A/N: Another trust chapter. I'm going to post this quick so who knows, some parts might not make sense. Ah, well.

Trust

Chapter 11: Walk Away, Sarah

She was alone. Finally. It wasn't that she hadn't appreciated Harm's care, but she'd felt almost smothered by his attention. She really had no one to blame but herself for that, she supposed; he'd been hovering more since her bottle-throwing episode in the bathroom two nights ago. Yes, he'd gone home this morning, but he'd already called twice. She'd answered both times, not wanting him to think something was wrong, which would cause him to come flying back. She wanted to be alone.

She needed to be alone. To think. To breathe. To start putting the pieces of her life back together. There was no one who would or could help her with that, including Harm, so he may as well go back to his life. It wasn't that she didn't think he cared, but once he could see she was at least physically healed, he'd no doubt go back to being her coworker and nothing else.

That was okay with her. She'd long since given up on the idea of her and Harm and eternity, and it was better for her psyche if they maintained some distance. They were at least somewhat friendly now, so their working relationship was much easier than it had been a few months ago. That was good enough for her.

After making herself some tea, Mac sat down and planned out her day. There certainly wasn't much to plan; she was growing stronger daily, but she still tired easily and still had some cramping that made her just want to curl up on the couch with a heating pad. She'd been assured that was normal, and as she hadn't had any further fevers, she just continued with her antibiotics and her ibuprofen. She was getting stir crazy, however. She could only watch so much TV, had no interest in any of the books she had in her apartment, and she certainly wasn't up to any shopping.

For a while, Mac just rested on the couch, sipping her tea, letting her mind wander. Her thoughts, just as they had for days, soon focused on Webb. She pinched her eyes shut as tears started to fall, all while cursing herself for still crying over him. Well, perhaps she wasn't crying over him—perhaps it was more that she was crying because of him…because she'd lost his baby. Correction: her baby. Webb would never have had any claim on that baby, even if she hadn't let the baby die.

Stop saying that. You didn't let anything happen to him.

But I didn't want—

You know that isn't the way it works…

The voice arguing with her in her mind sounded like her uncle, Harm, and the admiral all rolled into one. Angrily, and glad for the anger instead of the grief, she swiped at her tears. They still fell, however, and she finally let herself give into another session of sobbing. It actually felt therapeutic, and after the tears finally slowed, she rested on the couch for an hour or so—her time sense still was sketchy—and then rose up to take a shower. She swayed a bit on her feet, but the lightheadedness was only fleeting this time to her relief, and she made her way toward the bathroom.

As she carefully walked down the hall, she caught her reflection in the decorative mirror that had hung there for the last couple of years. With a sigh, she stopped in front of it and studied the face looking back at her. It was pale but looked better than it had a couple of days ago. There were still dark circles under her eyes, and now they were a big red and puffy from her crying jag. There was also a sadness there, but if she thought about it, they had looked sad for the last year. She squared her shoulders, vowing that she'd finally get help, and then maybe someday her reflection wouldn't cause her new waves of heartbreak.

Mac studied her hair next. It hung limply about her shoulders, given she'd made no effort to style it in the last several days. Mac sighed again as she ran her fingers through her tired locks. She'd be back at work next week, and the idea that she'd have to start putting it up again actually made her more tired. She really hated the time it took to braid it or twist it into a bun, and she could just imagine the sticky, hot weight of it on her neck come summer. She ran her fingers through it, wondering why she'd even bothered to grow it out in the first place.

Because he asked you too.

Mac's heart sank. The voice in her head, solely hers this time, was right. It was Webb who'd wanted that way. Webb who liked to run his fingers through it, who liked it to brush against his chest when they were intimate. Just like every other man she'd been with.

Not Harm.

He liked it short.

At least he said he did.

She tried to shrug that thought away. She didn't want to think of that, of Harm's grin whenever she showed up in the office with a fresh cut. He'd either tug on a lock of it or comb through it with has hand, while she'd accuse him of messing up her 'do. He'd just laugh and compliment her again, while she secretly glowed inside at his touch. "Stupid," she whispered to herself. What did it matter what either man thought? She liked it short.

She hadn't wanted to let it grow.

But that's what Webb liked and, because it was easier, she did what he wanted.

Turning away from the mirror, she dejectedly resumed her journey down the hall, trying to block out the memories of her relationship with Clayton Webb.

Flashback…

Mac gazed the mirror in the hallway with a critical eye. Her hair had gotten longer than she'd usually let it, and with an impatient puff of air, she attempted to blow her bangs away from her eyes. She was only marginally successful, and she nodded her head. Yup. Time for a haircut. She quickly scheduled it, looking forward to it more than she usually did. She fleetingly wondered if Harm would notice…

Mac mentally slapped herself. What did it matter if Harm noticed her haircut? Even if he did, he certainly wouldn't comment or touch her.

Clay would touch her. He liked to sit next to her and idly play with her locks, and she was starting to like it too. She only feared that she just craved touch, any touch, and not Clay's specifically, but each time that thought wove through her mind, she brushed it aside. She wouldn't let just anyone touch her. If Harm wanted to…no…

That was wrong. Harm never touched her anymore. There were no more hands resting on her shoulders as he looked over a file with her. No more palms at the small of her back to guide her out of a room. No more sitting next to each other, shoulders touching, a bowl of popcorn between them, a movie on the TV. That was done. They were done.

