Mac." I stay still, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Come upstairs. Please." His voice is gentle and I finally nod. He steps back so I can roll up the window, and then I grab my purse and step out of the car.

We make our way upstairs, both of us being careful not to touch the other. I was able to restrain myself for nearly eight years, and a few months of being able to touch him whenever I wanted has completely undone all of that. We avoid the elevator and take the stairs up to his place. He pushes the door open, and I frown.

"You just leave the door unlocked now? Do you have a death wish?"

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door. "I went to take the recycling down, Mac." He moves into the kitchen and pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. "Want anything?"

"No."

He opens the bottle and takes a sip. We stand in silence for a few moments, and I wait for him to say something. I will be damned if I say anything first. I took the first step by coming here; he can at least that the next step and speak first. We both get a momentarily reprieve when the phone rings. He doesn't move to answer it and we stare at each other while the phone continues to ring. His answering machine finally picks up and I flinch when I hear Harriet's cheerful voice.

"You never explained what happened there," he says gently.

I shrug. "Nothing, really. They both worship you, and to them – well, to everyone at JAG – it was my fault you were gone."

"I'm sorry."

I shrug again. "It's fine."

"It's not fine," he argues.

"It is what it is, Harm." We both fall silent again, and I feel anger bubbling up. Anger at Harm, anger at Harriet and Bud, and an irrational anger over his answering machine recording. "I hate your recording," I blurt out.

The concern on his face turns into confusion. He glances from me to the machine, and then back at me. "I'm sorry, what?"

I swallow, embarrassed at my outburst. "Your recoding. In your old one I could hear the smile in your voice. This one sounds so cold."

"I came home one day and the machine didn't work. It was around the time that you usually called, and I was frantic that you wouldn't be able to leave a message. I got to Best Buy for a new machine and tape and got it set up in record time." I nod and he offers me a weak smile. "I didn't do it to hurt you."

"You should re-record the message. Do it when you're in a good mood."

He nods. "I will."

"Thank you."

We're quiet again, but before I can feel annoyed by it, he shoves his hands in his pockets and clears his throat. "I'm sorry for the comment about you parents. You'll be a great mom someday. I know it. You'll be night and day different from them."

I open my mouth to say something - to thank him. But I can't make the words come, because it's not the comparison to my parents that has me this angry. "I appreciate that," I finally manage, "but that's not why I'm upset."

"Okay." He pulls out a barstool and perches on the edge. "Why are you upset?"

"You just left!" His eyes flash with anger and it sparks something within me. "You left, Harm. We had a small argument, and you just left. Just like you did that night Webb called."

"I told you that I wasn't going to fight with you in front of a child."

"Why did we have to fight about it at all?" I instinctively turn away from him and move further into the living room. I need physical space from him. I know he would never hurt me, but I feel calmer when he's no longer just an arm's length from me. "Why couldn't we have just had a regular conversation about it?"

"What's there to talk about, Mac? I've been ready for our five years to be up for a long time. And we're a stone's throw from the finish line and you tell me you don't want to go through with it. How am I supposed to react?"

"We're supposed to discuss it!" My voice is louder than I expected and he raises an eyebrow. I take a breath and sit down. "We're supposed to discuss it," I repeat. "If we would have discussed it, I would have told you that I still want children with you. But now we're really together. Having a baby can be more than just fulfilling this impulsive deal we made five years ago."

He stands and moves across the apartment. He sits next to me on the sofa, careful to leave space between us and I despise that sliver of upholstery I can see between our thighs. I can't think of a time since he told me how he felt that's we've been together on this couch without our bodies touching. "But why wait?"

"Why rush it?" I shoot back. I stand and move around - his nearness is making it difficult for me to think.

"Is it really rushing it though? It's been nearly five years." His eyes move over me, and he frowns. "Or is this your way of telling me you would have never gone through with it."

"At one point I would have gone through with it."

"Would have? What changed?"

"I'm not the same woman I was five years ago." I lick my lips and wrap my arms around my middle. "That woman was so desperate-"

His eyes narrow and I see his jaw clench. "Desperate? You only said yes because you were desperate? Jesus. Thanks, Mac. That makes me feel great."

I shake my head. I'm so goddamned angry and frustrated with him right now, but I love him just as much and the hurt on his face makes me want to start apologizing. I won't do it though, because I haven't done anything I need to apologize for, and he would realize that if he would just let me finish speaking.

"Do you even realize how much I've done out of desperation? How afraid I was of ending up alone? I agreed to have a baby with you, because I wanted you. You, Harm. And if we had a baby, I'd have a part of you no matter what. I nearly married Mic because I thought that being with him was better than being alone." I look up at him, my eyes wide and pleading. I just want him to hear me – and, more importantly, to understand what I'm saying. "I'm not afraid of being alone anymore."

He doesn't say anything, and all of a sudden, I feel like I'm suffocating. His apartment is too warm, his eyes are on me and his gaze feels heavy. I feel the urge to leave. I want to grab my coat and my purse, walk outside and… the words stick. I'm only thinking them – I'm not even saying them - but I'm having a hard time forming them. It's sobering to realize that a part of me wants to leave this place and not come back. I think about the first night we spent together, and my fear that too much had happened and we had changed too much to be able to be together. Do we work without all of the baggage? I love him. I love him with everything I am, but can this truly work?

"Why are we fighting over this?" My voice is soft, and I wonder if he notices the fear in it. I want us to work. I want that more than anything. "We want the same thing. We want children & a future together. So, what is there to fight about?"

"I don't know," he says softly. We stare at each other and he sighs before shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don't understand why you have always seemed to move faster with other men than you are with me. You were wearing Brumby's ring one day after I said not yet. You were planning on the children you'd have before you were married. You went to bed with Webb, but turned me down. There is this hesitance with me that hasn't been there with the other men."

I feel the color drain from my face. "It's not hesitance, Harm. I don't feel the same sense of urgency or obligation with you. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don't want to rush that." He doesn't say anything, and the urge to leave becomes almost overwhelming. "I'm going to go."

I'm not sure what I expect from my declaration. I'm not sure if I want him to let me leave, or if I want him to fight for me. But he simply nods and says okay. I move to the door and grab my purse and coat. "I'll call you later."

"Okay."

I chew on my lower lip for a moment, before I let out a breath. "Okay." I open the door and take a few steps, and then I'm no longer in the warm apartment with his intense gaze on me, and the relief is almost overwhelming. And I have no idea what to make of that.

End Part 25