'Reaching for Sarah's Soul' - Part Ten
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One
From part nine:
She felt completely unwilling to contact a psychotherapist about her state. Whenever Harm had tried to bring up the topic, she had refused pointblank. Trying to tell someone who didn't know her at all anything about a woman she herself hadn't figured out yet - and bringing all the pain out in the open that she was struggling with day by day? Nope. Maybe that was good for other people. But she abhorred the thought of sharing her private agonies with someone so totally unrelated to her.
But. Chloe's theory had struck a chord somewhere inside her. Sarah knew she didn't believe in the supernatural, but just today she had been given more than enough evidence about herself that was hard to contradict. So what if her little sister was right? What if this really was some kind of Cherokee heritage? Improbable as it seemed to her, Sarah felt she was unable to dismiss the possibility from her mind. And if exploring it meant opening up to some kind of. well, medicine man or whoever would know about such things, Sarah felt that strangely, the idea was less appalling to her than seing a therapist. After all, didn't she somehow belong to them?
'God, I must be freaking desperate if I consider doing such a thing,' she scolded herself.
Yet, that night, Sarah Mackenzie went to bed just a little less afraid.
Part Ten:
Feb. 25th 1357 ZULU Rosslyn, VA
Harm observed closely as Mac was studying the sign, standing rooted in front of the door to the simple white house, obviously pondering whether to go in or not. He knew just how difficult this was for her - after all, this was exactly what she had wanted to avoid at all cost. But he knew it would do her good if she would just make up her mind to it, and he was glad that her plans for once coincided with his wishes.
There was only one Cherokee healer to be found in the whole of D.C. and its surroundings. The polished brass sign at his front door read:
Bailey A. Smith M.D. Neurology - psychiatry - psychology Cherokee natural healing Appointments upon request
Harm was infinitely grateful that Mac had finally gotten to this point. She was indeed about to see a therapist. At last.
Two days ago, when he had come over for dinner, Mac had been considerably uneasy. When he had asked if anything was wrong, she had told him of the phone calls she had just had with Sergei and Chloe. And then she had, carefully at first, filled him in on her idea of exploring her mental abilities from this new perspective.
While his immediate reaction had been a hearty outburst of laughter - something he had immediately regretted upon seeing Mac's disappointment at him - Harm had to admit that Chloe's theory sounded at least vaguely probable. But still, he didn't feel too well about where Mac was headed. In fact, this wasn't 'Mac'. Only 'Sarah' would consider taking such a step. 'Mac' definitely wouldn't. So he had at once volunteered to look for a Native American healer in the Yellow Pages for her - hoping that by doing so, he would save her from ending up with some fraud that might do more damage than good in the end.
When he had come across Dr. Smith's advertisement, Harm had been greatly relieved. He felt he had found someone he could trust. After all, Smith did have a triple degree in medicine. Harm had at once called and made an appointment for Mac. Mac had seemed quite content - until she had found out that Dr. Smith was mainly a therapist. When she had confronted him with her discovery, Harm hadn't even tried to deny his interest in getting her to see him. After a few icy, silent hours, Sarah had finally given in. The hope of getting a hold on her memories had apparently outweighed her concerns at last.
Just to what extent she was afraid, Harm had easily been able to see when Mac had asked him to go with her. True, she had claimed it was because she might need him to provide any information the psychologist might ask for but wouldn't be able to get from her because she didn't remember. But mainly - and he was seeing it just as clearly as Mac was - she wanted him to come along because she was afraid. This was 'Sarah' coming forth again. Harm was sure 'Mac' wouldn't even have told him she had an appointment.
As Mac apparently didn't find the force to take the last few steps up to the door on her own accord, Harm gently placed his hand on the small of her back and pushed a little. "Come on, Marine," he said softly, "Let's face the enemy."
Mac turned her gaze to his and gratitude, intermixed with trepidation, was shining in her eyes. "Okay," she answered with a faint smile. "Thank you, Harm."
He rubbed her back a little, returning her smile. "Everything's gonna be okay."
He could see she didn't quite believe him but nevertheless, she squared her shoulders with a decided breath and let herself be guided to the door. Harm rang the doorbell and a minute later, a friendly, old man in an elegant gray suit welcomed them.
"Mr. Rabb and Ms. Mackenzie?"
"Yes," Harm nodded. Mac seemed to be too intimidated even for that.
The man bowed slightly, offering his hand to Mac with a slight smile. "Bailey Smith, very pleased to meet you. Please, come on in."
They shook hands and then followed Smith into the house. Harm winked encouragingly as Mac threw him a small confused frown. He, too, was surprised at the doctor's attire and appearance, but then he decided that any expectations of meeting with a long-haired man in leather slacks and with feathers and pearls around his neck would have been foolish anyway. A fact that was immediately underlined by the three Harvard master certificates that were hanging in the corridor Smith led them through. The whole practice breathed distinguished taste and style, the white walls and the select few expressionist paintings creating an atmosphere of calm and intellectual retreat.
The glance Mac gave him when they entered the doctor's office seemed to plead with him to take her away again, to the safety of her apartment, to his own, wherever. Just away... And yet, the moment the old man sat down behind his desk and with an amazingly juvenile smile bade them to take a seat, Harm knew they had found the right person for Mac to talk to. The sincere benevolence and wisdom in Smith's eyes, paired with an almost adolescent spirit of mind and a considerable amount of mischief, were plain disarming. Sitting down, Harm had unconsciously taken Mac's hand into his. Now, he felt her return his squeeze and when he looked at her, her answering smile was almost relaxed. A wave of relief washed over him.
