Not So Solitary Confinement
With the intensity of their dispute, Harm and Mac never saw Maddie stand up, get her purse and walk into the outer room. Claiming her coat from the hook, she quietly pulled the door shut behind her, locking it with a sly smile. In her many years of cursing the antiquated dead-bolt on the office, it had finally come in handy.
"Perfect," she said to herself. Maddie checked her watch and mulled it over, "A couple hours should do it." She paused long enough to listen for blood curdling screams. Not having heard any, she figured it was safe to leave. Just as she was about to walk down the hall, she heard her name called—rather loudly—from behind the door. It was Mac's voice.
"Maddie! Get BACK here! Unlock THIS door!" she yelled while rattling the door knob and pounding on the hard wood.
And then a few words from Harm followed, "Maddie! This isn't funny!"
Maddie was amused with the irritated tone they took. Pulling a piece of paper from her purse (actually an old receipt from Petsmart), she hastily jotted a note and slid it under the door to them. With one final smile and a nod of her head, she skipped and twirled down the hallway, immensely content with her latest plan, even if the unorthodox tactic was a wee bit unprofessional.
Of course, she had given some thought to Zoloft, whom she had left behind in the potential "war zone." You can hold your own, Zolly, Maddie thought, I'll be back for you soon enough. With that, she continued her trek out of the building and to her car.
Back inside the office, Mac picked up the note and read it aloud, "Sorry about the inconvenience. You two feel free to resolve your differences in private. I'll be back later. Maddie." She stood there staring at the words, refusing to accept that this was happening to them.
Snatching the message from Mac's hands, Harm read it in disbelief. "Inconvenience? I can't believe . . . resolve our differences! Damn it! She'll be back later?" He paced the floor, rambling on about the note before crumpling it and tossing it across the room in frustration.
"Unbelievable!" Mac muttered, turning back toward the door. She fingered the lock with bewilderment. The only way to open it from the inside was with a key, and in her assessment, picking it was out of the question. "Who puts this kind of lock in an office?"
As Mac walked away from the door, Harm's pacing brought him too it. He ran his hands over the door, noticing the recessed iron hinges. No way in hell these are coming off without some kind of power tools, he thought, rubbing his chin. Making a fist, he pounded the wood in hopes the door was hollow.
Watching her partner size up the door, she could see the gears cranking in his head. "Go ahead, Harm. Break the door down," Mac said, with an irritated huff and a roll of her eyes.
"You don't think I can do it?" Harm retorted with a snort.
"YOU? Houdini couldn't get us out of here!" she scoffed, gesturing toward the wooden creature blocking their exit. Silently she wished he could; it would certainly solve the matter at hand with one quick motion—and create some broken bones to boot, no doubt. And since I'm no medic, that option is clearly out of the question.
With a shake of her head, she turned and went back into Maddie's private office, resigned to the fact they were stuck there until Maddie decided to set them free—whenever THAT would be. If she went shopping, we could be here for DAYS! Mac shuddered at the thought.
Harm, on the other hand, examined the door one last time with the hope he'd find some way to get it open and free them from the psychiatric dungeon to which Maddie had damned them. Too bad that 'Open Sesame' only works in the movies, he thought cynically, before returning to the other room.
As soon as he entered the room, Harm sought out the sofa and sat down with his head back, closing his eyes. It took him all of ten seconds to conclude this friend of Meredith's was some sort of sadistic loon in need of her own padded room. For a second, he thought about calling Sturgis or even Bud to get them out. But then he banished the idea completely. First off—they would never believe me. And once I convinced them, I would never hear the end of it. I should have gotten out of here while I had the chance, Harm lamented.
Mac, meanwhile, had been slowly pacing the room, alternating between looking out the window and perusing the books on the shelves. She leisurely gazed at the walls, almost hoping some hidden escape hatch would magically appear. To her relief, though, she did note that what she thought was a closet was actually Maddie's private bathroom. I'll have to remember to thank Maddie for her hospitality when we get out of here, she thought wryly.
