Berry special thanks to V, for betaing my wild and crazy stories. For putting up with long hard hours of Sahara and Ham. And my obvious disdain and love of punctuation. I will buy you a new broom, please pick one. Hehehe.
Shouldn't take too long to post the next few parts, I'm all written up until 25, however, deleting, changing, purging, re-arranging. Writing a story is like fixing your closet – there's always lots of stuff, you keep the things you don't need and toss out the rest. Then, two days later, you realized you tossed out something you needed.
One thing, yes I realize Mac is a little low in pay grade to become a JAG (in chapter 23, methinks, Harm tells her so and Mac agrees), but does Hewitt seem like the type of person that even, remotely, has a clue how the Navy runs? Nah, didn't think so. Don't read more into the story than it is. Hewitt's trying to find a way to bait her to throw Vic's case. If giving her such a high ranking position wouldn't work, or, at least wet her appetite, she'd go after Harm.
Can we see that I like governmental conspiracy theories or what? Plausible or not, unless it's etched in stone (and even if it is) it doesn't mean it can't happen. Aren't you glad I'm not in office? ;)
Jackie
PS: HAPPY MOTHERS DAY TO ALL YOU WONDERFUL MOM'S OUT THERE!
Part 21 – Someone Else, Not Me
February 27, 2010
1310 Local
Robert's Residence
San Diego, California
Watching the Roberts' twins play seemed to always have a therapeutic quality. It healed the scars of her heart and soul when she was longing for the children she'd never had and the man who didn't want her. When Harriet and Bud had made the move to San Diego, Mac's life had changed. She found herself with a family again. Somehow, that reliable therapy was doing nothing this time. The void in her heart was still there and so was the pain. Lately, the only thing that seemed to go right was work. Wasn't that always the story of her life?
She turned to Harriet, plastering a fake smile that she knew her friend could see pass. Mac was doing a lot of that lately. "How was Harm?"
Ah, Harm. The topic always came up no matter who she was speaking with. The answer had been the same for the last month. "It's not getting any better. . .I think it's futile." She took a gulp of her diet coke wishing it were a little stronger. And that was another thing that she'd been doing a lot lately – stopping herself from drinking. "He didn't want to see me."
"He'll come around." Harriet was always positive of that. To her, Harm and Mac's relationship was set in stone, he just needed to remember.
To Mac, that was getting harder and harder to believe. "I'm not sure of that anymore. . .At this rate, I don't think he'll ever remember."
One month earlier, after her conversation with Caroline Hewitt, she'd gone home to lick her wounds. Would she tell him about Hewitt's plans? Of that, she wasn't sure. In his state, he wouldn't understand the complexity of it all. On top of that, she didn't want to scare him with Hewitt's threats. But when she arrived, all Mac found was a note on her bed and the scribble that read: Goodbye.
More than anything she was worried about him and where he could have gotten to. His well being came before anything else at the moment, and after driving around the surrounding neighborhoods for a good hour, she'd received a call from Trish, assuring her that Harm was safe, that he needed time. With a heavy, broken heart, Mac agreed. Two days later, her life was thrown off of its axis. . .
(FLASH BACK)
January 25, 2010
1545 Local
Burnett Residence
La Jolla, California
For the first time ever, she felt like such a stranger around Trish Burnett. It was as if she had no right to be in that house anymore, almost like riding the curtails of a bad divorce. "Trish, I'm sorry about all of this. . .I promised you I'd take care of him and. . ."
Trish pulled Mac into the house and gave her a tight hug, an act that she wasn't expecting, not by a long shot. "Mac. . .You love him, I know you do. . .He told me what happened."
The color drained from Mac's face. What had happened was personal, private and it embarrassed her to know he'd betrayed that trust. "I'm. . .I. . I don't know what to say."
"Did he hurt you?" When her son appeared at her doorstep two days earlier, Trish was leery to welcome him in with open arms. She saw it, a change that made her fear him somewhat. There was something to his walk, his talk, his way of operating, that told her so much had gone wrong. He'd taken a cab, claiming to find the address in Mac's address book. No more than two minutes since he'd arrived, Harm was telling her about Mac's rejection. What had hurt the most was hearing the words so clearly: 'I don't love her.' Hearing those words had hit Trish almost as much as if they'd been said to her.
