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 Twenty-Six - Harm

A Few Days Later…

"Harm."

I turn at the sound of my name and frown at my former commanding officer. He's walking across the parking lot to me, and as much as I want to ignore him and continue piling the lumber I just purchased in the back of my car, I can't. Nearly twenty years of service won't let me ignore him. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to reach me.

"AJ." It feels strange to address him as anything other than 'sir' or 'admiral'. I'll always show him the respect his rank and title deserves, but it's hard for me to address him in the ways I did in my previous life. He reaches me, but doesn't say anything, and I feel the annoyance that's been simmering under the surface for nearly two weeks begin to boil. "Did you need something?"

He shakes his head and shoves his hand in his pockets. "No. I just spotted you on my way inside. How are you?"

"A little busy for small talk," I say as I glance at my watch. "I need to get going."

"Can we talk?" He asks.

I shake my head. "I can't right now. I'm meeting the roofers at the house, and I…" I trail off one he begins to look at me like I have a second head. He doesn't know anything about the house, or what I've been up to since the CIA cut me loose. "It's just not a good time. My number is the same. Give me a call if you need something."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Yeah, because you're so great at returning calls. I know Harriet and Bud have tried calling you and haven't spoken to you in months. Coates has tried too, and she hasn't heard from you yet." My anger has now moved from beginning to boil to a rolling boil, and I clench my jaw tightly. "None of them understand, Harm. They don't know why you ended those relationships."

"Since none of them gave a single fuck about how Mac felt when they turned on her, I can't be bothered to worry about how any of them feel right now." His eyebrows raise and I will myself to calm down. "Look, I really do have to go."

"I could come with you," he offers. "I could help you with whatever you're working on, and you can let me tell you what I need to tell you."

Over the ten plus years of my relationship with this man, I have seen so many different sides of him. But this one – this vulnerable one – is new. I can't imagine what he needs to tell me, or what he wants to talk to me about, but I can't find it in myself to ignore him or blow him off.

"Fine," I say. "You can follow me in your car." He nods and turns away. He almost runs to his car, as if he's worried I'm going to ditch him. I won't lie – I do consider it for a moment. But in the end, I pull out of my parking space and stay stopped at the stop sign until he's behind me. The drive to my house doesn't take long, and there isn't much traffic on a Saturday morning. I pull into the neighborhood and make the requisite turns until I'm pulling into my driveway. The roofing crew is already there, though they haven't started working yet, and I lift my hand in greeting to the foreman. The admiral pulls into the driveway and parks behind me, and the confusion is evident on his face as he looks around the busy yard. I open the back of the Lexus and begin pulling out the lumber I purchased, and he hurries to join me.

"Where's this going?"

"The garage." We work in silence for a few minutes while we unload the wood that will eventually become the family room's built-in book cases. When we're back at the empty car, I shut the back hatch and turn to face him. "What did you want to talk about?"

He ignores my question and looks around again. "What's going on here?"

I sigh and lock the car before shoving my keys in my pocket. "I bought this house, and I'm renovating it."

His brow furrows and he frowns. "Why?"

"Because I needed something productive to do while I decide what I want to do with the rest of my life." He doesn't react and I sigh again. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

"What you're going to do with the rest of your life. Can we talk inside?" I nod and he follows me inside to the kitchen. There is no where to sit, and he looks annoyed as he looks around the empty house. "Well, I guess sitting down for a proper conversation is out of the question."

"Look," I say, with difficulty disguising my annoyance, "if you want to talk, talk. I have a lot to do, and I don't really feel like standing around and dragging this out. So please say what you need to say, and let me get on with my day.

He takes a breath and leans against the kitchen counter. "Harm, I'm retiring." I raise an eyebrow, but say nothing.

"Okay," I finally manage. I'm not sure what he wants or expects me to say. "I'm not sure why this concerns me, especially considering I'm not in the Navy anymore."

"I'm retiring in May, and I'm not sure who my replacement will be," he continues. "Harm, you belong in the Navy. You belong at JAG. Let me help you come back before I go." I shake my head, but he hurries on. "Harm, I can't guarantee that my successor will let you come back. Let me help you while I still can."

"No." My voice is firm, as is my resolve.

"Harm…"

"No," I repeat. "I'm not coming back. I don't want to come back. That life isn't for me anymore."

"But it could be," he argues. "You are an excellent attorney and officer."

"I was an excellent attorney and officer," I correct.

He grunts something and shakes his head. "What about your future, Rabb? You were being groomed for my chair someday. And you've thrown it all away for what?" He spins in a small circle. "For this? To renovate a house? You are a skilled attorney and aviator. Can't you see that you're wasting those skills and your God-given talent by not using them?"