For forty-nine minutes, silence had enveloped the room, with the exception of the soft "tick-tick" from the grandfather clock and the muffled hum of traffic from the street below. With the shut windows, the room had taken on an almost church-like atmosphere. Somewhere from under the desk peered wide eyes and a furry head, scrutinizing the guests that had overstayed their welcome. Appreciating the stillness in the room, Zoloft tucked his head under his thick tail in hopes of continuing his much needed nap.
All this silence had given Mac time to think. Everything about this day gave her a headache. From the moment they hit the door, things had gone horribly. Again, she silently berated herself for attempting to tell Harm about her call to Mic. Big mistake, she thought. What's the sense of trying to make it right—he is only going to react like he did earlier. And the Renee' discussion hadn't helped matters either. In her estimation, the baggage they had brought into this counseling was insurmountable. Perhaps getting past it means moving on—without each other. God—it hurts just to even think about it. Maybe it was never meant to be, she thought, sadness consuming her. Glancing at Harm as she strode past him for the millionth time, she noticed how easily he seemed to be handling this lock-down of Maddie's.
Since Maddie had locked them in, Harm could only think about how and when he screwed up his relationship with Mac—point for point. And of course, Mic's emergence into the picture was there in his head too. He had no idea how to handle it other than back away graciously and let Mac get on with her life, as he did that night on the Admiral's porch. That was him—ever the gentleman. His life's goal had always been to do what is right and honest. Even if doing what is right was killing him. But the thought of life without Mac was too painful to bear.
Mac. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly where she was in the room and at what moment by her soft foot-falls as she moved across the rug to the hardwood floors and back. The sound was soothing to him, just knowing she was near . . . despite all their issues.
Hunger was starting to get the best of Mac. Since she had been counting on breakfast with Harm after their session, she had had nothing to eat at home. Now the ever-present gnawing in her stomach was hard to ignore. Noticing a mini-refrigerator tucked near the file cabinet, she decided to look for something—anything—to nibble on.
With one quick tug, the door to the refrigerator opened with a zwop. At its sound, Harm lifted his head off the sofa and regarded Mac warily with one eye before lying back against the soft cushion. Only she could think of food at a time like this, he noted.
Three cans of diet coke, a pint of half and half, chocolate syrup and a half-eaten bowl of what appeared to be tuna—not exactly the breakfast of champions I had hoped for, she thought. Mac picked up the dish, removed the plastic wrap and brought it to her nose, hoping it was somewhat fresh.
"Ugh! Phew! That is NOT tuna!" she said, gagging.
"What did you expect—caviar? She's got a cat for Christ sake, Mac," Harm said with some annoyance.
At the sound of the plastic wrap crinkling, Zolly was on his feet and wrapped around Mac's legs mewing and flicking his tail in anticipation of the snack in her hands. Without further prompting, she set the bowl down on the floor before the hungry feline would dance himself right out of his fur.
"Brilliant deduction, Commander. Any more observations?" Mac commented, standing up and tossing the plastic wrap in the trash.
Harm closed his eyes again and crossed his arms over his chest, "Yeah, this was a bad idea from the start. There was no way in hell we could solve our differences with a counselor."
Taken aback by Harm's response, Mac watched his expressionless face intently. She couldn't even begin to know where his heart or his head was at the moment. But she did understand it, nonetheless, as she had earlier contemplated the same notion. "What do you suggest?" she inquired quietly, unsure if she was ready to hear what he had to say.
"Maybe we should just go our separate ways . . . we're long overdue." Harm said remorsefully with a shrug. He opened his eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of her, still standing near the refrigerator. The pallor in her face was a stark contrast with the fuchsia-colored sweater she wore. If it was possible, he thought she had never looked more beautiful yet so lost. It tore at his heart to see her so conflicted because of him.
Mac choked back the lump that formed in her throat. She took a deep breath, and then asked carefully, "And you think that will solve things?"
"What else is left, Mac?"
Slowly, Mac strode over to the leather chair Maddie had occupied throughout their sessions and sat down. Absentmindedly, she tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned back against the chair before folding her hands in her lap. She never removed her gaze from him.
