A/N: Here at long last is Chapter 6. Thanks as always for the reviews!
Gone
Chapter 6: Boy Blue
May 2004
1543 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA
Harm sat in Mac's office, silently praying the day would end soon. His court case had finished this morning, he'd completed his daily stack of paperwork, and now he just needed to print off a couple of reports. He would have been impressed with his efficiency had it been just due to him turning over a new leaf, but of course that wasn't the case.
The reality was that he didn't want to give Admiral Chegwidden any cause to scrutinize his activities. Harm was still doing a fair amount of sleuthing regarding the whereabouts of Mac, and he didn't need AJ blowing up at him again.
Only Harriet inquired about his search, and it pained him to tell her time after time he'd found nothing. He knew she was beginning to give up any hope that Mac was still out there, and it saddened him that his one ally in this was likely only humoring him.
Heaving a sigh, Harm clicked on the 'Print' button. He waited for the printer to spit out a rather mind-numbing report, drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair until he realized nothing was happening. He looked over in annoyance at the machine and saw that it was out of paper, so he set about trying to find where he'd stashed extra in Mac's desk.
It was funny—he still thought of this office, this desk, as Mac's, despite the fact that his nameplate had been on the door since November. Initially he'd hoped that being in her office would make him feel closer to her, make her easier to find, but apparently it didn't work that way. It shamed him to remember his words to her as they returned from their time on an American submarine in her case, a Russian one in his.
I always know where you are.
At the time he'd believed it. Now…
Some nights, when thoughts of her invaded his mind and robbed him of sleep, he would be filled with such doubt. These were dark, hopeless nights when he'd be convinced that she was dead, and he'd find himself wanting to cry with the pain of it. He held it in as much as possible, but sometimes he couldn't do anything but surrender to the tears.
In the light of day, he'd regain his determination and hope, but there was always the nagging fear that one day he'd wake up bereft, convinced that she was no longer of this world. When that day came, he knew his life would be over even if he still breathed.
Finally finding his 'paper' drawer, he wasn't pleased to find that there were only about three sheets left. This report alone would be at least five. He reached into the far back of the drawer, immediately feeling foolish; unless it was a crumpled mess, he wasn't actually going to find more paper there. With a snort of derision directed solely at himself, he pulled his hand back…
And that's when he found it…
A bit of cool metal against the warmth of his hand…
He carefully slid it out from the drawer and held it up to see it.
It was a smallish key, bronze-toned, with no definitive markings on it, attached to an unadorned key ring. It was really very unremarkable, but as he closed his fist around it, he knew that this little key was the key to everything.
August 2004
1059 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA
Harm pulled his dog tags out from under his uniform and studied them for long seconds, finally detaching the key he'd been keeping with them. He held it in his palm, the key still warm from being next his body, and waited for an epiphany…
That didn't come…
He'd held onto the key he'd found in Mac's old desk, trying to find some clue as to what it unlocked. Of course he knew that it would be nearly impossible to know where the key had come from just on appearance alone, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that this key held all the answers.
Harm had shown it to more than one locksmith, ignoring the odd looks they gave him that implied he wasn't all there as they told him they had no idea where this key had come from. Harm had even gone so far as to try the key in filing cabinets around the office and in the locker rooms by the gym in the basement. A low point came when he found himself skulking around Mac's old apartment building.
He knew damn well the key wouldn't fit into anything there, including the mailboxes, but he was compelled to try. He managed to slip in behind one of the tenants, found Mac's mailbox, tried the key, which of course didn't fit, then found himself climbing the stairs to her apartment. It was quiet there in the hall, and for a moment he just leaned against the wall opposite her door. He lost himself to memories of her, of her smile, her scent, how surprisingly soft she felt when he'd had the rare opportunity to hold her in his arms.
Harm swept an errant tear aside, embarrassed at this overt display of emotion. These months of missing Mac had taken their toll, and his emotions now constantly bubbled just below the surface.
He did fairly well controlling things at work where he couldn't afford to show any chinks in his armor. But at home, alone, it didn't take much—a memory, a picture, a song…and the crushing weight of his loss would fall on him. All control would fail him, and he had no choice but to let it out, with angry rants or tears of grief.
Harm knew he should probably see a therapist, but it was pretty much a given that he or she would tell him to give it up. Give Mac up.
He wouldn't do that.
He couldn't do that.
Unaware how long he'd been outside Mac's apartment, he was startled by the sound of a door opening.
Mac's door…
He straightened himself up and caught a glimpse of dark chestnut hair…
"Mac?" His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking and he wondered if this could be real?
