Title: Foolish Beat

Author: Radiorox

Rating: T

Summary: A Marine isn't supposed to fall apart but, when the traumatic stress is too much, Mac tries to stop her emotions by hurting the one person she loves most of all: Harm.

AN: So…"Foolish Beat" is a song from 1987 off of Debbie Gibsons Out Of The Blue album. I have loooooved that ballad forever and found myself listening to it over and over (as I do). It reminded me of Mac and season 9, the words appeared out of the blue, a new story.

It pisses me off that PTSD was glossed over for both of them during the length of the show. I would have loved to see Harm deal with him nearly dying in the Atlantic trying to get back for Mac's wedding, stuff like that.

Mac's PTSD only pops up after she kills Sadik but it was there, building from the moment Harm saves her.

So this is angsty, you know the drill. Some parts will get a little dark although not as bad as "Into Emptiness" or "Distance." This will also be a shorter story all in Mac's POV. It picks up a few months after Paraguay.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - Heaven or Hell?

"We tried to run, we tried to hide in fear of losing ourselves

We tried to keep it all inside so we don't hurt someone else

When all the demons come alive I'll still be under your spell

This could be heaven or hell." By Digital Daggers

Through the partially open blinds of my office I can see him moving about the bullpen, acting as if nothing happened. Perhaps the others could see through his facade but I know him. I know him better than I know myself. There's a subtle shift in the way he carries himself, a barely noticeable slump to his shoulders and a scowl he hides behind that flyboy smile. He may have fooled the whole staff but, Harm can never, ever fool me.

His eyes no longer hold any of that light that drew me to him like a moth to a flame. The blue has dimmed down to a stormy grey turning black whenever he is forced to speak to me. The tension between us isn't new but it isn't sexually charged anymore either because we finally crossed that boundary months ago. I remember Sturgis mentioning it was like a whirlpool that sucked everyone in which, I guess is why no one seemed to notice - or care - that this time it was like a powder keg ready to blow.

I barely leave my office anymore, choosing to stay in its confines because it's really the only safety net I have at work. If I step outside my doors I'll bump into him or feel him and his eyes that stare at me with deep contempt. He hates me now, I know and I don't feel bad about it. I want him to hate me. I want him to tear me out of his life like some weed to be plucked and discarded. I deserve his hatred and contempt and disappointment although the last one breaks my heart a little.

He catches me looking at him, staring really because although I hit the self-destruct button, I still love him...No. No! I chastise myself and shake my head out of those thoughts. I don't love him anymore, I can't because that means I would have to feel and at the moment, that is the last thing that I need.

I want to blame Webb, Paraguay or even the murder trial that had Harm stuck in the brig for weeks on end but the fact of the matter is that I was fucked up before then. I was always accusing him of not committing when, in fact, I was the one pushing him away when he was ready. Pushing or running, there really was no difference to my methods. Funny, for a woman that wanted him so much, I was doing everything possible to not get close - a fact I never realized until recently as I obliterated him with one word said at a cab stand in Paraguay: Never.

Oh Paraguay. Such a beautiful country and yet I can only feel pain when I think about it. The memories of being tied to a table, of praying for death because I much desired it over the torture that Webb sustained won't stop playing in my head. And I thought I was tough enough to weather that storm because I didn't realize I'd brought so much baggage home with me that I was falling apart until it was too late.

I believed I was fine because in the hours after Harm had found me there were no quiet moments of deep contemplation to realize what was almost done to me. I let myself slip into some sort of euphoria that was either fueled by adrenaline or by the feel of his lips on mine. It was a kiss I thought he'd instigated but then realized it was me reaching for him in the still of the night after an argument led us back to square one.

We couldn't sleep, neither of us and as I found myself staring at the ceiling for the umpteenth time, I felt his hand brush mine only for him to quickly snatch it away. He barely touched me, it was more the energy of his graze that had my core instantly dripping for him. I wanted him. I wanted him so badly that I didnn't care about what came next, the ugly reprecussion of our actions or the fact that this would only be sex.

Sex without any emotional attachment because I was unwilling to admit that I loved him. I loved him so much the thought of losing him stole the air from my lungs. But, all I wanted was the simplicity of a physical connection, just the need for me to feel something other than this weight I was carrying. A good fuck and nothing more, an act I'm sure Harm needed as well to drown his own pent up frustrations. And so I rolled towards him and pressed my body against his, dragged a hand along the bulge in his jeans.

Blessedly Harm didn't question my reasoning and for once he took what I was offering. One heated kiss turned into another, rough palms cupped my breasts beneath the t-shirt I wore only to be replaced with his mouth when my shirt and his were thrown haphazardly to the floor. I clung to him as he entered me without so much as a bit of foreplay and begged Harm to drive into me harder, faster in effort to completely eradicate the last few weeks of my life.

He complied despite wanting to take things slower, to make love when all I wanted was for him to fuck me, to use me then roll over and fall asleep like most men did. That should have been the first sign that I was broken because despite raunchy fantasies of him, I always imagined our first time to be slow and sweet. I wanted a romance with him, the fantasy of falling and being in love. I wanted that but after what happened as the events led to Paraguay, I felt unworthy of love. I felt unworthy of him.

"Please, Harm. Harder...harder." I tried grinding against him, wanting it to hurt so badly and replace the pain that was building within. Instead, his hands pinned mine onto the mattress and his lower body stopped moving in and out of mine until I calmed down. I couldn't fight his strength, couldn't block out the gentle voice that spoke in my ear when he slowly drove into me again. "Look at me, Sarah...Please."

I didn't want to because I feared what I would see in his eyes and reluctantly, I dragged them open to meet his. God, they've never been that intense before, a blue that pierced the darkness of the night and hit me in the very center of my soul. He began moving again, a slow in and out that pulled his name from my throat in a heat of passion that couldn't be measured. He held my gaze with such an expression of love that I wanted to die that very moment and never ever wake up.

And then he said them, a sentiment I doubted would ever fall from his lips in reference to me. He said them, punctuated each word and held my gaze with an expression of adoration my breath caught. "I love you, Sarah...I. Love. You...I came for you, I gave up everything because I love you.. .I love you."

He loved me. Me. He loved me.

But that wasn't enough because my world still came crashing down