"Why are we here, Harm?"
"Maddie locked us in, remember?" he replied, stating the obvious. His witty retort vanished in the somberness of the room.
Mac was unable to muster the energy to counter his response. She was certain he understood her question, no sense in arguing with him.
Sitting up, Harm leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his face with his hands. Why are we here? It was suddenly the million-dollar question that he thought he had had the answer to yesterday. Now he wasn't so sure. With every bit of progress they made, he could see a light at the end of the tunnel. Except now, the light he saw belonged to a speeding Amtrak train bound for Brumby-ville.
"Mac, what difference does it make? Everything has changed—it doesn't matter anymore why we're here," Harm stated, locking eyes with hers.
"What's changed, Harm?" Mac countered and then sighed wistfully, "I wish you would just talk to me."
"Don't you think we've done enough talking for one day?" It was more of a statement than a question.
Harm stood up and regarded Mac carefully before moving toward the window. He had an idea where she was taking this conversation and he wasn't entirely certain he was ready to go there—yet. At some point, he knew he had to. He had to be honest with her and tell her how he felt—about her, about Brumby . . . about everything. Then it would be up to her to decide where they would go—if anywhere—from here.
"Why do you think we're here, Mac?" Harm asked quietly, peering out the window first before turning to face her.
Mac considered the question and the context in which Harm presented it. Right now, she felt like she was sitting in the witness box, the answer to the question would determine the fate of a client—them. However, in her estimation, Harm was stalling—for whatever reason.
"I asked you first, remember?" she countered bleakly, still looking for her answer.
Harm nodded his head, acknowledging her before answering, "We're here . . . because we have a problem."
Mac snickered at his ambiguity—which she considered to be his inability to commit to anything—counseling, the question, her.
"No, you have a problem," she said with an irritated tone. "God—I hate this dance," she muttered, covering her face with her hands. She felt defeated—it left her feeling empty and miserable.
"Yeah, you're right, Mac. I do have a problem," he said quietly. Taking a deep breath, he added, "I'm in love with my best friend and I don't know how to deal with it anymore."
Mac gasped, and uncovered her face. She tried to open her mouth to say something—anything, but she couldn't. Harm took advantage of her silence to continue before he would lose his nerve.
"And I don't know how to deal with Brumby coming back into your life, either," he said moving across the room from the window to the chair where she sat. Pulling the ottoman over, he sat in front of her, taking her hands in his.
She finally understood—this is what had been nagging Harm the entire time. It made sense to her now—from his evasiveness when she wanted to talk about it to his indifference during the session.
"Harm . . ." Mac whispered tearfully, wanting to immediately clarify her phone call to Mic.
"Let me finish, Mac," Harm interrupted. "For what it's worth, I am in love with you. I know I risk losing you by telling you this, but I have to. It's a risk I . . . I'm finally willing to take."
"But Harm . . ." she again tried to interrupt, but was silenced with a gentle look.
"Last time, Brumby walked in and swept you off your feet without so much as a whimper from me." Harm's heart was racing and his voice trembled. He took another deep breath, hoping to quell his nervousness. "It's not happening this time—I'm not letting it."
"Harm—there is something that you need to know." Mac brought her hand up to his face and pressed her fingers on his lips to silence him. She needed him to hear her out.
"I called Mic because I want . . . I need closure—not because I want him back."
Harm was stunned. "But I thought . . ."
"That's the problem—you think too much and you jump to conclusions without all the evidence, counselor," Mac said with a smile. "That's what I was trying to tell you earlier." Then, she softly added, "I did it for us . . . because I'm in love with you."
Without another word, Harm pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly, completely and utterly relieved. That earlier voice inside his head was now saying, 'see, I told you so!'
Mac pulled back a little from his embrace, "That's it? No rebuttal? No, 'I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions Mac'?"
Harm shook his head gently. He looked deep into her eyes and said, "No—just this." With that he took her face in his hands, brought his lips to hers and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.