No.
The woman who stepped out of Mac's apartment was younger, her hair closer to black, and it was longer than he'd ever seen Mac wear it.
Because she isn't Mac.
The terrible pall of despair descended over him once again, this time so dense he couldn't even see the fear in the young woman's eyes. He could only stand there, immobile, eyes wide, his brain trying to find a way to make this woman into the woman he loved.
"C-can I help you?" The woman who was not Mac spoke, startling Harm, which caused him to jump and pitch forward. The woman yelped and seconds later Harm heard a telltale hiss.
The burn was nearly instant. It wasn't a direct hit; it actually wasn't even close, but as the pepper spray dispersed in the air, Harm's eyes teared up he started to cough. He turned and lurched down the hall toward the stairs, his nose running and his lungs burning with each intake of air.
It wasn't hard to figure out that the poor woman had gotten the majority of the spray; she was doubled over, coughing and crying. He would have helped her, actually almost did help her, but as the woman most likely saw him as a potential rapist, it behooved him to get his sorry six out of there.
He made it to the stairwell, hoping his vision wouldn't worsen to the point that he couldn't drive; he really did not need to be picked up by the cops and then have to explain himself to Admiral Chegwidden.
Harm was relieved both when he reached his Lexus and over the fact that he'd brought the Lexus in the first place. Despite his inherent skill at driving, shifting gears in the 'vette would have seemed too much of an effort.
It was a slower drive back to his apartment and it was a relief when he could wash himself off and flush his eyes. He was damned lucky the woman had failed so spectacularly in her efforts to subdue him. He hoped she was okay…
Suddenly Harm was laughing. Who but him would be caught like this, creeping around an apartment where a woman who'd possibly, no, probably killed herself a year ago used to live? And then get himself attacked because he looked like a creeper? His life had become a joke.
Here he was, pushing forty, alone, pining over a woman who was most assuredly dead…
Dead…
DEAD…
And suddenly the joke wasn't funny anymore.
His laughing had turned into sobs but instead of the sadness, he felt intense rage. More than he had ever let himself feel before. He was mad at Mac, Webb, AJ…even Bud and Harriet. After all, they still had their happy family. The happy family he'd never have, all because he didn't fight back when she told him 'no'.
Never…
Harm turned away from his bathroom sink and yanked the damnable key out of his pocket. He studied it, then clenched it in his fist only to suddenly pitch it into his bedroom. He didn't watch to see where it landed before he whipped back around to stare at himself in the mirror.
He saw a nearly middle-aged man with red-rimmed and blood shot eyes, seething in anger. He saw a man who'd thrown away any chance at happiness due to his stubborn pride. Most of all, he saw what he'd become: a crazed, obsessed man who had let the useless hope of finding Mac consume him even more than his search for his father had.
He was sick of it.
He was sick of that pathetic man staring back at him.
He hated him.
With a roar, Harm pulled his hand back and sent his fist flying into the mirror. There was a satisfying crunch as he hit the glass, leaving blood from the cuts on his knuckles behind as it shattered, sending cracks out in a web, obscuring his face.
Harm ignored the pain in his hand as he pounded his fist on the sink. That not being enough to slake the fury flowing through him, he stalked out of the bathroom and proceeded to sweep every item off his dresser. He then grabbed the lamp on his nightstand and threw it against the wall, the bulb breaking and sending tiny, fine shards of glass everywhere.
Next he stepped down into the living area, heading first toward the shelf on the wall that held a few framed photographs. These too were swept away to spread glass over the floor, and as he thought to himself that he rather liked the sound of breaking glass, he turned toward his desk. Deep down, he was embarrassed at this tantrum, but he couldn't stop and the items that had graced his desk ended up one by one on the floor.
Breathing heavily, he reached for the last object, a framed picture that was sure to make a splendid noise as it hit the hardwood. He caught the picture up in his hand, tested its weight, and prepared to fling it…
But then he saw what it was…who it was…
Her.
She was holding little AJ on his third birthday and she'd looked so happy. Her smile was brilliant and there was something in her eyes…something that looked like love. And it wasn't directed at little AJ, not that there was any doubt that she loved the little boy.
It was directed at him.
He'd snapped this picture of her as she held her godson during that time when only joy was in her eyes.
It was one of the photos that he'd torn apart that night he'd gotten drunk just before his grandmother had died.
He'd been going through his desk, cleaning it out one Saturday morning, when he'd come across a couple of envelopes from the photo lab. The negatives were still in them, and as luck would have it, they contained pictures from this happier time. He'd had them reprinted and had kept this one on his desk since.