Watching him drink was also a surprise. Not that Harm had never drank in front of her, but it was the two back to back shots of bourbon that disgusted her slightly. She'd called him on it, stating that if he was acting this way it had a lot more to do than just his hurt pride. His obvious affections for Mac weren't gone and they never would be. 'Watch me forget.' He'd said, then poured himself a third shot of bourbon before disappearing out to the patio.
When Mac arrived, Harm was upstairs sleeping off yet another round of binge drinking. It allowed her to speak to Trish and in turn find out one tidbit that hurt her beyond belief – she was losing him again.
"I'm glad he didn't hurt you." Trish began, as they both took a seat on the sofa. She reached her hands out to the younger woman who she hoped would have become her daughter-in-law. Those dreams were fading now, falling into oblivion. Despite Harm being alive, she couldn't help but feel the same way as when Harm senior had gone missing. Part of her was starting to die and it was clear that she would now mourn the loss of her son. "I'm a very strong woman. . .Losing my husband made me this way. . .Through time I've grown a thick skin. . .A lot of that had to do with Harm's chosen profession. . .I kept. . .kept expecting him never to come home."
Without the details, Mac was already seeing the parallels. It was marginally comforting to know that someone else close to Harm saw what she did. "It feels like you've lost him, doesn't it?. . .I feel the same thing."
Only it wasn't just the lost that Trish felt, it was the one thing she'd have sworn Harm would never, ever make her feel – fear. She feared him and these new mood swings of his that were neither called for nor explainable. He seemed to snap over every little detail and even grabbed her wrist a little too tightly when Trish made to take away yet another shot of bourbon. She kept her hand over the bruising on her wrist, then glanced up at Mac with a look of guilt. "It's more than that, Sarah. . .He's changed too much. . .I'm afraid of my own son."
Standing, she walked slowly to the sliding glass doors, peaking outside to the ocean. Its ebb and flow matching her own inner turmoil. This is her son, a man she should be helping and this was the only way she knew how. "Frank and I. . we believed that he'd remember. . .But, the last time we visited him at the hospital. . .I lost my faith. . .The doctor had introduced us to another physician, Sean Haslinger. He specializes in neurological illnesses, specifically comas and amnesias. . .He runs a rehabilitation center in Oregon and believes he can help." She raised her hand to stop Mac from questioning. "It's a small place, only has about fifty or so patients. . .It's small enough so that they will give him the help that he won't get here."
"I never thought that it would come to something like this." Mac considered getting help for him, but not sending him away to do so. Then again, maybe it was for the best? Maybe the reason for him not remembering was the stress that she was putting on him to remember. "He'll protest."
"He doesn't get a say." Trish sat right next to Mac, taking her hands in her own. "Frank and I looked into it, in depth. The doctor presented us with information. The amnesia that Harm has is rare. . .There have only been five cases recorded. . .The only one that ever remembered was a woman who had been at that rehabilitation center in Oregon."
Mac bit her lower lip, it was the only thing that could stop her from crying. She was losing him again and this time, it was willingly. It hurt like hell, but she was willing to let him go if it meant he would get better. "Is there a possibility that I can drive him up with you?"
Trish looked down at her hands. "The point is that. . .he'll have little to no contact with us. . .Someone will come get him."
"What?" It sounded somewhat ludicrous. "How can that make him remember anything?"
"Doctor Haslinger said that disassociation and a strange location has often sparked things back to life. . .He said something to the likes that the separation stops the patients from creating an alternate reality, which is what he believes the amnesia is. As a result, it triggers them to want to remember the past."
"And you've looked into this. . .'Course you have. I'm sorry, I'm just. . .numb." Mac buried her head in her hands and took a deep breath. "Trish, I don't want him to go. . .I don't want to lose him."
At the top landing, Harm was simmering, his anger growing with each passing bit of information that floated up to him. They were getting rid of him, not that it was too much of a bad thing, he would be happy to be rid of all of them. "What is she doing here?" Cooly, he moved down the steps, his eyes shining with anger towards the woman whom his former self loved. He hated feeling something towards her now because the feelings weren't his own.
"Harmon, behave son, please." Trish stood up, but kept the space between herself and her son. "What are you doing?" She watched, horrified as he crossed the living room and made his way straight to the bar. "Don't pick up that glass."
Harm didn't even look at the woman, he just took the glass, filled it half way with bourbon and sipped. Always one to be polite, he turned towards Mac, waving the glass in front of her. "Would you like one, Sarah?"
