Chapter 24 - Relief

"I left out some parts, you know the classified things that I really can't discuss." I tell Dr. Ogden because aspects of our assignment were still under lock and key. Although she knew of my involvement with the agency, there was no clearance to go with it. Not that it mattered, most of what happened to me had little to do with classified information because it rested solely on the leak from the inside.

She takes the book from me and begins to slowly leaf through it stopping on one page and then another, reading one entry and skipping the next. Her method seemed rather odd and while I didn't expect her to pour through the whole thing like some sort of cheap novel, I figured Dr. Ogden would tuck it away for further inspection. "Have you journaled before? Had a diary?"

"No. As a kid I was never the kind of girl that had much to say. Life at home was mostly unbearable, boys weren't interested and friends were hard to come by when you're an introvert." I shrug wondering what girls would write about anyway? How much journaling could anyone do?

Life wasn't always exciting, there were plenty of lulls and quiet moments that were less than ideal topics to divulge. "I almost filled up the whole book."

At that she raises her head, wide-eyes staring at me in a bit of shock. Dr. Ogend leafs through the book getting more than three quarters where I ended the journey. I've never been prolific about anything, even the case files that required lengthy explanations were a source of utmost irritation. Harm was good at writing, very eloquent at it in fact while I much rather get to the point. "Did you read any of what you wrote?"

"Some. I didn't realize how much I forgot about the whole ordeal until I started writing. It was like… like being back there and everything from sights and smells…I guess I blocked a lot of it out… I wrote until I couldn't anymore." My fingers threaded together, tugging at the knuckles that still had a slight ache.

She takes a few more quiet moments to study yet another page or two and then slides the book back towards me. "This is yours. Your story."

"You're not keeping that?"

"No."

I'm upset by this like a kid who was given insurmountable stacks of homework that teachers never looked at. "I don't understand, doctor. What was the point of writing about all of that crap? Do you want me to hurt? Do you want me to feel like shit because that's exactly what happened when I should have kept that dead abd buried."

I'm pacing now, that lion in the cage feeling making my body shake as I seethe. Part of me wants to run and I'm sick of that but the alternative is to grab that stupid book and shove it up her-

"Sarah… How did you sleep last night?"

"I… What?"

"How did you sleep?" Her eyes are kind and I hate that about her, how a simple look calms the irate thoughts when all I want to do is kick and scream and act like a petulant child. "The dark circles under your eyes are gone. Your face isn't ashen, it's healthy and pink. You're not wringing your hands together like you usually do or drinking more cups of coffee than I can count in a single session."

Dr. Ogden stands, walks around her desk and leans against it. She's always impeccably dressed, flawless and I've always been sure it was a veneer just as my uniform has been for so long. She waves a hand at me, an up and down motion from head to toe as a soft smile spreads on her lips. "You're always well kept but even your attire today is different, more feminine with brighter colors instead of the dark hues you've normally worn."

I stare down at my clothes, a light pink blouse that is form fitting and criss-crosses at my chest, my bottoms are faded blue jeans, equally fitting and a little tighter. My toes are painted, a fact that is noticeable by the strappy sandals that I wore. "I didn't plan his outfit. I just picked out random clothes and-"

"And you didn't come here looking like a woman in mourning." She points out and I'm mildly offended at that description.

"I wasn't in mourning!"

"But you were. Maybe you weren't mourning the literal death of someone but you were grieving."

"I wasn't-'' The look on her face made me pause mid-stride and that anxiety rushed out of me as fast as it came on. "I have been grieving, haven't I?"

And it wasn't a literal death, no corpse to mourn over, no eulogie or casket. But I had been grieving the loss of myself, the loss of a real life and the loss of a good relationship I destroyed. I've grieved and I've mourned and fallen into the loathing and self pity that came with it.

I had been dressing in darker clothes and even lived in a darkened apartment, enjoying the shadows. I pushed away the man I love and asked him to come back only to push him away again. I've been unhinged, sleepless, restless even when it felt like therapy had finally healed parts of me. And it had all been in a rush to get cleared for duty so that my carefully placed veneer wouldn't show a crack.