The sight of her smiling out at him, looking so alive, so…in love, turned his rage back into sadness, but it also gave him new fortitude. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be. He'd know it if she were. Even if he didn't know where she'd gone, he'd still know if she'd left this world.
Harm stepped over the piles of glass and debris from his earlier frenzy and sat himself on his couch. He studied the photo in his hands, tracing her image with a fingertip. He smiled back at her, even as a tear traveled down his cheek to drop on hers. He brushed it aside, held the photo to his chest, and vowed to do whatever it took to find her.
After awhile, he stood up from the couch, cleaned up the mess he'd made, and went to bed. In the morning, he'd found his key, put it with his dog tags, and went out to face another day without her, determined that by this time next year, she'd be back in his arms.
"Sir, I have your mail."
Harm looked up to see Petty Officer Coates standing in his doorway, holding a pile of paper and envelopes. He felt like he was coming out of a fog, and a quick glance at the clock told him he'd been daydreaming for the last twenty minutes. Shaking his head to clear it as he stood up from behind his desk, he smiled at the young woman before him and held out his hand. "Thanks, Jen." He quickly flipped through the pile and, finding nothing much of interest, was about to set it on his desk when a loose postcard fluttered to the ground.
He bent down to retrieve it, the mail in his other hand dropping unceremoniously to the floor when he saw who it was addressed to.
Ms Sarah MacKenzie…
Sarah…
Mac…
His hands shook and his heart pounded with the adrenaline coursing through his body as he slowly stood back up. He flipped the card over, surprised to see that the writing on it was blurry…until he blinked and realized his eyes had filled with tears.
Georgetown Self-Storage.
He skimmed the short note that spoke of her being overdue on the rent for it. If she didn't respond in ten days, she would forfeit her items.
Harm reached under his collar and pulled up his dog tags. He dangled them in front of his face, looking hard at the little key he'd found so many months ago.
Could it be?
0908 Local
Georgetown Self-Storage
Georgetown
Harm walked down the row of storage units, the blue of their doors glaringly bright in the hot summer sun. Her unit was near the end of the aisle, and Harm's steps slowed the closer he got. He was terrified this would be another false lead.
He had paid the rent on the unit for another three months plus the late fee, but he didn't bother to ask if the key clenched in his fist was to the unit. He wanted to find out for himself.
Finally, he stood in front of Unit 211. For long seconds he simply stared at it, wondering if he would be able to feel her in this place where she'd once stood, possibly contemplating her very existence. He thought he could, but maybe he was wishing for it so hard it blocked out all reason and he was just fooling himself again.
No. Not this time.
Forcing himself to step forward, he opened his hand. He'd been gripping the key so tightly that the shape of it had been imprinted deeply into his palm.
Harm grasped the key with his other hand and turned to the lock on the frame of the door. This was it.
The key slid in easily and he nearly cried right there with the relief of it. Excitedly, he turned the key in the lock.
Nothing happened.
No…
Not again…please, God, don't let this be another dead end…
In his current emotional state, he couldn't even imagine asking someone in the office to help, and he wanted to sink to his knees and sob. He didn't give a damn that he was out in public. Out of his frustration, he wrenched the key in the lock, turning it hard as it dug into his finger.
And then he heard it.
Just a little creak.
He held the key in place and turned his head.
The door creaked and groaned again and started to rise.
Thank you thank you thank you, he rejoiced in his head. Once the door was completely open, he stepped inside. There were several nondescript boxes stacked against one wall, with a few items of furniture opposite them. Harm didn't recognize any of the items at first, but then he saw it…
The little table that used to sit by her door, the one she used to carelessly toss her keys onto when she returned home each night…
The one made by her uncle in the Leavenworth wood shop, her name beautifully carved in the wood…
He felt the pull of the table drawing him ever closer to it. To her. Fearing this was all another dream, a hallucination born of wishful thinking, he stretched out his hand. He ran it over the blessedly solid piece of woodworking, breath hitching as he felt the letters of her name under his fingers. He hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes until he looked down and saw only blackness, and for a moment he felt sheer panic. Maybe this was just a dream…but it couldn't be…
Harm forced his eyes to open, took a deep breath, and looked down.
This wasn't a dream.
This time he watched his hand as it traced her name again, and in that moment, he knew he'd find her, every doubt of it he'd ever had disappearing in a heartbeat. His fingers continued to dance across her beautiful name, a tactile mantra, and her name and a vow fell in a whisper from his lips.
Sarah Jane MacKenzie…
I'm bringing you home.
End Chapter 6