A/N: So here is 12. Not sure I'm over the moon with it but maybe I'm just sad because I have to get off the cruise ship tomorrow! :(

Miracles

Chapter 12: Douze

Harm's POV

Mac shouldn't be alive, but she is. Mac shouldn't even know me, but she does. Mac shouldn't remember what happened to her, but she does, although I know she'd like to forget. In short, her life is a miracle.

When she finally woke up, I knew she was terrified. She couldn't speak yet and all she could do was weakly grip my hand and cry. Though I've rarely left her side since she came back to us, those times I did at first caused her obvious and severe anxiety. Her heart rate would go up and she would shake and I would feel terrible. Her doctors tried to tell me that she was probably just responding to coming off her sedation and she probably didn't even recognize me, but she quickly proved them wrong. When they asked her where "Harm" was, she raised her left hand the tiniest bit and pointed right at me. She had a ghost of a smile, and I could see the twinkle in her eyes. I'm not ashamed to admit I cried after that, and I cried harder when her eyes took on a familiar look of concern. My Mac was still in there, and not even her doctors could deny that. They were astounded, and I was elated. I still am, of course, but it hasn't all been smooth sailing.

For one, she's having to learn how to walk again. Her entire right side is weak, so using her arm and hand on that side is difficult too. Probably the worst thing for her, though, is the effect her brain injury has on her speech. It's fairly obvious she understands what she's being told, but when she tries to speak herself, she either can't get the word out at all or it comes out all wrong. This is what makes her cry now. She's handling the physical issues; I can tell she hates to be so weak and hates that she has lost so much of her muscle mass and tone, but she knows how to fix that—physical and occupational therapy, hard work, and her own love of physical fitness. The language issue…that's harder. She's never dealt with something like this before and given her career as a marine for the last several years has been that of a lawyer that relies on speech, this terrifies her. She's also extremely hard on herself and no matter how much I, her therapists, her psychologist, and her doctors tell her she's doing amazing, she wants to be better now.

While those are her most difficult obstacles now, there's also an elephant in the room that we as yet haven't discussed…

Her future as a marine…she's doing great all things considered and has actually come quite far in a short period of time, but it is impossible to say if she'll ever be able to return to active duty. I suspect field investigations will be out of the picture regardless and I know it's breaking her heart. She refuses to talk about this, even to her counselor, but it comes out in fits of rage or torrents of tears. She doesn't cry as easily as she did at first, but she cries enough, and all I can do is hold her. I'm seeing a therapist as well; this has all been devastating for me, and he tells me that holding her and loving her is the best thing I can do for her right now. And I do love her. Oh, how I love her.

And right now, I can't wait to see her. I've taken a lot of leave time to be with her, but as I want to be able take time off to stay with her when she is discharged from rehab, I've gone back to work in the last week. She's doing okay with that now, probably better than I am, now that the initial shock of having been in a coma all those weeks has resolved. If she was still in that anxious state she was in when she first woke up, I don't know how I'd ever be able to leave her. Having Bud and Harriet, the admiral, and nurse Sara visiting her as well wouldn't be enough.

I wave hello to the nurses out at the desk and make my way to Mac's room. She's at Bethesda now for rehab, and though I miss the staff at Georgetown, I'm rather overjoyed that we're moving ahead. "Hey, Mac," I say as I enter the room.

"H-Hey," she answers hesitantly and scowls, obviously frustrated by her difficulty with that one simple word. I sit down beside her and grab her hand, noticing that her supper tray has been pushed aside, mostly uneaten. It must have been a hard day; the food here could be worse and she looks more fatigued than usual, plus, she's lying on her bed and usually she's up sitting in a chair by the window or down at therapy.

"Rough day, sweetheart?" I ask before I lean over and kiss her cheek. She gives me a little nod. "PT harder today?" This time she gives me a little shake of her head. "Speech?" With that she gives me a shrug and I can tell she doesn't really want to talk about it. It must be one of those days where she just wants me to hold her. My suspicions are confirmed when she shifts a bit in the bed and holds her arm out to me. I rise and move to sit on her bed, stretching my legs out on it as I put my arm around her shoulders. She immediately tucks her head into my

chest and I stroke my fingers up and down my arm. "I'm sorry you didn't have a good day, honey."