Smith took a few seconds to openly look at them, seeming to size them up to prepare for his task - and apparently wanting to give them the same opportunity. Taking in a few more details, Harm thought he could now see Smith's Native roots in him. He was a rather small person, 5'4 at best, and his actual strength was barely shining through his seemingly fragile stature. His skin did have a slight tinge in between reddish-brown and olive and his nose was just a little hooked, as if to satisfy any clichés. His eyes were huge and dark, and hadn't his hair been well cut and snow white, Harm would have had no difficulties picturing Smith on a horse out on the prairie.
"So," Smith eventually spoke up, looking at Mac, "Ms. Mackenzie, what can I do for you?"
Harm saw Mac swallow and unconsciously tightened his hold of her trembling hand. "I, uh..." Mac began, then cleared her throat and tried again. "I lost my memory," she stated quickly as if she wanted to rid herself of the problem by getting it out in the open and leaving it to others to deal with it.
Smith's eyebrows went up a notch. "Oh? Very well - what happened that led to your memory loss, Ms. Mackenzie?" After his initial surprise he was now all professional, his gentle smile dimming a little but never vanishing.
"I was shot in the course of a search and rescue operation in Arizona and fell into a coma. I suffered a superficial cranial injury from a ricochet, but as my doctors told me, it's unlikely it had very much to do with my state." Mac handed him an envelope with her MRI pictures.
Rising and walking over to the window, Smith asked, "Would you mind giving me a few more details of the incident?" While Mac explained, Harm supplying extra information whenever she left something out, Smith carefully studied the photos. When Mac had ended, the doctor returned to his chair and handed the photos back across the desk.
"Your doctors were right, Ms. Mackenzie. I can't see any major indication, either, that your loss of memory had a physical cause. It seems more likely we're talking about traumatic stress suppression here. How much about yourself do you remember? And did you try anything to retrieve your memory yet?"
Again, Mac calmly explained what she had learned since she had awoken and where she suspected lay any major deficits. Harm knew this attitude she had fallen into: this was Mac, the JAGman investigator. Facts, facts, facts... and not a thing beyond. So it seemed only natural and consequent that she didn't mention her - their - private life at all. Not knowing if getting into matters of the heart would have been advised anyway, Harm only helped with a few professional issues and a few general details about their working relationship and friendship.
However, it soon became very clear that Smith wouldn't be fooled. He listened quietly as they laid out the case to him, letting his eyes travel from Harm to Mac and back again several times in the course of their tale. When Mac fell silent again, Smith addressed her with a smile that was just a little curious and knowing in the benevolent way only age could supply.
"So, Commander Rabb is your best friend, Colonel?" he asked openly. "How close exactly are you?" Harm prayed the doctor wouldn't dwell on the topic for too long.
Mac sighed. "If I knew, I probably wouldn't be sitting here, doctor," she answered. "But judging from what happened after the incident, I'd assume we're as close as any platonic friendship can get. And, please, doctor, don't call me 'Colonel'," she added, her voice a little lower. "I'm a civilian now."
Apparently, Mac's answer was acceptable enough for Smith. He didn't comment on the issue any further, for which Harm was grateful. "So what would you like me to call you then?" the doctor asked. "Sarah?"
Mac nodded. "Yes." Her voice was just a little unsure.
"And you, Commander?" Smith turned to look at Harm, his wise eyes exerting a strange effect on him. They seemed to look right into the inmost sanctuary of his heart, right where he had buried his most cherished memories and wishes.
"Uh... call me Harm," he replied awkwardly.
"Okay, Sarah, Harm," Smith went on. "What is it that you came to me for? Do you plan on taking up psychotherapy, did you want advice on what options you might have, or is there something else altogether?" he asked, almost as if he knew what had brought them to his house in the first place.
When Mac quickly glanced at him, obviously unsure if to reveal her intentions or not, Harm only gave her a slight encouraging nod once again, still not letting go of her hand. This was something she'd have to explain by herself.
She gave a low nervous chuckle before answering. "Doctor Smith, uh... I know this sounds really weird and I hope you won't take offence that we chose you for your ancestry mainly but..." she let her voice trail off, looking helpless.
Smith's smile had widened again. "Not at all, Sarah. Am I right to assume that you have a special interest in my Cherokee roots because you have Native American ancestors as well?"
Obviously surprised, Mac for a second gaped at him before she regained control of her demeanor again. "Yes, that's right," she admitted just a little sheepishly, "Actually, my great-grandmother was Cherokee, too. And... you know... sometimes I seem to have... well... kind of a sixth sense or..." She vigorously shook her head as if to scold herself for being so foolish. "I have no clue what this... thing... is but apparently I saved two people's lives using it, among them Commander Rabb's. And as whatever I tried to get a hold on anything of my former life failed, I thought I might as well try using that sense again for my own purpose."
So, there, she had said it. Although Harm could feel her pain and her anxiety, he still had to stifle a grin at hearing her defiant explanation. 'Way to go, Marine, you're doing fine. Hang in there,' he encouraged her quietly.
The old doctor observed her for a few moments as she was trying to will her breathing down to normal again. "There are many things in between Heaven and Earth that we don't understand," he eventually remarked calmly and sagely. "I have to admit that I'm pleased that you obviously consider this a possible cure, and I'll gladly assist you. But I have to warn you: the powers of the spirits don't reveal themselves to those whose minds are still closed up and don't fully acknowledge the possibility of their existence. If you want to follow that road," Smith's gaze was intense and filled with a deep, innate faith in what he was talking about, "You'll have to let go of your defenses. You may still doubt - but your doubts mustn't exclude any possible outcome. I'll need you to open up utterly and completely. Both of you," he added with an intent look into Harm's eyes, making his heart skip a beat and sudden fear rise in his throat.
He hadn't counted on actually being a part of whatever might happen. Sitting by was what he had come for, not partaking. But one look into Mac's anxious and yet so beautiful eyes made him push aside his reluctance in an instant. He had come to help her. And he would, no matter what. "All right," he murmured consent. Mac nodded, swallowing.
