A/N: What to say…well, I should have been cleaning my house instead of writing, but, well, you know…

Trust

Chapter 8: A Friendship Broken

She wished she could wake up. Somehow, a part of her brain knew she was dreaming, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't drag herself away from it. The insomniac in her had given up the fight, and she slept on, helpless to stop the memories from replaying before her mind's eye…

"You didn't tell me Rabb was back."

"What?" Mac said distractedly as she closed her apartment door behind her. She felt a flash of irritation at seeing Clay sitting on her sofa, feet resting on the coffee table in front of him. Yes, she'd given him her key, and yes, she'd told him to let himself in…two weeks ago when she'd invited him to dinner, but now it was a regular occurrence to find him there. He wasn't back at work yet, had continued to be easily fatigued and frustrated, and she knew he was tired of his mother's hovering. He hated to be alone still, however, so it wasn't as simple as just moving back into his own apartment. Mac, knowing she was the main cause of Clay's circumstances, allowed him this respite, never telling him that in her pain, she craved silence, and also never telling him his increasing alcohol intake made her feel ill. He'd taken to leaving a few bottles of high-end liquor in her kitchen, and though she hadn't been tempted, she resented him for so callously exposing her to it when he knew about her history of alcoholism and wretched childhood due to her father's. Once, he'd 'jokingly' offered her some and for the first time since Paraguay, she'd lost her temper and told him exactly what she thought about his offer. He'd looked so small and contrite that she'd immediately regretted being so harsh and then ended up apologizing to him. He'd reassured her that it was okay and then told her he wouldn't keep alcohol there anymore. That had lasted all of four days, and she'd never mentioned it again. After all, could she really blame him?

"Well?" Clay sounded rather irritable; he must have had another rough night.

"I'm sorry, Clay. What did you say?"

"I said, you didn't tell me Rabb was back." Clay sounded vaguely accusatory, and Mac wrinkled her brow.

"I guess I didn't think it was all that important. We haven't really interacted much." She'd actually tried to talk to him a few times, had even invited him to lunch, but he'd been aloof and rather dismissive. It hurt, but she wasn't really surprised at his behavior. It wasn't like he'd returned any of the seventeen messages she'd left him. Ah, well…

"Why wouldn't it be important? He's your best friend, isn't he?"

Not anymore, Clay...

"Um, we…well we haven't been…close…for quite a while."

"Close? He came to Paraguay for you, didn't he?"

God, please, don't bring up Paraguay, she silently begged him.

"Yeah, but…um…Chinese okay for you? Or pizza? We could get half veggie— "

"What?"

Oh, lord…

She'd been about to rattle off her and Harm's typical takeout orders. "Oh—did you want something else?"

"Actually, I'm not very hungry. C'mere…sit with me for a while."

Well, maybe I am, Clay, she groused to herself. Instead, she dutifully sat next to the man, stiffening a bit when he took her hand.

"You seem tense, Mac. Bad day?"

"Yeah," she answered. It was a bit rough." It had actually been pretty miserable, but she wouldn't burden Clay with that. Besides, it wasn't like he seemed all that interested. The two sat in an uncomfortable silence, until Mac volunteered to pick up something from a posh nearby French restaurant. She wasn't really a fan of French food, but Clay was, and he certainly could stand to gain a few pounds.

An hour and a half later, Clay was enthusiastically digging into his Saumon a l'oseille, while Mac picked at her dish, the chicken like cardboard in her mouth.

Mac's eyes fluttered open, the tears slipping from her eyes. She cried silently, soaking her new pillow, but Harm's scent wrapped around her along with the most comfortable bed she'd ever slept in lulled her back to sleep within a few minutes, and this time her sleep was blessedly dreamless and deep.

"Hey, I thought I told you to call me when you were ready to get up!" Harm quickly stood and stepped to Mac's side. His hands hovered behind her shoulders, ready to support her if she fumbled. Somewhat to his chagrin, she seemed to be far steadier on her feet as she slowly made her way to her couch. She was still in her pajamas and, curled up as she was in the corner of the sofa, she looked impossibly young and tiny. Harm felt a rush of love and affection for her, and it was all he could do not to sit next to her and cuddle her close. Instead, he offered to get her a snack and something to drink.

"Um, I can…"

"Maaac…come on…just let me…"

"Okay, yeah…some water, maybe? And some toast, I guess." She looked down at her hands that were clenched in her lap.

"What would you like on your toast?" He wished she wanted something more substantial, but this was a start.

"Nothing, thanks. Wait…Harm, I don't think I have any bread…"

Harm flashed her a little grin. "Don't worry—I got you stocked up again. Did you want wheat or sourdough?"

"You mean…Harm you've done too much. Please, let me get my purse. I need to pay you back." Mac started to rise but Harm was quick to press her back down, taking his hands from her shoulders as soon as she was fully seated on the couch again.

"Mac…don't worry about that right now…pay me tomorrow or next week, I don't care. You just relax for now, all right? All right, Mac?" he asked again when she didn't acknowledge him after a few moments.

"All right, Harm. And I'll, um, have sourdough."