"That…o-ok-kay." I see her fist clench in my lap. She's usually more fluent than this; her recovery of speech really has been quite remarkable.

I hold her quietly for several minutes and she gradually relaxes. My eyes start to wander a room until they settle on her dinner tray. "Hey, baby…did you want me to go get you something else to eat? I'll even go out and get you a Beltway Burger."

"No…not…hun…hungry." And then she starts to cry, and the next thing I know I'm crying with her. What happened today, Mac?

Mac's POV

There's nothing more frustrating than knowing what you want to say and being unable to say it. The words are in my mind but I can't get them to my mouth and most of the time I want to scream with frustration. Yes, I know I've made excellent progress, but for someone who remembers every eloquent closing argument she's ever made, this is torture. I have no idea if I'll ever be able to be a lawyer again, much less a marine. I'll keep working at it, and until I'm told it's impossible, I'll keep working toward it, but I'm scared. About so much…

I have nightmares about falling down the stairs. In an odd twist of, well, something, I can still remember each time my body slammed against the steps and I remember the moment my head hit the wall. As for memories when I was in the coma; I know I have them, but they exist in a hazy cloud that sits in the corner of my brain. The only thing I see clearly is an ocean. I hear the sound of jets when I envision it, but then all of that slips away too.

I'm also scared about my physical impairments—not as much as I am about my power of speech, but when I look down at my skinny legs and arms I get angry. I still can't grip things well, though I am getting more mobile, and most of the time I just want to rage and scream at the world. I guess the rage isn't all that bad, though; it probably gives me more strength and motivation to put all of this behind me and go walking into the sunset with Harm. Ah, Harm…

He's been my rock. I've never felt so loved as I do whenever he holds me like he's doing now. When I was more with it, he apologized profusely for telling Rene about the whole Chris/Farrow affair and it took me a while with my limited communication skills to get the point across that I forgave him. I forgave him even before Mic…before he did what he did.

Mic…that's another thing that scares me—he scares me. I picture him and I see him in shades of an angry red and I don't like it. And I don't like…I don't…it's been a hard day and I can't tell Harm about it. He'll do something we'll both regret and I can't lose him. Not now. Not ever.

I startle awake in the middle of the night. Once I have my bearings, I push myself up and check the clock to see that it's only a little after one in the morning. My time sense has been shaky since I woke up, but it's starting to come back; it's just when it's dark or I'm nervous or tired that I have trouble. Right now I'm all three. The nightmare I'd been having wasn't letting me rest at all even though I was asleep; it was a bad one, because it was real and I can't get it out of my mind as I cry in the night…

Flashback—Mac's POV

Today hasn't been my favorite day. I didn't sleep well last night; I honestly haven't slept as well since Harm went back to work but I won't tell him that. I actually need him to do this because I, perhaps selfishly, want him to be with me when I finally get out of here.

Besides not sleeping well, I feel like I'm hitting a plateau with my rehab. My right-sided weakness hasn't really improved in the last week in my opinion, and my speech therapy sessions today were a disaster. Okay, not to my therapist, but I felt like I was struggling more than I had been before.

On a more trivial note, my lunch wasn't all that good today. It's not like it is ever gourmet, but today's offerings fell short of the usual, and I'm considering having one of the nurses call Harm and ask him to bring me a Beltway burger. My appetite still isn't what it used to be, but for once I'm definitely hungry and that makes me smile. Any little victory and all that. It's been hard for me to be satisfied with the small victories I've achieved thus far, but considering I really should be dead, I need to be more grateful.

Ugh. I hate it when thoughts of my accident creep into my head—which it does daily, hourly, about every minute…but I just don't want to see those steps rising up to hurt me, and I don't want to remember when I caught a glimpse of Mic before my arm snapped. The look on his face…there was a nanosecond where it was one of satisfaction before it turned into one of honest horror. I don't know how I was able to see all of that in less than a second, but I know I did and I know that look of satisfaction said 'now no one can have you'. How could he think that? I know he didn't push me, but I keep thinking, and I have since the moment I woke up, that he would eventually hurt me. I feel his hands around my throat, feel him choking the life out of me, and I start to panic.