Smith rose and opened the door to the adjacent room, then turning back and smiling invitingly. "If you would please follow me..."
A little unsure if he would like what they were going to find inside, Harm guided Mac through the doorway, the hand on the small of her back exercising gentle pressure to let her know he was there.
The room was spacey and just as calmly stylish as the others - a polished wooden floor, white walls, a couple of plants, a fireplace even. But there was no furniture in it, and instead of modern art, the few pictures hanging on the walls were Native artwork of various North-American nations. The only items Harm recognized were a sketch of Kokopelli, the mythic Anasazi flute player, and a slightly modern oil painting of the Cherokee Double Eagle Head. The whole room was cozily lit by two big modern chandeliers. In the middle of the floor lay a thick carpet in natural colors ranging from pearl white to dark brown. The air was warm and bore the faintest perfume of some vaguely familiar herbs.
Smith stepped onto the carpet and kneeled down, repeating his inviting gesture with ever the same gentle smile on his face. "Sarah, would you please lay down here? Don't be afraid. What we're going to do has nothing to do with exorcism or anything. Actually, we're not even going to leave the path of classic psychology. If you'll consent to it, I'm going to hypnotize you and then we'll try to explore whatever may lie buried in the dark. The only help I'm going to have is from a little herbal tea - old family recipe from my grandmother who was a medicine woman," he added, winking. "But as I said - don't worry. The tea only has the slightest of sedating effects. Just to accelerate the hypnotizing process a little. Think of it more as of a medicine than as of some drug." His expression turned a little disgusted. "Drugs will only cloud your senses even more when you try to open up with their help. Those hippies will never understand just what damage they caused natural medicine with their ways..." His sigh was just a little theatrical.
"Okay," Mac acknowledged in a small, intimidated voice, obediently lying down on her back in the middle of the carpet.
"What about me?" Harm asked, hoping Smith wouldn't tell him to stay away. He could feel Mac was by far more than a little uneasy about the whole situation.
"You'll kneel down behind her," Smith answered, "And take her head into your lap. She needs to feel secure in order to let go and open her mind to the spirits."
Torn between joy about being allowed to comfort her so tenderly and trepidation at being so close to her again, Harm did as he was told. Mac closed her eyes as she lowered her head on his thighs. When he saw her features relax and an expression of quiet contentment take over, Harm was moved. She didn't really know him - and yet she trusted him so obviously. More determined than ever, he swore to himself that he'd do everything in his power to make her remember him the way he wanted her to. He gently placed his hands at both sides of her delicate face, his thumbs unconsciously caressing her cheeks.
Smith had stepped up to them, holding two steaming mugs. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I fear you'll have to sit up again for a moment," he stated apologetically, handing them the mugs.
"Uh... me, too?" Harm couldn't help asking as he accepted his drink.
Smiling, the doctor nodded. "Of course. If you want to help her, your souls have to be in synchrony," he explained as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth.
Unsure what to make of the statement, Harm decided to accept his fate and took a fair-sized mouthful. The liquid tasted a little like camomile with a touch of rose water and something else he absolutely couldn't define, strangely agreeable and soothing. The warmth of the beverage equaled the warmth of atmosphere in the room and all of a sudden, he began to feel very much at ease, completely at peace with himself, but still crystal clear in his mind, as he noted with considerable relief.
Mac lay down again and closed her eyes. Harm gladly cradled her head and calmly waited for what was going to happen. Smith had taken off his jacket and tie and was now kneeling at Mac's side, hands on his thighs and eyes closed in concentration. After a few moments of the most intense silence Harm had ever witnessed, the doctor took Mac's hands in his and spoke up in a voice that seemed to Harm like the audible equivalent of some balm you'd put on a serious burn. "You are sleeping, Sarah. You are sleeping... and dreaming... your mind is resting... your thoughts are floating... your breathing is slowing down... but it is flowing constantly... in... out... in... out... You are sleeping... but you are not far away. You're right here... but your mind is elsewhere... You're going back... a day... two... three... a week... two weeks... you're still going... always going on... going and breathing... going and breathing...
Smith paused in his chant, again letting silence sink in on everything. Harm sensed a strange loss where the voice had previously rung in his subconscious. Awe began to rise in him, awe of the power this man possessed and that he, Harm, couldn't even begin to understand.
The doctor drew a deep breath and let it out slowly as if to prepare for the next phase. "Where are you now, Sarah?" he then gently addressed Mac, just loud enough to get through to her without waking her.
Mac stirred a little, eyes still shut, but didn't answer. "Sarah. I know you can hear me," Smith tried again. "Where are you?"
Her voice was distant and just a little hollow when she replied. "Office..." she murmured.
"Did you go back a long time?"
"No..."
"What are you looking at?"
"Computer... my hands on the keyboard..."
"What about your hands?"
"The ring... I'm going to get married soon. Very soon..."
"Are you happy, Sarah?"
"No... my friend will go away... he won't be there... but I must warn him... he mustn't try to make it back in time... he mustn't... he mustn't..." Mac was getting increasingly uneasy, and Harm had to lay his hands on her shoulders, applying considerable pressure to keep her down on her back.
"What will happen if he does?" Smith asked.
Strangely, Mac quieted down and remained silent. "Sarah, what will happen if you don't warn him?" the doctor tried again.
"Black..." Mac only whispered. "All is black..."
Turning to Harm, Smith sighed. "The fact that she stumbled upon this bit of information first tells us it's very important to her," he told Harm in a low murmur. "And that her memory failed her again just as she seemed to near the crucial point indicates that we're very close already to what might lie beneath her problem. Do you know what happened?"
Harm had followed the scene, horror making his stomach knot. 'This' was the bottom of it all? He seriously doubted it. He swallowed. "The friend is me," he explained just as low, "My plane went down at sea in a thunderstorm when I tried to make it back in time for her wedding."
