A/N: Eh, well, I meant to work on Miracles, but I muse was feeling a bit dark. So here you go ;)

Trust

Chapter 6: Carnage

Harm slowly pushed open Mac's door, bracing himself for what he might find therein. The first thing he noticed was…nothing. Nothing was out of place; not even a throw pillow was askew. It was almost oppressively quiet, and Harm forced himself to step further into Mac's home. Forced, because even though everything looked so normal, he sensed things were anything but.

First, he scanned the living room, half afraid he'd find Webb lying dead on the floor. Though the other half of him felt a grim satisfaction at the idea of the spook being forever gone, he was relieved when no body, no anything, marred the cozy space. He gave the room a final glance with the intent to move on to the kitchen next, but then something on Mac's desk caught his eye and he stepped over to it. He carefully picked it up, then studied it for a while, his eyes stinging and his throat tightening.

It was a perfect profile of her baby. Though the ultrasound picture showed that she had been only ten weeks pregnant at the time, he could make out the forming limbs and the little face. Somehow, he knew this baby would have looked just like Mac, whether it turned out to be a boy or girl, and he knew that though it wasn't his child biologically, he would have loved that baby simply because he or she would have come from his beloved Sarah.

Harm brushed a tear aside as he finally set the photo back down. This was all such a mess, and he had no doubt, besides the obvious, that Webb had everything to do with the anger and torment he could see in Mac right now. Yes, his own anger and jealousy colored his feelings toward the spook, but even beyond that, Mac's relationship with Webb had always disturbed him.

Initially, it had seemed that Mac was throwing Webb in his face with her constant references to her latest paramour; truthfully, she probably had been, though she was the one who'd said 'never' in Paraguay. Later, however, those 'casual' mentions of Webb started to fade. He could see that now with the benefit of hindsight, just as he could see that Mac had gradually become more withdrawn as the months passed. He remembered with chagrin how Harriet had come to him one afternoon when Mac had secured early to ask if he'd noticed anything amiss with the colonel. He'd replied snarkily that Mac appeared to be doing just fine, that she'd likely secured early because Webb was suddenly back in town. Harriet had given him the same look she gave little AJ when she was disappointed in him, only this time he could see a flash of anger in her blue eyes as well.

Could you be a bigger asshole, Harm? he berated himself as he set the photo down and turned back toward the kitchen. Yeah, you could be. You have been.

Harm didn't know if he'd ever hated himself as much as he did at this moment.

He stood there by Mac's desk for a long while, scrubbing a hand over his face, feeling even more exhausted than he had a few minutes ago. The weight of every harsh word he'd said to her, every time he'd turned his back on her, every time he'd told her with his actions that she wasn't as important to him as his flying, his car, his search for his father, settled on him, and he knew he'd never be able to make it up to her.

That wasn't the only thing that ate at him, however…

He'd given up everything to find her in Paraguay, had actually succeeded, but when she didn't respond to him as he'd hoped, he'd basically handed her off to Webb like a cheap whore. No matter how many times she told him she wasn't with Webb, that she didn't have a "thing" for him, he'd kept needling her, had refused to directly answer her questions of why he'd come after her, and then didn't fight her on her never…after which he'd had the nerve to be a self-righteous prick about the whole thing.

Now, he suspected she and Webb hadn't become an actual couple until after she'd killed Sadik. There had been ample opportunity for him to tell Mac he loved her, seventeen opportunities to return her calls, and an infinite number of times for him to just be her friend. To just be grateful she was still alive.

Harm knew down in his soul she no longer trusted him, and he had no one to blame but himself for that. He'd always expected her to watch his six and to be his confidant, and then he'd thanked her by failing to return the favor time and time again.

Harm swiped his hand over his face again and then forced himself to keep moving. If he didn't, he knew he'd break down right in the middle of her living room. He was too tired and too worried about Mac to control his emotions easily, and the entirely normal appearance of her living room actually made him more apprehensive about why Mac hadn't wanted him to come here. He needed to forge ahead to the next room.

Mac's kitchen was in the galley style, unable to be seen from the rest of the apartment. Harm took a deep breath before he entered, closing his eyes as he stepped around the corner…

What he saw when his eyes opened caused his stomach to lurch and a strangled 'Maaac' to escape from his lips.

There. That was the last of it.