Calm down, Mac, I tell myself. Mic isn't here, he hasn't been here, and he could have gone back to Australia for all we know. Harm told me he didn't think Mic would dare show his face after what went down before I woke up.

But Harm isn't always right…

A shadow falls over me and for one second I think maybe Harm got off early.

But he didn't…It isn't Harm standing above me.

It's Mic.

I can only stare at him wide-eyed, unable to vocalize anything, while his lips curl up into a smile.

"Hey, Beautiful."

End Flashback

Mac's POV

I try to get myself under control, not wanting a nurse to happen upon me in this condition. She'd want to know what was wrong and I don't want to discuss it. I told Mic in broken words that I wanted him to leave, all the while wondering how he got past everyone in this place, and eventually he seemed to understand. I think. I hope…

Then why did he still call you his fiancée?

Why indeed? And I could barely protest because I couldn't get the words I wanted to say out. I know I said some meaningless things, words that had nothing to do with what I actually meant, and now, despite having given him back the ring weeks ago when I was still whole, he still calls me his fiancée. The ring I gave back now sits in a drawer in my nightstand, and here I am, trying to tell myself he understands? What is wrong with me?

There's no way to control myself now and I sob harder and harder until a passing nurse does hear me. She steps into the room, asks me what's wrong, and I can only shake my head. She wants to call the doctor, but I shake my head harder and it makes me dizzy. She offers to call Harm, and the thought of that, knowing that if I tell Harm about Mic he'll go out and kill my very much former fiancé, makes the dizziness worse. Soon I'm vomiting and after some nausea medication and a sedative which I don't even bother to refuse, I'm quiet again. I don't sleep, though, because all I can do is think of him.

Flashback—Mac's POV

"I've missed you, Sarah," Mic says as he sits down in what I think of as Harm's chair. "I'm sorry I haven't been around more."

He takes my hand in his and squeezes it tightly, too tightly, but I can't pull it away. He reaches for my other hand, my weak hand, and I definitely can't pull that one away. Any strength I've regained seems to have left me and I still can't say anything.

"Sarah…say something."

Well, Mic, I would, but your antics on a certain staircase fucked me up, I think to myself. I try to say something, anything, that says "get the hell away from me" but it's not working well. I think about reaching for the call button, but then he lets go of one of my hands and moves the damn thing out of my reach.

What the hell, Mic?

"G-gone…" is what finally comes out; I hear it, know it's not the right word, and I'm pissed at myself.

"Who's gone? Harm? I know, luv. That's why I'm here now."

How the hell would you know that, Mic? Have you been following him? Something is seriously wrong with him.

"So, baby. Talk to me. You're looking better, I gotta say."

Well, I'm so glad I look better for you, Mic. I'm sure glad my hair is coming in again after they shaved it for that whole brain surgery thing. Yes, I'm all sarcastic and clever in my head but there's no way in hell I'll be able to say all that.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" He chuckles at his own joke and it's clear he isn't aware of my little problem here. Ah, well. At least I'm thinking more clearly than I was when I woke up, fat lot of good it's doing me now.

I remember then that there's a pamphlet on expressive aphasia in my nightstand. He's holding both of my hands again and I weakly pull at them. "D-Draw…draw…draw…" I'm trying to say drawer but of course it isn't coming out. What I want to say is "Open the goddamn drawer in my nightstand you sonofabitch and get that pamphlet out so you know what the hell you've done to me." But we all know that's not coming out. Finally he lets one hand go and I point toward the nightstand.

"What, luv? You want to draw something?"

I shake my head and point at the nightstand again. "Drawer…" I finally get out.

"What do you want from there?" Oh my god, I think I'm going to kill him. Oh yes, don't I sound so brave in my mind when what I really am is scared. Once again, I think to myself that there's something wrong here, more than just the obvious. Does Mic not remember what happened?

"Drawer," I repeat, thankful I'm at least getting out that. He finally leans over and pulls the drawer open. I hope that pamphlet is the only thing in there or we're never going to get anywhere. Oh thank god, it is.