Smith only observed him for a few long moments, not letting show any hint of what he might be thinking. Eventually, Harm felt he couldn't stand the scrutiny any longer and lowered his gaze to Mac's features that had relaxed again.
"Try to go back past that day at your office, Sarah," Smith took up the procedure again. "Go back... take your time, Sarah... where are you now?"
"Office..." came her faint answer just like the first time. Smith threw a puzzled glance at Harm but he only shrugged helplessly. After all, her profession had been the defining element of Mac's former life, so it seemed quite natural she should remember her office rather than anything else - although he did wish something else would come to her mind.
"All right, what are you doing this time, Sarah?"
"I'm standing in the hallway... he's there, standing at the glass door... he's got a box in his arms... I'm warm... I can still feel his arms around me... He's got no plants in his office... no plants..."
"How are you feeling?"
A lone tear escaped Mac's right eye, startling Harm who had placed his hands on her cheeks again as it trickled down on his thumb. "He's going away," Mac whispered shakily. "I don't want him to go... He can't leave me... I must make him stay... I must... How can I make him stay? How..." Biting his lips and involuntarily holding his breath, Harm again tried to quiet her down by squeezing her shoulders.
Again, Smith decided to push forth. "Did you make him stay, Sarah? Or did he leave you?"
"I..." a quiet sob shook her shoulders. Harm squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, gulping his emotions down with considerable difficulty. Mac spoke up again, "I don't know... it feels like... like he's gone... but all is dark now..."
The doctor met Harm's gaze. "I assume you are the person she's talking about?" he asked calmly.
Harm nodded, his heart throbbing with regret. "I left JAG headquarters where we'd been working closely together, to go back to carrier flight duty," he explained in a low voice. Never had he imagined that his step might have caused her such pain. Of course she'd been sad but as devastated as this...
"Self protection," Smith remarked calmly. "She blocks everything out the moment it starts hurting for real. Now I'd be interested in what triggered this behavioral pattern to develop. I'm inclined to think it might again have something to do with you, Harm. Do you have any ideas?"
Sighing deeply, Harm shook his head. "Not really. Nothing of the kind happened again after my plane crash," he answered. "The whole thing started out of the blue after she'd gotten seriously hurt on our last mission in Red Rock Mesa."
"I see," Smith nodded. "Sarah," he then addressed Mac, "I want you to turn around and move forward again, nearer back to us. Leap over the black holes you find on the way, they're not too wide for you. Don't be afraid... we're waiting for you, Sarah... we're standing in Monument Valley... at the foot of one of the big plateaus... can you see us? We're waving to you."
"I see you," Mac answered drowsily. "Why are we here?"
"Have you ever been here before?"
"No..."
"Concentrate. Try to remember, Sarah. The red rocks... the sand..."
"Dinosaur traces," Harm quickly supplied, hopeful.
"Dinosaur traces, Sarah," Smith took up the hint. "Do you see them, they're right here."
"No... never been here..." she weakly insisted, frowning in her trance. But then suddenly her face contorted painfully. "It hurts!" she sobbed. "My leg... I can't walk... I must... the humvees... I can't move... but I must! There's something in my arms that I need to get out of here... something... but I can't. Help! Harm! Help me! Save me! No, don't... get out... Harm! No... Not yet..."
Harm couldn't stand the situation any longer. His shoulders were shaking just as badly as hers as her whole body was convulsing in painful sobbing. Her grief seemed bigger than anything he'd ever known himself. Not caring whether it might be beneficial or not, he scooped her up in his arms and cradled her against his chest, trying desperately to keep his own tears in check. "I'm so sorry, Mac," he murmured, his voice nearly suffocated. "It's all my fault. I failed to protect you... I should have saved you... somehow... anyhow... forgive me..."
Apparently sensing that they were both at the verge of breaking down, Smith signaled to Harm to wake Mac with a few slight slaps on the cheeks. Drawing a few deep breaths, Harm managed to get a grip and then helped Mac come back to consciousness. She opened her eyes and obviously needed a few moments to sort out the situation. Astonishment began to tinge her expression when she became aware that Harm was holding her close to him.
"Harm, what..." she began, confused.
"How do you feel, Sarah?" Smith inquired gently.
She frowned, never giving any indication that she wanted to move out of Harm's arms. He was infinitely glad about it. Right now he felt he needed her as badly as he ever had.
"I had a nightmare..." Mac murmured, addressing no one in particular. "I was somewhere... I don't know where... and I knew I was going to die... there was nothing I could have done about it. You were there, Harm..." she looked up at him, more alert now. "Was it a memory? Did I find something?"
He nodded. "You remembered parts of the shooting in Arizona," he explained to her. Hope was ringing in his voice when he added, "What do you recall?"
Mac's brow furrowed in concentration. A minute passed in silence, then two, three. Eventually, her shoulders dropped. "Nothing," she choked out, her acute disappointment cutting through his heart like a knife. "Not a single thing... just that I was going to die. But nothing beyond." Harm could tell Mac was fighting her tears. He pulled her a little closer still and caressed her hair.
Smith placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Don't despair, Sarah. That was only the first time you tried this kind of thing. Stick to whatever you may find out about Red Rock Mesa. I'm sure the clue must lie somewhere in this story. Take a little time and then see me again, okay?"
Mac only nodded, apparently lost in deep thought, miles away from her actual surroundings. But all of a sudden, she raised her head and fixed her gaze to Harm's. He was amazed at the amount of sheer desperate determination showing in her eyes.
"If the key to my problem lies in that mission or anything connected to it," she began, cautiously but decidedly, "Then I know who might hold it. Harm..." Her eyes bore into his, setting his heart aflame once again. "It's Golden's curse. I need to go to Fort Leavenworth."
