A/N Thanks for the reviews; always appreciated greatly.

A Man Called Ghost

Chapter 5

Squinting, Harm looked blankly at the empty bottle that he could just barely see sitting on the table in front of him. Slowly he closed his eyes and then opened them again as if in an attempt to make something disappear. With a heavy sigh he sat up and realized that he'd passed out on his couch again. He'd gotten back from the op in Iraq three days before and had been hitting the bottle even harder than usual since his debriefing. It wasn't that the op had degenerated into a free for all in front of the café, or the fact that he'd probably killed somewhere around sixty men between the initial fire fight, the dash across the street and the bomb he'd planted in the kitchen. And it only had a little to do with the nightmares. This time he was trying to chase away something even more haunting than the nightmares; he'd seen the look in Mac's eyes when he'd been trying to get them back into the kitchen. He'd seen the fear and revulsion when she looked at him. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the looks of terror she was giving him and he couldn't help but feel weak. He needed to be strong, he needed to be sharp. He couldn't afford to be weak, not anymore. Weakness on an op would cause people to die.

Running a hand through his hair he noticed for the first time how stiff and greasy it felt. Carefully he stood up and started to make his way to the shower only to stop when he saw the chair propped up against the door knob. He stared at the chair for five minutes without remembering why it was there and then it all came rushing back to him.

First it had been Webb banging on his door yelling that he wanted to talk to him. Then it was Sturgis' baritone trying to be reasonable but demanding answers. To each of these the only response he had made had been to continue to play the blues on his guitar as if their answers could be found in the sorrowful riffs. He was pretty sure it was hours later when he heard a softer knock at his door. Knowing Mac wouldn't take silence or blues as an answer Harm had pushed the chair up under to the knob to prevent her from using her key. He should probably get the locks changed…too many people from his past life had keys to the apartment. For hours Harm had sat on that chair playing all of the blues songs he knew and then launched into some of his own creations. Finally he had heard her leave and he hoped she had found the answers she was looking for in the weeping of his guitar. That was when he'd opened the fresh bottle of scotch and hit it with a vengeance.

Shaking his head Harm viciously kicked the chair away from the door and then continued on his way to the shower. Stripping off the sweat stained and dirty shirt he was wearing Harm turned on his shower and cranked up the hot water. As steam filled the glass enclosed bathroom Harm pulled off the rest of his clothes and stepped under the scalding water. After what felt like hours but was probably closer to twenty minutes Harm slowly turned the knobs to stop the flow of water. Grabbing a towel Harm stepped out of the shower and went up to his bedroom to find some clean clothes.

Pulling on a pair of faded jeans and a plain t-shirt Harm made his way down towards the kitchen when he realized how ravenous he was. As he got the bottom of the short flight of stairs he came to a stop when he saw Mac standing in his doorway. Hungrily his eyes took in the sight of her as he noticed everything about her. Her uniform was rumpled, he would even go so far as to say it looked slept in. She had been crying, he could tell by the puffiness around her eyes. He had to push down the instinctive urge to go comfort her; she wouldn't want to be comforted by someone she feared. Her lips were slightly parted as if she were ready to give answer to a question. At first he could only stand there and stare at her but when she lowered her gaze to look at her feet he felt the surge of rage he'd become accustomed to.

"Do us both a favour and just turn around and leave." He said harshly as he walked across the apartment to the kitchen to look for some food.

"What happened here?" Mac asked as she looked at the wreck of his living room. Empty bottles were laying everywhere, dirty plates sat on the table and the floor, and clothes were piled in small heaps all over the place.

"I gave the maid the month off. Sorry it doesn't live up to your standards. What are you doing here?" he asked bluntly.

Walking silently into the living room Mac picked up one of the empty bottles and sniffed briefly at it. "And this?"

"Used for medicinal purposes only." Harm said through clenched teeth as he strode into the living room and snatched the bottle away from Mac.

"Medicinal purposes? Harm, listen to yourself. What happened to you?" Mac asked trying to catch his eyes.

"Nothing. You should leave." Harm said coldly.

"I just got here." Mac said with an attempt at humor.

"Well now you can just leave." Harm said tossing the bottle onto the couch and returning to the kitchen in his search for food.

"Where have you been? What have you been doing? Talk to me Harm…it's me…Mac. I haven't seen you in almost a year and now when I do I find…this?"

With a sigh Harm slammed the fridge he'd just opened to continue his quest for food. Turning towards Mac he put his hands on the counter and looked at her levelly. He knew she was there out of some misguided sense of loyalty to their long dead friendship. But he'd seen the way she looked at him in Iraq…knew she thought he was some kind of monster. 'And she'd probably be right' he thought to himself. "Colonel MacKenzie, if you're here to thank me for getting you and your team out of Iraq, fine. You're welcome. Good bye." He said as coldly as he could. He needed for her to leave before he fell apart again. "Get the fuck out of my apartment." He added quietly.

Mac looked at him like he'd slapped her when she heard him. With three quick steps she was in front of him and her hand made contact with the side of his face. Fine, he deserved it. Maybe now she would go away and he could find a way to get her to stop haunting him. "What happened to you Harm?" she asked after taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

"Harm's dead; he died in Paraguay." Harm said bitterly. "Sorry you missed the funeral."

Mac put her hand to mouth and looked at Harm like he'd just killed her best friend. Maybe he had…or at least killed the memory of him. Grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair it hang from he shrugged into it. "Fine; you don't want to go, I will." He said and then walked out of his apartment. When he hit the street he got on his bike and kicked it to life. As he was pulling the sunglasses out of his pocket he saw Mac come out the door and look around until she saw him. She hurried up to him yelling for him to wait. Some twisted part deep down inside where he used to keep his soul kept him from putting the bike into gear and driving away before she got there.

"Harm…wait. Why won't you let me help you? Why won't you talk to me?" she asked him plaintively.

Looking at her Harm just shook his head. "I told you Colonel, the man you're looking for is dead. He doesn't live here anymore." He said before he put his bike in gear and roared off.

Afterthought: I'm sorry this is such a short chapter. Originally I'd planned to have him go to Blacksburg to go flying and find out Pop had sold the outfit to Grace Aviation. That's going to happen, however I just felt that this was a much better place to leave this chapter and lead into the next from Mac's pov. Let me know if you think Harm comes across as whiny in this chapter…there's just something more I think I can do for him here…but I'm not sure what it is.