Harm wiped his hands on his pants after tossing the last garbage bag into the dumpster behind Mac's apartment. The sound of breaking glass was satisfying to his ears, and he imagined climbing into the dumpster to smash into oblivion what shards were left from all of those bottles he'd found on her kitchen counter.

There had to have been at least thirty of them; he'd stopped counting after about the eleventh one. Some were empty, but he'd had to dump out the remaining contents of several of the bottles. As the smell of ethanol burned his nostrils, Harm felt nauseated, his stomach once again trying to rebel on him as he prayed that this was all Webb's, that Mac hadn't succumbed to the temptations of alcohol once again.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part, but as he read the labels, he began to suspect they were all Webb's. There was Scotch, Bourbon, two or three different brandies, but all were very high-end, something Webb's old money could buy freely, while a Lt. Colonel in the marines would pause at the extravagance of it. Besides, Mac's choice of poison had always been vodka and there were no bottles of that lying around. Harm knew Mac despised whiskey and beer after watching her father drink infinite amounts of each of them. She wasn't a fan of wine either; she'd felt it was pretentious and had served enough of it to various "elites" during her brief job as a waitress in a country club. She was really too young to be serving alcohol, but at seventeen she was already a beautiful woman, thus she was very popular. Her employers saved her for the private gatherings of rich old men. She'd quit when she'd had more than enough of their hands on her six and "accidental" contact with her breasts. Even then, men had used her, and Harm hated to think of it.

He'd been surprised when she'd told him all of that the night that son of a bitch Coster had taken her and revealed himself to be her stalker. Harm had taken her back to his apartment after they were through with the police. He could have just as easily taken her back to her place, but, as it had been the scene of much unpleasantness of late, Harm felt she might calm faster if she had a change of scenery. As soon as they arrived there, he shooed her into the shower while he retrieved a pair of his sweats for her. He tossed them into the bathroom, keeping his eyes averted from his rather revealing shower. Then, he'd gone into the kitchen to make some tea. Before he made it that far, however, he heard her muffled sobs. He'd found her sitting on the floor, water from her hair dripping onto the sweatshirt she'd donned. She'd looked so small and vulnerable in the oversized clothing that he couldn't stop himself from sitting down next to her and pulling her into his arms. After her tears dried, he put her to bed and because she'd asked him to stay with her, he had. They ended up talking until early morning, Harm telling her amusing stories of him as a child to make her laugh, and she telling him about her darkest days as an alcoholic. He'd cherished the trust she'd had in him that night…that is, he'd cherished it until he'd found out she'd neglected to tell him about her husband.

Harm had tried to let it go, but he'd felt a smoldering anger toward her for not telling him, for lying to protect John Farrow, and for shaking his trust in her. What she'd said to him on the Watertown about having no faith in her…she wasn't entirely wrong. Yes, they'd made up after being nearly killed by Hodge, but their relationship had still taken a blow. He could acknowledge now that the driving force behind his anger then was the fact that he'd felt deeply hurt. Feeling hurt implied a closer connection to her, one that he wasn't yet ready to acknowledge. There by the dumpster, he had to admit to himself that he still held all of that against her…even as she'd supported him through all the twists and turns of his life…

Harm felt vaguely sick to his stomach as he climbed the stairs back up to Mac's apartment. He knew he'd fucked up and he wasn't sure how he was going to undo it…or if he even could.

Harm spent some time scrubbing down the counters of Mac's kitchen, and once he'd started, he felt compelled to clean the rest of it. He wiped down her microwave, the stove, the dishwasher, and then moved to the refrigerator.

A nearly empty refrigerator…

What have you been eating, Mac? his mind questioned. As far as edible food, here was only some sliced cheese and a half-container of eggs, along with a few different condiments. The rest of the contents—some carrots and apples, some extremely ripe tomatoes, were long past appetizing. He threw those into a new garbage bag, vowing to go out and buy some groceries for her as soon as he'd finished there, and this time he'd buy what he knew she liked, not just what he thought she should eat.

The freezer was next, and though Harm felt her collection of frozen meals was unhealthy and unappealing, he actually hoped he'd find several waiting for her. It wasn't meant to be. There were a couple in there, along with a half-empty carton of ice cream, but the rest of it was taken up with ice.

Probably for Webb and his "cocktails," he thought grimly to himself. He wiped out what he could in the freezer, adding Mac's favorite frozen foods to the mental list he was making in his head.