To be continued... (Feedback - as always - very much appreciated!)
From part nine:
She felt completely unwilling to contact a psychotherapist about her state. Whenever Harm had tried to bring up the topic, she had refused pointblank. Trying to tell someone who didn't know her at all anything about a woman she herself hadn't figured out yet - and bringing all the pain out in the open that she was struggling with day by day? Nope. Maybe that was good for other people. But she abhorred the thought of sharing her private agonies with someone so totally unrelated to her.
But. Chloe's theory had struck a chord somewhere inside her. Sarah knew she didn't believe in the supernatural, but just today she had been given more than enough evidence about herself that was hard to contradict. So what if her little sister was right? What if this really was some kind of Cherokee heritage? Improbable as it seemed to her, Sarah felt she was unable to dismiss the possibility from her mind. And if exploring it meant opening up to some kind of. well, medicine man or whoever would know about such things, Sarah felt that strangely, the idea was less appalling to her than seing a therapist. After all, didn't she somehow belong to them?
'God, I must be freaking desperate if I consider doing such a thing,' she scolded herself.
Yet, that night, Sarah Mackenzie went to bed just a little less afraid.
Part Ten:
Feb. 25th 1357 ZULU Rosslyn, VA
Harm observed closely as Mac was studying the sign, standing rooted in front of the door to the simple white house, obviously pondering whether to go in or not. He knew just how difficult this was for her - after all, this was exactly what she had wanted to avoid at all cost. But he knew it would do her good if she would just make up her mind to it, and he was glad that her plans for once coincided with his wishes.
There was only one Cherokee healer to be found in the whole of D.C. and its surroundings. The polished brass sign at his front door read:
Bailey A. Smith M.D. Neurology - psychiatry - psychology Cherokee natural healing Appointments upon request
Harm was infinitely grateful that Mac had finally gotten to this point. She was indeed about to see a therapist. At last.
Two days ago, when he had come over for dinner, Mac had been considerably uneasy. When he had asked if anything was wrong, she had told him of the phone calls she had just had with Sergei and Chloe. And then she had, carefully at first, filled him in on her idea of exploring her mental abilities from this new perspective.
While his immediate reaction had been a hearty outburst of laughter - something he had immediately regretted upon seeing Mac's disappointment at him - Harm had to admit that Chloe's theory sounded at least vaguely probable. But still, he didn't feel too well about where Mac was headed. In fact, this wasn't 'Mac'. Only 'Sarah' would consider taking such a step. 'Mac' definitely wouldn't. So he had at once volunteered to look for a Native American healer in the Yellow Pages for her - hoping that by doing so, he would save her from ending up with some fraud that might do more damage than good in the end.
When he had come across Dr. Smith's advertisement, Harm had been greatly relieved. He felt he had found someone he could trust. After all, Smith did have a triple degree in medicine. Harm had at once called and made an appointment for Mac. Mac had seemed quite content - until she had found out that Dr. Smith was mainly a therapist. When she had confronted him with her discovery, Harm hadn't even tried to deny his interest in getting her to see him. After a few icy, silent hours, Sarah had finally given in. The hope of getting a hold on her memories had apparently outweighed her concerns at last.
Just to what extent she was afraid, Harm had easily been able to see when Mac had asked him to go with her. True, she had claimed it was because she might need him to provide any information the psychologist might ask for but wouldn't be able to get from her because she didn't remember. But mainly - and he was seeing it just as clearly as Mac was - she wanted him to come along because she was afraid. This was 'Sarah' coming forth again. Harm was sure 'Mac' wouldn't even have told him she had an appointment.
As Mac apparently didn't find the force to take the last few steps up to the door on her own accord, Harm gently placed his hand on the small of her back and pushed a little. "Come on, Marine," he said softly, "Let's face the enemy."
Mac turned her gaze to his and gratitude, intermixed with trepidation, was shining in her eyes. "Okay," she answered with a faint smile. "Thank you, Harm."
He rubbed her back a little, returning her smile. "Everything's gonna be okay."
He could see she didn't quite believe him but nevertheless, she squared her shoulders with a decided breath and let herself be guided to the door. Harm rang the doorbell and a minute later, a friendly, old man in an elegant gray suit welcomed them.
"Mr. Rabb and Ms. Mackenzie?"
"Yes," Harm nodded. Mac seemed to be too intimidated even for that.
The man bowed slightly, offering his hand to Mac with a slight smile. "Bailey Smith, very pleased to meet you. Please, come on in."
They shook hands and then followed Smith into the house. Harm winked encouragingly as Mac threw him a small confused frown. He, too, was surprised at the doctor's attire and appearance, but then he decided that any expectations of meeting with a long-haired man in leather slacks and with feathers and pearls around his neck would have been foolish anyway. A fact that was immediately underlined by the three Harvard master certificates that were hanging in the corridor Smith led them through. The whole practice breathed distinguished taste and style, the white walls and the select few expressionist paintings creating an atmosphere of calm and intellectual retreat.
The glance Mac gave him when they entered the doctor's office seemed to plead with him to take her away again, to the safety of her apartment, to his own, wherever. Just away... And yet, the moment the old man sat down behind his desk and with an amazingly juvenile smile bade them to take a seat, Harm knew they had found the right person for Mac to talk to. The sincere benevolence and wisdom in Smith's eyes, paired with an almost adolescent spirit of mind and a considerable amount of mischief, were plain disarming. Sitting down, Harm had unconsciously taken Mac's hand into his. Now, he felt her return his squeeze and when he looked at her, her answering smile was almost relaxed. A wave of relief washed over him.