I shrug lightly. "Maybe I am. Who knows? All I know is that I don't want that life anymore." He stares at me, but doesn't say anything for a long moment. Finally, I look away and run the toe of my shoe through a patch of dust. "I assume you're making Mac the same offer." He shakes his head and I frown. "Why not? She was always better at the job than I was."

"I spoke to her a few months ago, actually." He thinks for a moment. "Maybe around Thanksgiving. And she seemed good. Happy. I asked her then if she had changed her mind and wanted to come back, but she told me no, and told me about her new job."

"And I don't seem good?"

He rolls his eyes and I bite back a smile. "Nope."

I watch him for a moment, and my first instinct is to argue with him. To tell him he's wrong, and that I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. But I can't. I can't lie to the man who has been like a… well, not exactly like a father to me, but maybe an uncle or older brother. I can't keep pretending that I'm okay when I'm not, so instead of denying it I slowly nod my head. "Well, you're right, I guess. I'm not good." I open up the decrepit fridge that somehow still works and pull out a beer. I extend it to him and he wordlessly takes it and I pull out another for myself.

"What's going on?"

His voice is soft, quiet, and not what I'm used to from him. I pop the cap off and take a swig. "I don't want to come back," I say. "Not to the Navy or to JAG. I really do feel like that part of my life is over. As for this," I gesture at the house and then turn my attention back to him, "this is good for me for now. I like taking something that's ugly and falling apart and making it worth something again." I laugh, but there is no humor or happiness in the sound. "I thought I was doing that with my life, but apparently not."

My admission makes me feel anxious, and my eyes scan the room. I'm desperate for something that needs immediate attention, but there's nothing. Then I stop scanning, and I focus on the cabinet doors. The hideous doors with ugly floral patterns carved into the wood fronts. I hate those doors. I hate the way that Mac laughed when she saw them, and teased that if I wanted to keep them, she'd happily help me clean the dust out of all of those grooves. I grab a screwdriver, walk over to a cabinet, and start taking it down. Once the door is free from the hinge, I hurl it at the floor and watch as it cracks down the middle, and pieces of wood chip off the edge.

"Feel better?"

I look up at AJ and let out a breath. And then I nod. "Yeah, actually. I do."

He nods and picks up the screw driver. He takes off another door and hands it to me. I hurl it to the floor and watch it break too. We do this with every door in the kitchen, and before long there isn't a single door left on the cabinets, and there is a huge pile of broken wood on the ugly orange and brown linoleum floor. I'm standing in the middle of all of it, breathing heavy and utterly spent.

"Come on," he says gently. He sets his untouched beer down and puts a hand on my back. "Let's go get something to eat." I wordlessly follow him out of the house, and into the front seat of his car, and I say nothing while he drives a few blocks to a sports bar.

There is a basket of tortilla chips and two beers between us, and he's waiting for me to talk to him. He's patient, and I know he'll wait me out, and I wish I was back at the house, smashing more ugly doors against the ugly linoleum. I shrug and he leans back. "Your life is worth something. It always has been. You don't need to do anything to give it value."

I sip the beer and reach for a tortilla chip. "I'm not suicidal. I'm not going to do anything rash."

He's quiet for a while, and then nods. "Have you been in contact with Mac?" I don't say anything and he sighs. "Are the two of you together?"

I chew on the chip for a moment and then sip the beer. "I don't think that's any of your business."

"It kind of is," he argues. "The whole office spent so many years invested in the two of you and the whole will they/won't they aspect of your relationship."

I scoff and shake my head. "Yeah, real invested. So invested they were able just to brush her aside like she was nothing." I look up at him and see remorse on his face. "I don't owe any of them anything."

"None of them were cruel to her," he says softly.

"They didn't to do or say anything to be cruel. They just needed to be cold and indifferent. Which they were." I think back to one of the first nights she and I spent together. We were laying in her bed, and she was telling me about her therapy, and how much she hated it at first. "She did think about suicide," I say. "Did you know that?" He swallows and shakes his head, and I continue. "She told me that she actually considered herself lucky to have had such a terrible childhood, because if she hadn't survived worse, she would have already ended it. Until you insisted on therapy, she had no one." I take another sip of the beer. "So, when I say that I don't owe them anything, I mean it. I don't owe them anything."

We stare at one another for a long, long time and he finally nods. "I'm sorry she went through everything that she did, and I'm sorry for my part in all of it." I don't say anything and he smiles softly. "You are together, aren't you?"

I sigh and eat another chip and force myself to answer honestly. "I'm honestly not sure anymore." He raises an eyebrow and I shrug. "Things are complicated right now."