He fared better when he looked through her cupboards; there was some fairly fresh bread, some boxes of cereal, and some boxed macaroni and cheese. Mac kept some around for little AJ and had admitted to him once that she used to make macaroni and cheese at her uncle's house when she visited. She'd been proud that she was able to make the culinary delight, and her Uncle Matt always raved over it like it was the epitome of gourmet food. She'd make it once and awhile to feel closer to her uncle and he remembered her blushing a little when she'd told him she actually really enjoyed the taste. Those times when Harm was at her apartment working on a case with her, she'd often make him tomato soup and grilled cheese, his favorite comfort food from his childhood. Harm was relieved to see that she did have the supplies for that. It was one of her comfort foods too.

God, she used to tell me everything. What happened to us, Mac? he mused dejectedly.

Harm took a moment to check his cellphone, wanting to make sure Mac hadn't needed him and, finding no messages, he took a last glance around him. Everything seemed to be in order…but then a little voice whispered in his ear…

Check the bedroom.

You can't. Mac would kill you…

But there's something there…

Something…

There…

Before he could lose his nerve, Harm stalked down the hall toward the bedroom. He'd been in there before, of course, after she'd stumbled upon it trashed and vandalized by Coster, but since then, other than the time he'd passed through it to fix a leaky faucet in her bathroom, he hadn't seen it. He really didn't want to see it…not now, knowing Webb had been with her there, but he still felt compelled to enter it.

Harm stopped at the closed door, his hand advancing and retreating from the knob a couple of times before he screwed up the courage to open it…and found he'd opened the door to a nightmare.

Blood. Blood everywhere…

Well, not everywhere…but it may as well have been.

There were bloody palm prints on the door frame, the dresser, and the door to the bathroom. He found her landline off the hook, the handset smeared with the red-brown of old blood. Harm hung it up and noted with a lurch that it still felt a little sticky. Her cellphone was on the floor in a similar condition. Harm swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat; he wasn't generally squeamish about such things, but this was Mac…

He'd had no idea it had been so bad for her…

He still didn't, apparently, because the bathroom was worse—more palm prints, a bloodied t-shirt with "Go Navy" on it—one of his that she'd apparently pilfered from his apartment or perhaps from his sea bag during an investigation away—and several crimson-stained wash cloths.

However, it wasn't until he checked her bed that he truly had an inkling if how horrible it had to have been for her. He had noticed some blood marring the white eyelet lace-trimmed bedspread, so he gingerly pulled it back.

There, on what he knew to be Mac's side, was a violently red stain that spread out over the sheet where her hips would have rested. It had to be at least sixteen inches in diameter, and to his horror, it was still rather wet.

Oh, Mac…

Harm did his best to choke back his tears. How frightened had Mac had to have been when she felt herself bleeding so? He knew she'd been in pain in the ER; how terrifying would it have been to experience that all alone?

I'm sorry, Mac. I'm so, so sorry...

There was only one thing left for him to do. There was no way he would let Mac come home to this carnage, so he gathered up his courage while he gathered up her cleaning supplies and went to work.

The mattress was ruined—well, it was still functional, but Harm wouldn't have Mac witnessing evidence of her trauma every time she changed the bedding, so, along with the actually ruined sheets, he made the executive decision to toss all of that and buy new. He'd find a way to get everything set up today, even if he had to do it all himself, and with his plan in place and an apartment mostly put back to rights, Harm turned off the lights and locked up. He then set about doing his best to make things better for his precious Mac.

Harm was exhausted. He'd ended up borrowing a neighbor's pickup to take away the old mattress set and haul in the best mattress and box springs his money could buy. It was certainly no picnic dragging out the old and bringing up the new through Mac's fairly narrow stairwell, and maybe he hadn't needed to get a new box spring, but this was for Mac. Nothing was too much for her.

Once the bed was in place, Harm had returned the truck, reclaimed his Lexus, and then headed to the grocery store to get Mac stocked up for a while. He figured she probably wouldn't be up to going out anytime soon. Once that was accomplished, her cupboards and refrigerator full, he set about washing the new sheets and blankets he'd purchased before he made up the bed. He found the quilt her grandmother had made for her in the closet and spread that out over everything; he would let her decide if she wanted a new bedspread or not.