"Expressive aphasia? Are you saying that's what you have going on?"

Well, I'm not exactly saying it, Mic. I nod.

"Oh…I see. I'm sorry, Mac. Just so you know, I'm going to help you through this."

At that I shake my head as much as I can. "Harm. Harm. Harm." Harm's name is the only word I can say easily and readily. It's the first word I spoke when they closed up my tracheostomy they used with the ventilator to breathe for me. I hope Mic understands that it's Harm that's going to get me through this. Harm and Harm only…well, everyone at JAG too, and Sara…a woman who I'll be eternally grateful to for helping Harm through my coma. I hear her uncle, her deceased uncle, helped us too…but I'm going to wait to talk about that with Harm when I can actually talk 'good' as they say.

"What about Harm, luv?"

"Harm…help…"

"Well, I know he has been, but I'm back now."

"No…Mic. Harm."

"Rabb doesn't need to anymore."

"No. You." Oh god, this isn't going well. I know my heart is racing and my thoughts are racing now too and I can't handle this. "Harm!" I put as much force behind the word as I can, which of course isn't much.

Mic sighs. "Are we still on that? Come on, beautiful…"

Tears start to run down my cheeks and then Mic's hands are on my face, brushing the tears away but his touch isn't Harm's touch and his scent isn't Harm's scent. "No. No. No. No." I've been reduced to just repeating 'no' over and over and I'm considering screaming. My luck, though, it would come out as a giggle and Mic would think I was happy he was here. Happy, not terrified.

Before my accident, Mic could have been trying to kill me and I wouldn't have been afraid. I would have gone after him like the killing machine I know I can be. But now…half of me doesn't work and the left side of my brain is completely fucked up. He could do anything to me now and I wouldn't be able to stop it. I bat at his hand with my left hand and shake my head.

"You…"

"Yes, luv?"

"No."

"Sarah—"

"Harm."

"No Harm? That's what I've—"

"No you. Harm."

I see anger flash in his eyes as he stands up. "Look, Sarah. I know you're confused. But you are still my fiancée." I'm shaking my head again, wondering what particular Twilight Zone episode I've fallen into. "Look, I brought the ring. Let's get it back on your fing—"

''No!" I guess I am glad I can at least still say that word.

"Fine. I'll just put it in your drawer. You probably can't really wear it during therapies anyway."

"Mic…"

"Yeah, beautiful?"

"Stop…me…not…"

"I know, not during therapies."

"No. Harm."

"Well, I think that would tell him how things are, but if you think he'd get difficult, just take it off. Now, I need to be going. I suppose Rabb will be showing his face here soon. I'll be back tomorrow." He leans over then, obviously intent on kissing me on my lips, but I manage to turn my head so his kiss lands on my cheek instead. It still makes me want to vomit but thank god he doesn't try for another. He turns around and walks toward my door and I breathe a sigh of relief, but as he's about to step over the threshold, he turns back around.

"Luv, probably best that you don't mention I was here. You know how Rabb can get. Bye, Beautiful." With that, he finally leaves, and I want nothing more than to curl into a little ball and make all of this disappear. He's right, though…I can't tell Harm about this. Even if I could find all the words, I can't tell him, because if I do, Mic will be a dead man.

End Flashback

Mac's POV

Morning finally comes, and at least I got a couple of hours of dreamless sleep. I've decided to tell Harm if Mic comes back again. I won't be able to keep this from him forever and I don't know why I was thinking I could, or that I could handle Mic's presence. The Mic that showed up yesterday isn't even the Mic that caused me to fall. This Mic is delusional or something. Oh well…maybe he just won't come back. I can only hope. I raise the head of the bed up a bit and reach for the TV remote to turn on ZNN, intent on getting a little news of the outside world before the nurses come and help me get ready for the day. Once the TV is on, I settle back into my pillows and close my eyes.

Yes, maybe Mic won't come back…

"Hey, Beautiful."

No…

End Chapter 12

A/N2: You know, between me and you guys, I think Brumby has a screw loose. I probably made him a little over the top here, but then again, I always thought there was something delusional in Brumby anyway. The road to madness would be a short trip for him.