Smith took a few seconds to openly look at them, seeming to size them up to prepare for his task - and apparently wanting to give them the same opportunity. Taking in a few more details, Harm thought he could now see Smith's Native roots in him. He was a rather small person, 5'4 at best, and his actual strength was barely shining through his seemingly fragile stature. His skin did have a slight tinge in between reddish-brown and olive and his nose was just a little hooked, as if to satisfy any clichés. His eyes were huge and dark, and hadn't his hair been well cut and snow white, Harm would have had no difficulties picturing Smith on a horse out on the prairie.
"So," Smith eventually spoke up, looking at Mac, "Ms. Mackenzie, what can I do for you?"
Harm saw Mac swallow and unconsciously tightened his hold of her trembling hand. "I, uh..." Mac began, then cleared her throat and tried again. "I lost my memory," she stated quickly as if she wanted to rid herself of the problem by getting it out in the open and leaving it to others to deal with it.
Smith's eyebrows went up a notch. "Oh? Very well - what happened that led to your memory loss, Ms. Mackenzie?" After his initial surprise he was now all professional, his gentle smile dimming a little but never vanishing.
"I was shot in the course of a search and rescue operation in Arizona and fell into a coma. I suffered a superficial cranial injury from a ricochet, but as my doctors told me, it's unlikely it had very much to do with my state." Mac handed him an envelope with her MRI pictures.
Rising and walking over to the window, Smith asked, "Would you mind giving me a few more details of the incident?" While Mac explained, Harm supplying extra information whenever she left something out, Smith carefully studied the photos. When Mac had ended, the doctor returned to his chair and handed the photos back across the desk.
"Your doctors were right, Ms. Mackenzie. I can't see any major indication, either, that your loss of memory had a physical cause. It seems more likely we're talking about traumatic stress suppression here. How much about yourself do you remember? And did you try anything to retrieve your memory yet?"
Again, Mac calmly explained what she had learned since she had awoken and where she suspected lay any major deficits. Harm knew this attitude she had fallen into: this was Mac, the JAGman investigator. Facts, facts, facts... and not a thing beyond. So it seemed only natural and consequent that she didn't mention her - their - private life at all. Not knowing if getting into matters of the heart would have been advised anyway, Harm only helped with a few professional issues and a few general details about their working relationship and friendship.
However, it soon became very clear that Smith wouldn't be fooled. He listened quietly as they laid out the case to him, letting his eyes travel from Harm to Mac and back again several times in the course of their tale. When Mac fell silent again, Smith addressed her with a smile that was just a little curious and knowing in the benevolent way only age could supply.
"So, Commander Rabb is your best friend, Colonel?" he asked openly. "How close exactly are you?" Harm prayed the doctor wouldn't dwell on the topic for too long.
Mac sighed. "If I knew, I probably wouldn't be sitting here, doctor," she answered. "But judging from what happened after the incident, I'd assume we're as close as any platonic friendship can get. And, please, doctor, don't call me 'Colonel'," she added, her voice a little lower. "I'm a civilian now."
Apparently, Mac's answer was acceptable enough for Smith. He didn't comment on the issue any further, for which Harm was grateful. "So what would you like me to call you then?" the doctor asked. "Sarah?"
Mac nodded. "Yes." Her voice was just a little unsure.
"And you, Commander?" Smith turned to look at Harm, his wise eyes exerting a strange effect on him. They seemed to look right into the inmost sanctuary of his heart, right where he had buried his most cherished memories and wishes.
"Uh... call me Harm," he replied awkwardly.
"Okay, Sarah, Harm," Smith went on. "What is it that you came to me for? Do you plan on taking up psychotherapy, did you want advice on what options you might have, or is there something else altogether?" he asked, almost as if he knew what had brought them to his house in the first place.
When Mac quickly glanced at him, obviously unsure if to reveal her intentions or not, Harm only gave her a slight encouraging nod once again, still not letting go of her hand. This was something she'd have to explain by herself.
She gave a low nervous chuckle before answering. "Doctor Smith, uh... I know this sounds really weird and I hope you won't take offence that we chose you for your ancestry mainly but..." she let her voice trail off, looking helpless.
Smith's smile had widened again. "Not at all, Sarah. Am I right to assume that you have a special interest in my Cherokee roots because you have Native American ancestors as well?"
Obviously surprised, Mac for a second gaped at him before she regained control of her demeanor again. "Yes, that's right," she admitted just a little sheepishly, "Actually, my great-grandmother was Cherokee, too. And... you know... sometimes I seem to have... well... kind of a sixth sense or..." She vigorously shook her head as if to scold herself for being so foolish. "I have no clue what this... thing... is but apparently I saved two people's lives using it, among them Commander Rabb's. And as whatever I tried to get a hold on anything of my former life failed, I thought I might as well try using that sense again for my own purpose."
So, there, she had said it. Although Harm could feel her pain and her anxiety, he still had to stifle a grin at hearing her defiant explanation. 'Way to go, Marine, you're doing fine. Hang in there,' he encouraged her quietly.
The old doctor observed her for a few moments as she was trying to will her breathing down to normal again. "There are many things in between Heaven and Earth that we don't understand," he eventually remarked calmly and sagely. "I have to admit that I'm pleased that you obviously consider this a possible cure, and I'll gladly assist you. But I have to warn you: the powers of the spirits don't reveal themselves to those whose minds are still closed up and don't fully acknowledge the possibility of their existence. If you want to follow that road," Smith's gaze was intense and filled with a deep, innate faith in what he was talking about, "You'll have to let go of your defenses. You may still doubt - but your doubts mustn't exclude any possible outcome. I'll need you to open up utterly and completely. Both of you," he added with an intent look into Harm's eyes, making his heart skip a beat and sudden fear rise in his throat.
He hadn't counted on actually being a part of whatever might happen. Sitting by was what he had come for, not partaking. But one look into Mac's anxious and yet so beautiful eyes made him push aside his reluctance in an instant. He had come to help her. And he would, no matter what. "All right," he murmured consent. Mac nodded, swallowing.
