Wow, so this was always going to be a short story. A quick trip into Mac's PTSD that was brushed aside on the show and dealt with in one episode rather than having it stretch across many. And so far, it's a nice one to write despite the heavy topic and the angst. Short chapters that my muse likes to write. BTW there is a light at the end of the tunnel, there's a very lovely chapter in Harm's POV you guys are gonna love, it was fun writing it and very sweet. :)

I didn't want to do a disservice to Mac's process, it wasn't something to brush under the rug.

Chapter 22 - What Have I Done?

"We've been seeing each other. Dating, I guess you can say but, we don't really go anywhere. Maybe we're not dating." My hands are on my lap, tightly threaded together to a point where it's painful. "I don't know what we're doing."

"Why would you say that?"

It's been two weeks since my epiphany and therapy seems to have grinded to a halt. I am better, I feel better but nightmares still come on the nights Harm doesn't stay with me. As much as I enjoy and want his warm body laying next to mine, I need to get over this hump alone. I can't be dependent on him like this. It isn't fair to either of us.

"We don't kiss. He does sleep over often enough and I've managed to tell him about the nightmares, about other things. But, we don't go out."

"Never? Not even for a cup of coffee?"

"Nope. We stay in. He also brings me groceries, even my dry cleaning, well some of my dry cleaning, I haven't exactly needed to launder any of my uniforms since…you know." I wring my hands tighter so that I wince from the pain. "I'm grateful but...I'm losing my independence and I don't want that."

Dr. Ogden frowns and scribbles something on a notepad, an action that makes me nervous and concerned that I made some sort of mistake. "When was the last time you left your apartment? Other than for therapy?"

"I-I guess...well, I'm not really sure." I'm embarrassed to think of myself as a recluse but, I guess that's what I've become. I don't even run anymore, just stay in and either read or work on cleaning bones until Harm calls and breaks that monotony. I realize it's not healthy and should take advantage of the good weather before it all turns dreary and cold. One day I will but not now, not today either. "I tried to go to the store a few days ago… I needed eggs."

"Mac, did something happen?"

"No-" I lie if for no other reason than embarrassment because the walk to the store is a short one, less than ten minutes and a trip that had always been pleasant and relaxing until that morning when I realized I was out of eggs for an omelet. "It was a sound, a popping sound when a tire blows out. At least, I think it was a tire, maybe… yeah, a tire, it had to be."

But in my mind it wasn't. In my mind I was locked in a room peering through a dirty window to see those missionaries being shot in the head. There was little I could do to stop it, my own life would have been taken if I could have tried to rescue them. "It's amusing how different a gun shot sounds depending how far away you are. We were locked up in a room and the missionaries were a hundred feet away…'Pop.' 'Pop.' Bastard shot them both in the head."

It replayed in my mind over and over along with the woman pleading to be saved.

"She tried to save herself by turning us in or at least, tipping them off that we weren't who we said we were...It didn't work." I bite my lower lip and brush away an errant tear that was chased by many more. "I can't forgive her...them. I didn't realize it until now but...I can't forgive. And that damned sound was so distinct, so different from automatic fire and much more direct."

Perhaps we wouldn't have been spared if the woman's deception hadn't occurred. Clay and I could have been tortured and then murdered just because Sadik's troop preferred the violence. It was an inevitability, yet I couldn't forgive or forget despite advancement in therapy. "Yeah, I can't forgive them or Clay…I can't."

"You're not expected to forgive every person who has done you wrong, Mac. You're meant to acknowledge it and move forward. As for the 'pops', that's part of traumatic stress, sounds, smells, images that take you back to a time you'd rather forget."

"It's been months, shouldn't I be past that? I understand fearing for my life. I understand being afraid to fly." Who wouldn't be after crashing through the woods when our plane was shot down. "But why them? Why them when I don't even remember their names anymore?"

She shrugged and gave me a small smile. "I wish I could understand why our minds work so differently. There is something about that memory that haunts you and your mind has decided to focus on that for now. So today, I'm going to give you a little more homework." She slides over a leather back book that she throws open to show the pages are empty. "I want you to write down everything you can remember, every step of your ordeal even the parts you can't talk about with me."

My eyes widened, I know they did and my heart started to beat so hard I could hear the thunder in my ears. I swallowed down the bile which rose at the back of my throat and the desire to run ramped up so much I nearly did just that. I don't want to think about Paraguay let alone rehash every last detail that I know has left permanent scars on my psyche. I don't want to think about Clay's advances - subtle as they were or the words he constantly used to demean Harm in my eyes. Reluctantly, I reach for the book knowing I would never put those thoughts into words. "By when do you need this?"

"Take your time, no rush."

But there was a rush, the weeks ticking away like an unrelenting clock. The less okay I was, the less of a chance that Chegwidden would let me back into JAG. I needed that job, I missed it but what good was I if my life was still such a mess and common sounds could revert me back to a quivering mess.

For hours I sat on my sofa and stared at the book sitting at the center of my coffee table. I kept my legs folded under me, a warm robe wrapped around my body and a throw over my knees to stave off a sudden, unforgiving cold. I'd even placed a pen next to the book, my favorite one that was a gift from Harm and made my handwriting so pretty. He wouldn't come over tonight, an assignment sent him to Norfolk and I can't help but wonder if the fates had conspired against me once again.

I wouldn't have my crutch, the man who had been taking on too much of my own pain in an effort to love me and be loved back in return. I'm alone and as I reach a shaky hand towards that stupid book, it seems like the walls are coming in about to crush me. I flip open the cover, my hand hovering over the first page even as the air is stolen out of my lungs. My fist slides across the page and words begin to appear - Day 1 - The Mission, I scribble and decide to start at the beginning when Harm was about to leave the brig and I accepted an assignment just to put a little space between us.

I shake my head and run the pen over the words, using a line to divide the last words only to start again - Day 1 - What Have I Done?