But she and Clay weren't done, and that did feel good. They had lively conversations; he was really quite well-versed in art, and she had picked up an interest in it after spending time in Harm's mother's gallery. He had eclectic tastes in music; baroque and classical, big band hits, and though he'd never admit it, music from the eighties often featured on VH1 specials. He'd taken her out dancing a few times; real dancing with actual steps and patterns. She always made sure they danced early and often, because once the evening really got started, he'd tense up with the increased crowds, and soon he would be ordering bourbon or whiskey or Scotch…anything with a pretty amber hue. She'd asked him not to once or twice; she wanted to keep dancing because the music and the movement let her forget everything else. He'd snapped at her that he just wanted to relax, and once he'd even told her she'd be more relaxed if she took a drink. Her face had crumbled a bit before she once again became the stoic marine. He'd quickly apologized to her, but he didn't let up on his drinking, and Mac realized she'd just have accept this about him. As long as she wasn't drinking, it was fine…wasn't it?

You know it's not…a little voice whispered in her ear.

She ignored it.

But she didn't forget it, because lately the voice wouldn't leave her alone.

"Well, I'm off, Clay," Mac called out cheerily. Webb was relaxing on her couch, a soda in front of him. Anytime he was in town he'd crash at her place, and because he was still not quite up to his previous status, he didn't go out into the field as much as he used to. Mac was glad for it; nights were awfully lonely, and having him sleeping next to her made her feel safer. They weren't intimate, not that way, but they were kissing more. One could even say they were 'making out,' but it hadn't gone any further than that. She appreciated that he tried to conceal the alcohol on his breath, and she was even more thankful that he didn't drink vodka. Sure, vodka didn't have the same effect on the breath as other forms of alcohol, but she knew she'd taste it, and she was afraid it would make her crave it again.

"Huh?" Clay mumbled. He must have been about to fall asleep.

"I'm going out for a bit."

"Why?"

"Haircut." She slipped on her jacket, her hand reaching for the door.

"Haircut?" Clay sat up and ran his palm over his face. "What do you need that for?"

"Well, I do need to maintain a certain amount of military decorum, you know."

"So put it up."

"Clay—"

"You'd be so beautiful with it long."

"But Clay, I don't—"

Clay stood up from the couch and ambled over to her. He took her purse from her shoulder and set it down on the floor. He turned her around to face the mirror slash key hook next to her door. He brushed his hand over her hair and then wove his fingers through the dark chestnut strands. "I like it when your hair brushes over my arm or when it teases my cheek when you lean over me."

"It can still do that, Clay."

"But not like it could if it were long. And if we ever…" He blushed a little. "You know…I could feel it in other places too." He leaned forward until his lips were a mere breath away from hers. "I'd love to make love to you, Sarah."

"Clay…" she whispered. "I'm not…I'm not read—"

"I know, Sarah. I know you're not. I can be patient."

"Can you?" The words slipped from her mouth unbidden, but Clay merely smiled.

"Well, yes, Sarah. You're worth waiting for. I…I love you, Sarah MacKenzie."

"Oh…" she breathed as her face heated up. She didn't know how to respond. She certainly felt great affection for him, maybe was falling in love with him…but right at this moment…

"It's okay, Sarah. You don't need to say it back. I just wanted you to know that."

"Okay…um, Clay, I'd better go…"

"Still going to get it cut then?" He didn't sound quite so breathy and romantic now, and she felt terrible for ruining the mood.

"Um, well, maybe just a trim…you still have to cut it a little to keep it growing out nicely."

Clay grinned. "Of course. Well, have fun, Sarah. Maybe when you get back we can head to that café we found last week."

"Yeah, maybe…well, I'll see you later then."

"Yeah, see you, Sarah."

Clay handed her purse back to her, and she turned and opened the door. Clay stopped her just as she had one foot over the threshold.

"Wait, Sarah." He then laid his hands gently on her upper arms and leaned in for a kiss. The kiss grew in intensity, but she broke away as soon as his tongue gained entrance into her mouth.

"I really have to go, Clay. We can…we can continue this later?" She smiled tentatively at him, and he grinned back.

"I'll insist on it."

"Okay, well, bye."

"Bye, Sarah."

Mac stepped completely into the hall then and pulled the door closed behind her. She leaned back against it for a moment, closing her eyes as she exhaled a long breath.

Clay hadn't been drinking just a soda. It was a rum and cola, likely a strong one, and she felt the sinking feeling of nausea. It was only ten in the morning.

Ten in the morning, and he was already on his way to being inebriated. There would be no café for lunch. He probably wouldn't even eat, and she would just settle for toast and an egg. Just like last Saturday.

He said he wouldn't do it again.

Walk away, Mac, the voice whispered. I can't, she whispered back. Yes you can, Mac, you can!

Okay, I will...

And she did. She walked down the hall, down the stairs, to her car, then drove to the salon, asking for only a trim.

When she returned two and a half hours later, Clay was snoring on her sofa, and though the voice told her again to walk away and not come back this time, she sat down in the chair across from him and merely waited for him to wake up.

She waited a long time, the little voice inside her asking her over and over when she was going to wake up and walk away from the mess before her.

End Chapter 11