Nearly a week after dinner at Harm's apartment, I find I'm back to my normal work cycle. The cold has past, and due to increasingly frequent urges from Harm telling me to see a doctor, I took some unwanted but helpful antibiotics. The Larson court martial is just around the corner, and after several sessions with Harm (in which we actually did something) we're ready.
I'm relatively free at work, and I'm finalizing my closing arguments for trial versus Sturgis, but unfortunately, the Larson date has been pushed dangerously forward. We'll be in court in a matter of days. My doorbell rings, and I get up, my pen in my hand. In my head, I'm reciting what I'm going to say for the upcoming court case when I open the door. Clay stands on the other side with a bouquet of flowers. Bursts of pink can be seen among the mass of blue.
"Sarah?"
I haven't talked to him at all since my return (discounting the phone call) and I feel awful. I take the flowers in my arms and smile, "Hi."
He enters the room. He smells like cigarettes and alcohol. His face is unshaven, and his clothes are wrinkled, "What happened, Clay?"
"Assignment. That's why I couldn't call you for all this time," he says, rubbing his face, "I just got back about two hours ago."
I go to the kitchen and get a glass of water, giving it to him hastily, "Are you alright?"
He rubs his eyes wearily, "I'm fine. You?"
I nod while crossing my arms self-consciously and exhaling my breath slowly.
He plays with the now empty glass, the water of which he downed in one gulp, "Are you free tonight? I thought we could have dinner…"
I furrow my brow, "I'm sorry, I have to…I have court in a few days, Harm and I-"
"Rabb?" Clay says. He fiddles with his collar, "Okay, maybe tomorrow?"
I nod and take his glass from his hands. They are visibly shaking. I really can't imagine how he manages to work in the agency everyday if just one assignment does this to him, "I could cancel, Harm and I could talk later, or at the office. Clay…you want to talk?"
He shakes his head and gets up, "I'll talk to you soon, good luck on the case."
And before I can reply, he lets himself out, without saying goodbye.
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2157 ZULU
JAG Headquarters
If Clay thought Harm and I were going to a five-star restaurant, dressing up and getting valet parking, he was terribly mistaken. I'm sitting on my desk as Harm goes over the files studiously, his takeout box recklessly discarded in the garbage can. I manage to snag a chicken ball from within my own with chopsticks, after much difficulty, and stuff it in my mouth wholeheartedly.
I don't want to be pessimistic, but I'm quite sure Larson will serve some time because the outlook seems grim. If we lose, even at a higher level of court, there's not much to be done. After talking with the Petty Officer, we are going to use Harm's theory that Larson was feeling in danger when he shot Rossi. Other than Durcell, and some reports we got our hands on from Freeman, we basically need to appeal to the jury's morals to get our point across.
"Harm, I think we have everything we need. We can go over specifics tomorrow at work," I say, getting up to throw out my garbage. I come back, grabbing the final box that has two spring rolls in it.
Harm shakes his head, "Mac, you know as well as I do that our case is weak. Mattoni will eat us up for lunch." He grabs for the box but I swing it out of his grasp at the last moment.
"I don't know why you're getting so worked up about this. It's like you're obsessed or…" I don't want to go on and irritate him. I stop and correct myself, "We've done everything we can, Harm. We weren't given much to work with from the beginning."
"I'm getting worked up because Larson went through a lot of pain, Mac." He manages to get hold of the takeout box and takes the remaining spring roll out, holding it gingerly between his fingers."Yes, but not everyone who goes through pain admits to killing someone else."
" 'Someone else' being their lover's murderer," Harm shoots back.I sigh and stand up, my voice starting to rise, "They weren't lovers, Harm! Larson just said he loved her, and Harper's roommate gives us reason to believe the feeling was reciprocated. Regardless of how they felt, it doesn't help us with this case. Besides, Larson may have been lying to justify his reason for killing Rossi."
"We can make it a point that Larson was so emotionally shattered after seeing Harper's body, that he killed Rossi." Harm is standing up too, "and he wasn't lying about loving her."
"How do you know?" I challenge, staring him square in the eye and daring him to come closer.
Harm runs his fingers through his hair, but lets his whole arm drop with frustration, "I just know. Didn't you see how he reacted when we talked about her? You can't fake that."
"A good actor could," I retort, stepping back to find my chair and sit down.
It's only at this point that I realize we're arguing, just like before Paraguay. Although I know it's strange to feel this, I can't help but think it's exhilarating. All those fights and petty conflicts made me a better lawyer in the courtroom. Not only does Harm make me feel better about myself, he makes me better at what I do.
Harm backs off physically, but isn't letting go of what he believes is true, "He wasn't lying, Mac. He wasn't."
