A/N: Another update! Before I forget to mention this, one of my reviewers asked if Mac could perhaps write out her responses—not in her case. Expressive aphasia not only affects the ability to speak, it also affects the ability to write things out. With pure expressive aphasia (not mixed with other kinds of aphasia) the person can understand what someone is telling them, they can generally read, but when they need to say something or write something, they can't. They'll either repeat a word or say things that are nonsensical (a word salad) but also be aware that things aren't working right so it would be terribly frustrating, especially to someone like Mac. Anyway, good question and thanks for reading!

Also, we all know (or a lot of you know) that I think Mic would have turned abusive. He'd already manipulated Mac, gaslighted her (the way he treated her at that garden party with Mic's firm—he convinced her that she was in the wrong)—lord, the writers on that show. I have this feeling they actually thought that it was okay for her to be treated that way! Anyway, on with the show…

This one's a shorty, and editing not so good-doing this one on the phone…

Miracles

Chapter 13: Treize

Mac's POV:

He's gone. He only stayed about ten minutes; I think he got frustrated when I wouldn't say a word to him. He thought I was just being stubborn, and maybe I was to an extent, but it was mostly because I knew everything I wanted to say would come out wrong and he wouldn't understand. I have a harder time speaking when I'm tired, mad, or nervous and as one would expect, I was feeling all of that. He sat there, watching me, sometimes reaching out to hold my hand, sometimes stroking my arm with his fingers. I pulled away every time, until he grabbed my hand in that too tight hold I'd gotten increasingly familiar with when we were together. He was like that with sex too; when he'd touch or kiss my breasts, he'd squeeze or bite, and when he would touch me intimately, his hands were too forceful. I remember asking him once or twice to be more gentle and he perhaps would be for a moment, but then it would be back to the same. He would tell me things like "I know you like it dirty" and while yes, I sometimes do, I also don't like it to hurt and I suppose it makes me sound like a girl, but I like it when the man makes love to me…like when Harm and I…

The thought of that one night we had together brings tears to my eyes. If only we'd gone about things differently. If only I hadn't sent him away when I found out that Rene knew certain things about me. But we didn't and I did…and now I'm stuck needing help to walk, stuck having to string beads onto leather cords to improve my fine motor skills, and stuck being unable to communicate. I can't say what I want to say; I can't even write what I want to write. I know Harm and everyone else would tell me this accident was all Mic's fault, but I know I bear some of the responsibility here. A lot of the responsibility, because if nothing else, I knew things weren't right with Mic and yet I let them continue anyway. I told myself I was happy and ignored the sinking feeling I had when I thought about the wedding. I ignored it so well for a time that I actually thought things were normal.

I wish I would have heeded the concerned, often angry looks Harm through at me. I thought it was all jealousy, when a part of it was that he was actually concerned.

Breakfast arrives shortly after Mic's departure and I force myself to eat two-thirds of it, and as I'm just pushing my tray aside, an aide comes in to assist me in dressing so I can get down to my first session of PT for the day. Dressing is also part of the therapy—working on zippers and buttons and snaps is all part of getting my manual dexterity back. I try not to feel humiliated that I still need a fair amount of help; it's not like my disabilities are my fault, but I guess I am who I m.

Today's aide is Tracy, one of the quieter girls, and without a lot of chit chat and with a little help, I'm ready to go.

I can already tell it's going to be a bad day again, though;

I'm clumsy and even fall twice which rarely happens because they watch me so carefully. When it comes time for occupational therapy, my fingers feel thick as I try to manipulate them this way and that and there's a moment when I get so frustrated I find myself throwing the fork I'm trying to use. Did I mention the dinnerware I use is called "adaptive?" They are specially designed for people like me to make independent eating easier, and right now we're working with more 'normal' silverware.

I apologize profusely, or as profusely as I can given the limits in my communication skills; my therapist is forgiving, but I still feel guilty and agitated. I'm relieved when it's time to break for lunch but not because I'm hungry. I'm exhausted and I swear if someone tells me I need to eat I will stab them with my…well…now I'm even more pissed because I wouldn't even be able to do that. I pray they they just let me nap.

As soon as I'm back in my room, it's clear napping isn't in my future.

I have a visitor…

"Do you want to talk about it?" Harm asks as he sets chunks of easier-to-eat portions of my Beltway burger in front of me. I scowl, pissed that he used the word "talk." No, I don't want to talk, and no, given I have speech therapy in an hour, I don't want to put in an effort to speak now. I glare at Harm as I chew on my burger.

"You know what I mean, sweetheart. And don't be mad that they called me. They're worried about you." Harm rests his palm against my face and brushes his thumb over my cheek. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Not…"

"Mac, sweetie…they told me about last night. I would have come back, you know."

Yes, I know he would have…and I honestly don't know why I reacted so negatively to the suggestion. I can only shake my head.

"Well, why don't you eat a bit more and rest up for your next sessions. I'll stick around for a while—Bud can handle things for a bit and the admiral basically told me not to leave until I was sure you were okay. Oh, and Harriet's going to come by with some new clothes and some girly stuff later this afternoon, too."

Knowing I have all these people who care for me brings tears to my eyes. I know I need to tell Harm about Mic but right now I just want him to hold me like he did last night.

"Harm…me," I say, giving him a 'come here' motion with my left hand. He knows immediately what I want, and as his arms go around me, I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his unique scent, hoping I can soak up all the strength he offers so readily.

I tried to tell Harm about Mic today. I really did, but I couldn't get it out. The right words wouldn't come, and I was left frustrated and angry, losing my focus altogether. Harm was patient and I wish I could have least been able to do something to release my feelings. I wish I could go to a gym and slam my fists into a punching bag. I wish I could go for a run and work off my nervous energy. I wouldn't stop until I just collapsed exhausted on the ground.

I wish Harm could make love to me again, but if we tried, I wouldn't be able to do much more than lie there.

When Harriet came by, I tried to tell her about Mic, thinking that it would perhaps be easier to tell someone who wouldn't immediately go off and commit a homicide, but I couldn't do that either. I wanted to scream in fear and frustration but I definitely didn't want Harriet to hear that. Instead, I asked about my godson, little AJ, but in the interest of honesty, what said was, "What…AJ?" Harriet knew exactly what I meant and spent the next hour regaling me with stories of the little boy's antics. I actually laughed once or twice, but then after Harriet left, I cried into my pillow, sad that I hadn't seen AJ since before my accident. I've not wanted him to come here and see me like this, figuring I would just scare him, but maybe he'd do better than I think. I would be content to just cuddle him beside me, and maybe he'd be content doing just that too.

I'm all tucked into bed now and though I'm exhausted, I have a feeling sleep will be hard to come by. I have too many thoughts running through my mind now; I'm nervous and on edge, so for once I decide to use some of the techniques for relaxation my counselor has described. I start with deep breathing, and I'm surprised when it actually does start to help. I'm getting sleepier; I think I actually could fall asleep…until my door slowly swings open, letting the light from the hall flood in. I look up to see a bulky form step over the threshold…

"Hey, Beautiful."

No. Please God, no…

End Chapter 13