Smith rose and opened the door to the adjacent room, then turning back and smiling invitingly. "If you would please follow me..."
A little unsure if he would like what they were going to find inside, Harm guided Mac through the doorway, the hand on the small of her back exercising gentle pressure to let her know he was there.
The room was spacey and just as calmly stylish as the others - a polished wooden floor, white walls, a couple of plants, a fireplace even. But there was no furniture in it, and instead of modern art, the few pictures hanging on the walls were Native artwork of various North-American nations. The only items Harm recognized were a sketch of Kokopelli, the mythic Anasazi flute player, and a slightly modern oil painting of the Cherokee Double Eagle Head. The whole room was cozily lit by two big modern chandeliers. In the middle of the floor lay a thick carpet in natural colors ranging from pearl white to dark brown. The air was warm and bore the faintest perfume of some vaguely familiar herbs.
Smith stepped onto the carpet and kneeled down, repeating his inviting gesture with ever the same gentle smile on his face. "Sarah, would you please lay down here? Don't be afraid. What we're going to do has nothing to do with exorcism or anything. Actually, we're not even going to leave the path of classic psychology. If you'll consent to it, I'm going to hypnotize you and then we'll try to explore whatever may lie buried in the dark. The only help I'm going to have is from a little herbal tea - old family recipe from my grandmother who was a medicine woman," he added, winking. "But as I said - don't worry. The tea only has the slightest of sedating effects. Just to accelerate the hypnotizing process a little. Think of it more as of a medicine than as of some drug." His expression turned a little disgusted. "Drugs will only cloud your senses even more when you try to open up with their help. Those hippies will never understand just what damage they caused natural medicine with their ways..." His sigh was just a little theatrical.
"Okay," Mac acknowledged in a small, intimidated voice, obediently lying down on her back in the middle of the carpet.
"What about me?" Harm asked, hoping Smith wouldn't tell him to stay away. He could feel Mac was by far more than a little uneasy about the whole situation.
"You'll kneel down behind her," Smith answered, "And take her head into your lap. She needs to feel secure in order to let go and open her mind to the spirits."
Torn between joy about being allowed to comfort her so tenderly and trepidation at being so close to her again, Harm did as he was told. Mac closed her eyes as she lowered her head on his thighs. When he saw her features relax and an expression of quiet contentment take over, Harm was moved. She didn't really know him - and yet she trusted him so obviously. More determined than ever, he swore to himself that he'd do everything in his power to make her remember him the way he wanted her to. He gently placed his hands at both sides of her delicate face, his thumbs unconsciously caressing her cheeks.
Smith had stepped up to them, holding two steaming mugs. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I fear you'll have to sit up again for a moment," he stated apologetically, handing them the mugs.
"Uh... me, too?" Harm couldn't help asking as he accepted his drink.
Smiling, the doctor nodded. "Of course. If you want to help her, your souls have to be in synchrony," he explained as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth.
Unsure what to make of the statement, Harm decided to accept his fate and took a fair-sized mouthful. The liquid tasted a little like camomile with a touch of rose water and something else he absolutely couldn't define, strangely agreeable and soothing. The warmth of the beverage equaled the warmth of atmosphere in the room and all of a sudden, he began to feel very much at ease, completely at peace with himself, but still crystal clear in his mind, as he noted with considerable relief.
Mac lay down again and closed her eyes. Harm gladly cradled her head and calmly waited for what was going to happen. Smith had taken off his jacket and tie and was now kneeling at Mac's side, hands on his thighs and eyes closed in concentration. After a few moments of the most intense silence Harm had ever witnessed, the doctor took Mac's hands in his and spoke up in a voice that seemed to Harm like the audible equivalent of some balm you'd put on a serious burn. "You are sleeping, Sarah. You are sleeping... and dreaming... your mind is resting... your thoughts are floating... your breathing is slowing down... but it is flowing constantly... in... out... in... out... You are sleeping... but you are not far away. You're right here... but your mind is elsewhere... You're going back... a day... two... three... a week... two weeks... you're still going... always going on... going and breathing... going and breathing...
Smith paused in his chant, again letting silence sink in on everything. Harm sensed a strange loss where the voice had previously rung in his subconscious. Awe began to rise in him, awe of the power this man possessed and that he, Harm, couldn't even begin to understand.
The doctor drew a deep breath and let it out slowly as if to prepare for the next phase. "Where are you now, Sarah?" he then gently addressed Mac, just loud enough to get through to her without waking her.
Mac stirred a little, eyes still shut, but didn't answer. "Sarah. I know you can hear me," Smith tried again. "Where are you?"
Her voice was distant and just a little hollow when she replied. "Office..." she murmured.
"Did you go back a long time?"
"No..."
"What are you looking at?"
"Computer... my hands on the keyboard..."
"What about your hands?"
"The ring... I'm going to get married soon. Very soon..."
"Are you happy, Sarah?"
"No... my friend will go away... he won't be there... but I must warn him... he mustn't try to make it back in time... he mustn't... he mustn't..." Mac was getting increasingly uneasy, and Harm had to lay his hands on her shoulders, applying considerable pressure to keep her down on her back.
"What will happen if he does?" Smith asked.
Strangely, Mac quieted down and remained silent. "Sarah, what will happen if you don't warn him?" the doctor tried again.
"Black..." Mac only whispered. "All is black..."
Turning to Harm, Smith sighed. "The fact that she stumbled upon this bit of information first tells us it's very important to her," he told Harm in a low murmur. "And that her memory failed her again just as she seemed to near the crucial point indicates that we're very close already to what might lie beneath her problem. Do you know what happened?"
Harm had followed the scene, horror making his stomach knot. 'This' was the bottom of it all? He seriously doubted it. He swallowed. "The friend is me," he explained just as low, "My plane went down at sea in a thunderstorm when I tried to make it back in time for her wedding."