The silence is strange, considering we were nearly yelling at each other a few moments ago. I bring my hands together in front of me. "Maybe we should head home. We can talk again tomorrow."
Harm nods and gathers the files in front of him. He carries them under his arm and looks at me. I've nearly frozen in my place, but his voice beckons me, "Coming?"
I'm beside him in a moment. I turn off the lights in my office and lock up briskly, making sure I have everything. He escorts me out to the parking lot, his footsteps are the only noise in the otherwise quiet area. The lot is empty, except for our vehicles and one other that I don't recognize.
"Do you think we're ready?" Harm asks. "Or do you want to go over some final things tomorrow at my place, or yours."
"I have plans," I say softly, "but I'm sure we're fine. We don't need the time." We've been spending much more time together lately than we were before Italy, and I'm not embarrassed to say that I like it.
He nods quickly. We're at my car and he steps back, waving goodbye. I wave back at him when I get in, and get the car's ignition on. I don't start pulling back, however, until I can no longer see his shadow in the rearview mirror.
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Tonight when I got ready, I decided I would put everything into my current relationship. It seems to be the most intimate thing I've had in a long time, and I really don't want to see it go. Regardless of what I said in Italy, I know now, I should do everything possible to make Clay and I work out. I just wasn't counting on this when I thought all those things.
He breathes in, his fingers toying with the glass of Merlot, "I can't do this anymore, Sarah."
My mouth hangs agape, knowing what's coming, "What?" This isn't supposed to happen."I can't do this…us," he says. I'm holding my breath, and I don't think I'll ever let it go. Soft, string orchestra music plays in the background. A lone violin crescendos, and the melancholy tune drifts towards our table.
My voice is raspy, "Why?" I don't know why I'm getting so emotional over this. I even admitted to Harm that I may have never been able to love the man in front of me, but I was going to make it work. I swore to myself…
"I just…I don't know if it has a future, what we have. We both know your heart isn't in this right now-"
"My heart isn't in this?" I can't believe this, "How'd you get that idea?"
Clay smoothes out the table cloth in front of him absentmindedly, "Rabb…you and him-"
"Harm has nothing to do with us. Is this about yesterday? I told you, we had a working dinner, I had court, and it was a tough case…"
"It's not yesterday. It's everyday," he says, "Rabb-"
"Stop putting him in the conversation," I whisper fiercely, as another couple passes by our table on the way to their own, "If you're going to give me reasons for this, talk about us. You and me." I enunciate the last three words.
He tilts his head and studies my face. He leans in, "Fine. Do you love Rabb?"
I'm silent; I really don't know what to say.
"See what I mean?" Clay says pointedly. "I care about you, Sarah, I really do. I just can't be in something that has no future."
He waits for the waiter to come and pays the bill. I don't move. He gets up and leaves with a soft, "Goodbye."
I don't know how long I stare at my untouched dinner, but I know I'm not going to cry, because I'm used to it. It's happened again – because of Harm. I just don't know how to deal with it anymore.
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I knock on Harm's door hesitantly after much contemplation. He opens it almost immediately, his eyes wide with surprise, "Mac? What're you doing here?"
"Thought you might want to work on the case, unless you're busy."
"No," he says, making way for me to enter, "I thought you had plans with Webb."
"I said I had plans yesterday…I never said with who," I say sharply. Harm cocks and eyebrow and I apologize, clearing my throat, "Sorry, I'm just…tired. You want to overview everything?"
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I tuck my legs under me on the floor as I finish up. Harm seems to be in a vegetative state, or something of that nature. His eyes are open, but he makes no movements or acknowledgement of my presence. He nurses a bottle of water in his hands, and slowly brings it to his lips. In one quick motion, the bottle is empty, and he lets it rest on the coffee table, which we pushed forward slightly to make room for our work.
"What are you thinking about," I ask.
"I don't know," he says simply, "nothing?"
I don't question his behaviour any more, "Alright. When you're done with nothing, could you pass me the Durcell paper?"
"What?"
I point to the stack of papers that have been lying beside him all this time, and he comes to his senses, "Oh, right. Here." He slides them to me slowly, "This is all we can do, right?"
I nod, "Yes, we've done everything possible as defense counsel. I really don't know what else would satisfy you."
"He's going to jail."
"We knew that from the beginning, Harm," I remind my partner.
"No, not that. Listen," he says, coming to sudden realization. He finds the reports on the crime scene and leafs through them, trying to find something, "Here. The knife was found on the south wing of the building, where Rossi entered from after talking to Durcell, right? Larson entered through the eastern wing. But Harper's body was found near the eastern side. How did Larson see Rossi coming at him with the knife, if the knife was discarded when Rossi came in?"
"Oh god," I look at the ceiling in anger at our imminent defeat, "He's guilty."
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END CHAPTER VI