"Great! I'll go get it ready!" Harm knew he sounded overly cheerful, but he supposed he wanted to make up for Mac's solemness. He turned to head into her kitchen, but before he was halfway there, he heard her calling to him.

"Yeah, Mac?" He watched her bite her lip for Start several seconds before she finally spoke again.

"Um…thank you, Harm, for…for everything."

Harm gazed at her tenderly. "You're welcome, Mac. I'll um, I'll go get your toast, okay?" Harm was pleased to see her lips curl up into a small smile. Warmed, he headed for the kitchen.

"Did you sleep okay?" Harm asked after he had come back with her toast. She did seem more rested, and she was definitely steadier on her feet which was a good sign.

"Yeah…I really did. There's just something about sleeping in your own…well, I guess it's not exactly…but, yeah. Best sleep I've had in awhile."

"I'm glad. You definitely look like you feel better."

"I do…Harm…how, um, how long was I…out?"

Harm felt the same surprise he'd felt in the hospital when she'd asked him the time. "Almost six hours…it's still not back yet, huh?"

Mac shook her head. "No…I'm starting to wonder if it'll ever come back, honestly. I-I feel like…like I've lost one of my senses," she answered, her eyes filling with tears. Harm felt like a heel for even mentioning her time problem.

"I'm sorry, Mac."

"It started before I—before I found out," she murmured absently. "Not all the time, but enough to make me feel…unsettled, I guess you'd say. And then I started to feel sick…tired…emotional, and my time sense disappeared com—completely…I—"

Harm held his breath, wondering if she was finally going to confide in him. Come on, Mac.

"Well," she began after several tense moments on his part. "I suppose there's no sense worrying about it now. it'll come back or it won't, and I'll just have to deal with it."

Harm sighed in disappointment. It wasn't that he wanted all the gory details; he just wanted her to acknowledge what had happened to her, wanted to unburden herself after she'd admitted to hating her baby. Instead, she just sat there, a fairly blank expression on her face.

"Harm?" Her voice pulled him from his musing, causing a spark of hope within him. Maybe this time…just talk to me, sweetheart.

"Do you mind if I turn on the TV?"

Dammit.

"Uh, sure, Mac. Watch whatever you want. Here." Harm started to hand her the remote, but then didn't let go when her fingers curled around it.

"Mac, wait." She gazed up at him warily as she pulled her hand back. He lowered himself down on the table in front of her, their knees almost touching, and set the remote to the side.

"Mac…I know…well, you know how things have been between us this past year. I want to be your friend again—a better friend. I know things can't change overnight, but please believe me…I'm here for you now and you can tell me anything…anything at all. I almost lost you yet again. I'm not going to walk away this time."

He looked up to see her shaking her head slightly and, because he couldn't seem to stop himself from doing it, he reached out and grabbed her hand, relieved when she didn't immediately yank it back. "Sarah…I don't deserve your trust. I know that. I've royally fucked things up for us. I know that too. But I promise…and I never make a promise I don't intend to keep…I'm here. I'm not going away. Let me in. Tell me what you're feeling. Tell me what happened. I'm here."

As he held her hand, the roughness of his thumb brushing over her wrist in gentle strokes, she almost opened up. She almost told him everything. Every goddamn thing from the nightmares after Paraguay, the subtle way Webb had enmeshed himself into her life, to the painful way Webb had let her know he hated the baby more than she ever could, to her own hatred of the child growing inside her…but then she remembered all the times she'd tried to talk to him over the last year. The times she'd reached out, hoping to revive their friendship…only to have him turn his back on her. He'd been snide, rather cruel, and downright mean. She knew she'd screwed up his life, just as much as she'd thought she'd screwed up Webb's, but he'd come out of it. He was the golden boy of JAG again. He'd restored his friendships with Bud, Harriet, and Sturgis. He didn't need her, and she didn't need the judgement that would be sure to follow if she told him her tale of woe. She didn't need him. She'd assumed he'd get over what happened in Paraguay, that he'd realize she hadn't been at her best there, but she'd obviously been wrong. He wasn't her friend. She'd realized that months ago. He was here merely to make sure she was physically safe. He didn't get to be anything else. Not after everything. Not after she'd reached out time and time again, only to realize his friendship was conditional…

Mac was angry. Her day had been shit, her night even worse. Clay had promised her he wouldn't drink at dinner. He'd promised her they would go out. She was getting stir crazy, tired of looking at her own four walls. At least Clay was spending more time at his apartment, giving her a break.

She was angry at that too. She'd gotten used to him being around. He was getting better, stronger. He was back at work and had actually left that morning on a minor mission to Germany. Or was it Belgium? Maybe France…it was all classified. They had been opening up to each other and there was more of a give and take with their friendship. She'd been able to confide in him about work, about what had happened in Paraguay, about what she'd felt as she'd heard his screams. He was more comfortable opening up about his own horror. And now he'd left her after a horrible fight. She'd lost it again when she'd come out of her room after changing out of her uniform. She'd bought a new dress, something that fit her thinner frame, and she'd actually felt pretty. They were going to go to her favorite "fancy" restaurant, may go dancing after. He was finally ready to go out…

Or not…

He was sitting on her couch, dressed in a proper suit, a half empty bottle of Scotch on the coffee table in front of him. When she'd gone into her room, the amount of liquor in the bottle had been a lot higher. She was shocked at how fast he'd downed all that alcohol, and it was rapidly apparent he was in no condition to go out. At least not any condition that she wanted near her in public. She was instantly enraged and let him have it. They'd fought and he'd walked out. She'd followed him because she was afraid he'd drive himself home. She'd coaxed him inside, made him lay down in her room, and she'd spent the night on the couch, fancy dress and all, seething. Furious…and certainly not sleeping.