Smith only observed him for a few long moments, not letting show any hint of what he might be thinking. Eventually, Harm felt he couldn't stand the scrutiny any longer and lowered his gaze to Mac's features that had relaxed again.
"Try to go back past that day at your office, Sarah," Smith took up the procedure again. "Go back... take your time, Sarah... where are you now?"
"Office..." came her faint answer just like the first time. Smith threw a puzzled glance at Harm but he only shrugged helplessly. After all, her profession had been the defining element of Mac's former life, so it seemed quite natural she should remember her office rather than anything else - although he did wish something else would come to her mind.
"All right, what are you doing this time, Sarah?"
"I'm standing in the hallway... he's there, standing at the glass door... he's got a box in his arms... I'm warm... I can still feel his arms around me... He's got no plants in his office... no plants..."
"How are you feeling?"
A lone tear escaped Mac's right eye, startling Harm who had placed his hands on her cheeks again as it trickled down on his thumb. "He's going away," Mac whispered shakily. "I don't want him to go... He can't leave me... I must make him stay... I must... How can I make him stay? How..." Biting his lips and involuntarily holding his breath, Harm again tried to quiet her down by squeezing her shoulders.
Again, Smith decided to push forth. "Did you make him stay, Sarah? Or did he leave you?"
"I..." a quiet sob shook her shoulders. Harm squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, gulping his emotions down with considerable difficulty. Mac spoke up again, "I don't know... it feels like... like he's gone... but all is dark now..."
The doctor met Harm's gaze. "I assume you are the person she's talking about?" he asked calmly.
Harm nodded, his heart throbbing with regret. "I left JAG headquarters where we'd been working closely together, to go back to carrier flight duty," he explained in a low voice. Never had he imagined that his step might have caused her such pain. Of course she'd been sad but as devastated as this...
"Self protection," Smith remarked calmly. "She blocks everything out the moment it starts hurting for real. Now I'd be interested in what triggered this behavioral pattern to develop. I'm inclined to think it might again have something to do with you, Harm. Do you have any ideas?"
Sighing deeply, Harm shook his head. "Not really. Nothing of the kind happened again after my plane crash," he answered. "The whole thing started out of the blue after she'd gotten seriously hurt on our last mission in Red Rock Mesa."
"I see," Smith nodded. "Sarah," he then addressed Mac, "I want you to turn around and move forward again, nearer back to us. Leap over the black holes you find on the way, they're not too wide for you. Don't be afraid... we're waiting for you, Sarah... we're standing in Monument Valley... at the foot of one of the big plateaus... can you see us? We're waving to you."
"I see you," Mac answered drowsily. "Why are we here?"
"Have you ever been here before?"
"No..."
"Concentrate. Try to remember, Sarah. The red rocks... the sand..."
"Dinosaur traces," Harm quickly supplied, hopeful.
"Dinosaur traces, Sarah," Smith took up the hint. "Do you see them, they're right here."
"No... never been here..." she weakly insisted, frowning in her trance. But then suddenly her face contorted painfully. "It hurts!" she sobbed. "My leg... I can't walk... I must... the humvees... I can't move... but I must! There's something in my arms that I need to get out of here... something... but I can't. Help! Harm! Help me! Save me! No, don't... get out... Harm! No... Not yet..."
Harm couldn't stand the situation any longer. His shoulders were shaking just as badly as hers as her whole body was convulsing in painful sobbing. Her grief seemed bigger than anything he'd ever known himself. Not caring whether it might be beneficial or not, he scooped her up in his arms and cradled her against his chest, trying desperately to keep his own tears in check. "I'm so sorry, Mac," he murmured, his voice nearly suffocated. "It's all my fault. I failed to protect you... I should have saved you... somehow... anyhow... forgive me..."
Apparently sensing that they were both at the verge of breaking down, Smith signaled to Harm to wake Mac with a few slight slaps on the cheeks. Drawing a few deep breaths, Harm managed to get a grip and then helped Mac come back to consciousness. She opened her eyes and obviously needed a few moments to sort out the situation. Astonishment began to tinge her expression when she became aware that Harm was holding her close to him.
"Harm, what..." she began, confused.
"How do you feel, Sarah?" Smith inquired gently.
She frowned, never giving any indication that she wanted to move out of Harm's arms. He was infinitely glad about it. Right now he felt he needed her as badly as he ever had.
"I had a nightmare..." Mac murmured, addressing no one in particular. "I was somewhere... I don't know where... and I knew I was going to die... there was nothing I could have done about it. You were there, Harm..." she looked up at him, more alert now. "Was it a memory? Did I find something?"
He nodded. "You remembered parts of the shooting in Arizona," he explained to her. Hope was ringing in his voice when he added, "What do you recall?"
Mac's brow furrowed in concentration. A minute passed in silence, then two, three. Eventually, her shoulders dropped. "Nothing," she choked out, her acute disappointment cutting through his heart like a knife. "Not a single thing... just that I was going to die. But nothing beyond." Harm could tell Mac was fighting her tears. He pulled her a little closer still and caressed her hair.
Smith placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Don't despair, Sarah. That was only the first time you tried this kind of thing. Stick to whatever you may find out about Red Rock Mesa. I'm sure the clue must lie somewhere in this story. Take a little time and then see me again, okay?"
Mac only nodded, apparently lost in deep thought, miles away from her actual surroundings. But all of a sudden, she raised her head and fixed her gaze to Harm's. He was amazed at the amount of sheer desperate determination showing in her eyes.
"If the key to my problem lies in that mission or anything connected to it," she began, cautiously but decidedly, "Then I know who might hold it. Harm..." Her eyes bore into his, setting his heart aflame once again. "It's Golden's curse. I need to go to Fort Leavenworth."
To be continued... (Feedback - as always - very much appreciated!)