Harm understand that buying bedding for a woman was a rather intimate task, one that would likely infuriate Mac, especially since he wasn't supposed here in the first place, but he honestly didn't care. The liquor bottles were gone, the blood and horror were washed away, and now she wouldn't have to deal with all of that on top of everything else. He'd take whatever fury she threw at him if it meant he'd spared her from reliving the whole wretched experience.

Too tired to go home and too achy from his recent tasks and nights of sleeping in a chair, Harm took a quick shower and then stretched out on Mac's new bed. He wrapped the quilt around himself, falling asleep as soon as his head hit her pillow.

Meanwhile, several blocks away in the Georgetown Medical Center, the actual tenant of that apartment sat up in her bed, tired and in pain, crying over a baby that was never meant to be while the sweet forgetfulness of sleep was denied to her. All she could do was think…

"Harm's been let go."

Mac looked up to see Clay stepping into her living area, having let himself in to her annoyance. To be fair, she had left the door unlocked for him, but he could have at least knocked. Soon he was looming above her and she drew up her legs to give him room on the couch. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, landing just a little too close to her mouth.

"What did you say, Clay?" she asked as he sat down, again a little too close.

"I said, Harm's gone."

Those words instantly sent her into a panic. Harm was gone? How…why…what would they tell his mother? What would she tell his mother? When it was all her fault and Trish Burnett undoubtedly knew that?

"Wha—What h-happened?" she asked, choking on the words.

Clay seemed unaffected. "He landed a C-130 on an aircraft carrier."

"You—you mean he, he, um, crashed?" Tears started leaking from her eyes.

"No, Sarah…why would you…for God's sake, why are you crying? I thought you'd be glad he wasn't in the CIA anymore." His voice sounded bitter as he spoke those last words.

"What, you mean he— "

"Oh my god, Sarah, you thought he was dead?! Why would— "

"You said he was gone!"

Clay narrowed his eyes at her. "I meant gone from the CIA!"

Mac was doing her best to stop the tears, tears that were at once due to her relief at Harm's continued existence and due to grief over their continued estrangement.

When she had managed to regain control, she looked back up into Clay's eyes. They'd taken on a darkened, sullen hue as the always did when she spoke about Harm. "But why? Do you know how hard it is to land that type of plane on a carrier?"

"It wasn't that, Sarah." Clay snorted. "It was that smile he flashed the reporters that did it."

"Oh." She supposed being filmed by a news crew really wasn't the best way to maintain any sort of cover in the CIA.

'You need to call him' was her next thought. She reached for her cell.

"You're going to call him again?"

Mac drew her hand back. "I think I should. I want to see if he's okay."

Clay snorted again. "I'm sure he'll land on his feet, just like he always does."

"I don't think he did this time, Clay."

Clay's response was to raise an eyebrow at her.

"He—he gave up everything to save me, er, us. And now he's lost another job because of me."

"Look, Sarah. He's the one who chose to quit the navy."

"To save me!"

"Don't you mean us?"

No, I don't, she thought mutinously, then immediately felt awful for it.

"Yes, yes of course I do," she soothed. "Look, you're right about Harm. He always comes out on top. He'll be fine. I'll just…I'll just get dinner started. Chicken stir-fry okay with you?" Mac stood up and headed toward the kitchen, not waiting for his response.

Two hours later, after a dinner robustly eaten by Clay and unenthusiastically consumed by Mac, Clay lay asleep on her couch. The shakes were gone, he was back at work, but he still tired easily and often ended up crashing on her couch. Mac didn't mind, not really, anyway, and tonight it did give her opportunity to sneak off into her bedroom to try calling Harm.

Her fingers shook a bit as she dialed his number and she willed him to answer this time, but, just as it had happened fifteen times before, the machine picked up. She waited for the beep; at least she could tell his machine how sorry she was…

"Um, yeah…it's me…again. Harm, I just heard about you being let go from the CIA, and I, um, just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. Please, call me. I really want to talk— "

An irritated huff interrupted her speech, and her head snapped up to see a rumpled looking Clay staring at her. Their eyes met, seconds ticking by, until he finally just shook his head and walked away.

She gazed a moment at the now empty space in her hall, then tried to return to her message. She was too late, however. The machine had already hung up, and all Mac could do was sit there and cry.

Mac must have eventually dozed off, for the next thing she knew, sun was shining through her window, and Harm was standing in her doorway.

She didn't mean for the words to tumble out, but tumble out they did.

"Why didn't you ever answer me, Harm?"

End Chapter 6