"I slept well last night. Like the times I do when he's around but better."

Last night, I collapsed into bed after a good meal and a hot shower. Sleep came on quickly and deep. It was dreamless, restful and for once no nightmares that mostly eluded me unless he lay at my side. I woke up rested, relaxed and without that overwhelming panic. I was almost whole and although I knew my emotions teetered at the brink, I didn't feel like they would suddenly topple over.

I slide back into my chair and Dr. Ogden sits across from me like we're friends more than a patient and her shrink. She fills a cup of ice cold water for me and I gulp it down in two swallows.

"Is this what it feels like?"

"What do you feel?"

I shrug and struggle to find the words to describe the sudden stop in this skid. "Like I was finally able to stop the runaway train or slow it down at least."

For the first time in weeks I ventured out without a panic attack and that choking feeling that someone was out to hurt me. "I was alone and comfortable and wanted to do something nice for myself."

So I bought the blouse I was now wearing and intended to toss it in the back of the closet until the pretty flash of pink made me feel…feminine, like the woman I once was that enjoyed pretty clothes. "My hair needed a trim and while I was there the nail tech was available. I guess I wanted to feel-"

"Normal?"

"Yes."

She smiles and I can't help but feel like a kid who has just been praised by a beaming parent. "Do you?"

"I do." And I feel some odd sense of guilt because of it like part of me believes I shouldn't be happy when so many others have suffered. Webb is still suffering. Harm does well in holding back his feelings but his eyes tell me a different story. He's suffering as well because of me. "Why does it feel wrong to be happy?"

"Unfortunately, self blame is part of PTSD. Since the trauma is all locked in your head, you remember and overthink. Unfortunately, that can take you down a very dark path."

"It was a short trip for me." I sigh and consider my life, my past and the times when I've felt so insignificant it was stifling. "I think I've experienced this illness before on and off and it's guided me to do such stupid things."

"Don't be hard on yourself, Mac. It's okay to be happy even in spite of the trauma."

I nod slowly. "I'm trying to learn that." I'm also trying to learn how to handle my relationship with Harm. I love him, I know I do but it terrifies me that the darkness will drag him down and make him leave. I don't want to depend on him to survive but I want a life with him, a good one without all of the shadows.

"You're thinking about Harm aren't you?"

"Am I that obvious?" I grin and Dr. Ogden laughs as if she knows a secret I'm not privy to.

"You get this look when he's on your mind. I can tell it's not just a passing fancy. You, my dear, are very much in love." She points at my face and draws a line through the air that looks like a heart. It makes me blush, I feel the burn in my cheeks and butterflies in my stomach. "He's in love with you too isn't he?"

I think back to that kiss on the Admiral's porch on a cool Spring night and how Harm pulled me against him so desperately. I think back to his arms wrapped around me to keep us warm in the desert, those minutes where everything felt right. I think about Paraguay, the rescue and how he made love to me like I was the only thing he ever wanted.

I also think back to the months where he tried to be everything for me but the darkness pushed back until I needed him gone. And I think back to that motel, how I placed his hand on my throat and told him to squeeze.

My hand rubs that spot on my neck which has since healed but I can't forget the look in his eyes. Somehow, he came back. Somehow, he stayed and tried so hard to fix a broken woman. And I pushed him away, again. "Yes, he's in love with me."

The butterflies flutter in my tummy once more and I find such delight when I think of him and the nights we simply lay together in silence. He's done so much, been so patient when I know that's a trait that does not suit Harmon Rabb Jr. "I know this won't simply disappear and I'm so scared, so so scared he'll get tired of me and that leave."

"Unfortunately, life isn't full of assurances." She studies me for a moment, her kind eyes looking quizzitive at me as if she knows the answer to her next question. "Do you think he'll ever leave you?"

"No. But I don't want to be an obligation to him either. I just want us to be...us."

"Then trust him and trust yourself."

I sigh heavily and let the word dangle on the edges of my mind. I did trust him, I do. Maybe it's time we learn to trust each other?