"Goddammit!" Mac cursed as she slammed the drawer of her filing cabinet home. It hit the back stop of it and bounced open again. With another curse, she slammed it shut again, albeit gentler this time

"Something wrong, marine?"

Mac whirled around to see Harm leaning against the doorframe of her office. He actually looked somewhat concerned and Mac hoped that meant he was starting to thaw a bit. She missed him, hard as that was to admit.

"No," she answered tiredly. "It's just one of those days. What can I do for you, Harm?"

Harm stepped into her office. "The Hodges file—Bud said you had it."

"Oh, yeah…" She sifted through one of the piles on her desk, finding the file fairly quickly. She handed it to him, surprised when she saw him grinning. "What?"

"Nothing," he said as he sat in one of her visitor chairs. "As in, I see nothing has changed." His grin widened as he motioned around her office. "Organized chaos."

Mac smiled back, warmed by his friendliness. "It works, Harm. You should try it."

"No way. I have a hard enough time keeping track of things as it is." Mac watched as he drummed his fingers on his thigh. "Hey, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"You look tired."

Mac blinked at him for a few beats. He's actually expressing concern? she marveled. "Um, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Why?"

"Well, you know me…" She didn't want to go into what happened with Clay. Harm wouldn't be interested in that anyway.

"How's Webb doing?"

So surprised at his question, asked so neutrally, was she that the filles in her own hand dropped to the ground. Papers scattered everywhere, some sliding under her desk. "Dammit," she muttered as she kneeled down to gather them up. Harm joined her with an apology, though it certainly wasn't his fault. Once everything was back where it was supposed to be, Harm actually helped her up.

"Thanks," she whispered, her throat tight. She cleared it and then repeated herself, stronger this time.

"No problem." He tapped her on the arm. "You didn't answer my question, though."

"Um, what did you—"

"I asked how Webb was doing."

"Oh, he, um, he's doing good…back at work, actually going out in the field today."

"Good," he acknowledged shortly, and Mac couldn't read his expression, not that that had been easy of late anyway. "Well, I'll get out of your hair. Thanks, Mac."

"Yeah," she finally responded. Then she had an idea. Harm was being rather pleasant today. Maybe he was ready to bury the hatchet so to speak. She called after him as he turned to go. "Hey Harm…would you like to go for a run with me tomorrow? We, uh, haven't done that in a while."

The flash of surprise was obvious in his eyes. "Um, sure Mac. 0700 okay?"

Mac smiled, a full smile that was a rarity for her these days. "That'd be great. Should we meet at Rock Creek Park?"

"That'd be fine. See you then."

"Yup, see you then."

Mac returned to her apartment, feeling lighter than she had in a while. The run with Harm had been nice. Very nice. She was certain they were going to get through this estrangement. In something close to euphoria, Mac headed to her shower, joyful that things were finally looking up.

"Webb not around again?" Harm asked her snarkily. She'd just asked if he wanted to run with her again. The last two times they'd run, she'd had fun and was fairly certain Harm had enjoyed himself too.

"Um, no…he's out…out of the country again. I just thought—"

"What did you think? Webb's gone, so you're going to settle with me?"

"Harm, that isn't it at all. I enjoy running with you. Clay doesn't run…"

"Oh, Clay doesn't run," he answered, emphasizing Clay's first name. "So, I guess I'll do, huh? Well, it doesn't matter anyway; I actually have plans with Sturgis tomorrow."

"Oh, okay. Well, another time, then."

"Yeah, sure. Another time."

Mac watched Harm's back as he left, utterly confused at their interaction. She'd thought they were friends again. Okay, she told herself. He's just having a bad day. I'll try talking to him later. No reason to doubt the improvement of our relationship yet. But she'd been wrong—any of all of that doubt was erased when, four days later, he brought up her alcoholism in front of everyone in court and once again in the bullpen, which told her any chance of reconciliation was gone, no, impossible. She'd accepted his half-assed apology, only spoke to him in a professional capacity thereafter, and certainly didn't ask him to run with her again.

"Mac?"

Harm had watched a myriad of expressions flit across her face in the minute he'd been holding her hand, and now she was pushing her fingers off her hand, struggling to free it. He couldn't make himself just let her go, but she managed to free herself without his help anyway. She rose up from the couch and stepped around him, only faltering briefly.

"Actually, Harm, I think I'd like to go back to bad. I'm not feeling as well as I thought." Without another word, she made her way down the hall, and though she wasn't entirely steady, Harm let her go, guilt crushing his soul once again.

End Chapter 8