He leans forward like he wants me to say more, but I hesitate. I never imagined myself confiding in my commanding officer about my love life, but at the moment I don't have anyone else to confide in. I can't talk to Mac. I don't want to talk to my family. I don't have a therapist, and as embarrassed as I am to admit, I don't have any true friends right now. But this man sitting across from me knows me better than nearly anyone, and I feel myself wanting to speak.

"It's complicated. I'm in love with her, and I want to be with her. And for a while, things were good. But we had an argument, and now I feel like we're in different places and we want different things."

"Like what?"

I watch him drag a tortilla chip through the guacamole, and then I tell him about our five-year deal, and the two arguments we've had since then. He chokes on a chip and coughs when I tell him about the deal we made on the steps of JAG Head Quarters, and then tries not to roll his eyes when I tell him the rest of the story.

"So, what," he finally says, "it's over because of a plan you put in place almost five years ago?"

"It's not just that," I argue. Of course, he's taking her side. "It's that I'm ready to move forward, and she shoots me down."

"And you never shot her down when she was ready to move forward?" I wince, and wonder if he's guessing, or if he somehow knows about Australia.

"We've both shot each other down plenty," I say. I think about Australia and the Guadalcanal and those horrible nights in Paraguay - we've both hurt each other so many times.

"It's different now," he says quietly. "You're not just friends and partners anymore." I don't say anything, because I honestly don't know if that's the case anymore. We went a week without speaking after the night that I walked out, and it's been three days since she did. "Let me ask you something," he says gently. "You gave up everything to keep her safe. What are you willing to give up to be with her?"

I frown and push the beer away. "I don't understand why I have to give up anything?"

He grins, and the expression annoys me. "Because she's not Ms. Peterson or Commander Parker. She's not going to let you do whatever you want, just to keep you happy." I blush, knowing he's at least right about that. Renee never asked anything of me, and went along without argument. Jordan did too – at least until I returned to flying. "Mac is your partner. She's been your partner, your equal for years. She's not going to be like the other women you've been with."

He's right, of course. I don't want her to be a pushover the way my exes have been, and I don't want to be as controlling as hers have been. "And I don't want her to be."

AJ gives me a break after reminding me that Mac isn't like the other women I've been with, and turns the conversation to less intense topics. We talk about his imminent retirement and the plans he's already made. When he drops me off at my house at few hours later, I feel better, and I shake his hand and wish him well. I'm not sure if I'll ever see him again, but the resentment and anger I've felt for him for almost nine months is gone.

I check out the new roof, and am pleased with both the quality of the work, and the speed with which it was done, and then lock up the house and head back to my apartment. The place is dark and too quiet, and it's… it's lonely. I can't smell her perfume anymore and I miss it. I miss her.

There's a light flashing on the answering machine, and I hurry to it and press play. My hope flickers out when I hear my mother's voice and I only halfheartedly listen. I stare at the machine once the message has finished and I think about Mac, and her comment that I don't sound happy on my recording anymore. My finger hovers over the button that'll allow me to rerecord it, but right now it probably wouldn't be any better. I pull my hand back and I think about Mac and all of the messages she left me. There were so many, and I think about how much courage it took for her to leave them. I turn away from the machine and take a step towards the kitchen before I stop in my tracks.

I haven't listened to all of them, I realize. I never listened to the first two.

I turn back to the machine and pull open the small drawer I remembered stuffing the old tape into. I pull it out and move over to the stereo on my bookshelf. I put the tape in the tape deck, rewind it to the beginning and press play.

"Hey Harm, it's me. I know you're off on a mission. I hope you stay safe and stay out of trouble. I just want to let you know that I'm so sorry about Paraguay and everything that happened afterward. I don't think I ever properly thanked you for coming down there and saving my life. Thank you, Harm. Thank you so much. Words will never be enough, but they're all I can give you right now. Please stay safe, flyboy. I'd love to hear from you when you're home."

I close my eyes and wait for the second message to start. I hate hearing the pain in her voice. I hate knowing that she felt so much pain and was completely alone.

"Hey Harm, it's me. I actually hope you won't listen to this message because it's actually pretty embarrassing. But I'm seeing a therapist and my homework assignment tonight is to tell someone about a time in my life when I felt really good about myself because of myself, and I can't think of a time. It just hit me how pathetic I am. I have no feel-good story about myself to tell, and even if I did, I have no one to tell it to. That's really sad, isn't it? I'm going to change that. I have to change that. You're not in my life anymore, so I can't depend on you to make me feel good about myself. Stay safe flyboy. I miss you."

I hit stop once the message beeps, and grab my keys. I need to be with her. I need her to know that I love her, and that she has so many reasons to feel good about herself. But most of all, I just need her, and I need for her to know that.

End Part 26