Mac felt like she was going to be sick. "I don't drink. . .you know that."
He did too, it was one of the few things that they'd discussed when the two of them were still in Bethesda. "Ah, yes. . .alcoholic, I forgot."
The admission cost her more than she was willing to give. Mac wasn't sure if Trish knew and, even so, this wasn't the way for the woman to find out. "I'm sorry, Trish. . .I think I'd better go." She took her purse and cover, then stood up and walked straight towards Harm. "I love you. . .And somewhere inside you know that. . .Somewhere inside you remember us. . .Stop fighting it."
She reached her hand out to touch him, but Harm pulled away as if he'd been burnt. "Don't touch me. . .Just go, get out of here!" He pointed at the door, eyes full of anger and hatred.
"Harmon Rabb Junior!" Trish yelled, coming to her feet, but Mac waved her off.
"It's alright, Trish. . .It's alright." But, it wasn't alright and it would never be. As Mac stepped out of the house, she felt that void in her heart again, the same one that had opened up outside of McMurphy's almost five years earlier. Insider of her Corvette, the Marine allowed herself to break down and shed the tears she'd been holding at bay since this whole mess began. "Return to me. . .please. . .Return to me."
As she drove off, she would never know that inside the house, Harm was wrestling with his own demons. No, he didn't remember her, only the dreams and nightmares. But, he felt something that he didn't want to feel for her, not if the memories did not come back to him. "How could you treat her that way, Harm?. . .She loves you!"
"But I don't love her." Harm yelled back at his mother, throwing the glass of bourbon across the room. It crashed to the floor loudly, shaking up the already tormented woman. "I have feelings for her, yes. . .But, I don't know why. . .I can't remember why. . . At the moment, the only thing I love about her is a killer body, which she won't let me touch anyway."
That was the final straw, Trish had had enough. She crossed the room in a flash and raised right hand which connected with his left cheek. "While you are under my roof, you will behave. . .I don't care what it is that you remember or don't remember. . .There will be no more drinking. No more yelling and no more treating me like a rag doll. . .I am your mother."
Harm grinded his teeth, trying to stop himself from doing anything he was sure to regret. "You're my mother and you want to send me away?"
"I want to help. . .And that's the only way I know how." By the look in his eyes, Trish knew Harm was battling a surge of emotions. She was curious to know what was inside that head of his, what thoughts made him act in this fashion. He wasn't her son at the moment, the young man who was always polite and courteous. Even when he was upset with Mac, he'd never treated her like that, never. "You can't object, Harm. . .Someone will be here tomorrow to pick you up." She took a chance by placing a hand on his shoulder and was surprised to feel the tension leave him. "I love you. . .You are part of me, you'll always be no matter what happens. . .I'm not sending you away. . .I'm trying to help you because none of us know what to do. . .Damnit, don't you want to remember who you were?"
Warm tears slid down his cheeks. Did he want to remember? "Sometimes. . But, I'm scared. . ." He wasn't afraid of what people would think or what he would lose. No, Harmon Rabb Junior was afraid of the unknown. What if remembering meant that the old him would return to his life and this new him would be in limbo? He didn't want to hurt anyone else but what if that was exactly what would happen? Inside, he continuously calmed a rage that he didn't quite understand. A rage that was starting to take over him. Maybe Sarah and Trish were right? Maybe he needed help. "I'll go willingly. . .But, the moment I get tired of it all. . .I want you to come get me."
"It's a deal." Surprisingly, when she opened her arms, Harm slid into them, his sobs wracking his body, his tears wetting her shirt. "I'll be alright." All she had to do was believe. . .
(End Flash Back)
. . .Mac was surprised that he'd willingly given in. It was a good sign, but any hopes of getting him back went down the drain when he'd refused to take anyone's calls. The only information they had about his well being were the weekly calls from doctor Haslinger who seemed to only communicate bad news. This week he'd stated that Harm had become worse, more violent. That the man that she loved had attacked another patient. She'd ventured to Oregon twice, each time to find him in a wheelchair with a glassy look in his eyes. She'd demanded to know why he was drugged, but the records showed it all. He had become violent and unpredictable. Her worst fears came to fruition – the man that she loved was gone
"I've been very self sufficient. . .independent. . .And I need him. . .it's. . .crazy. . .Harm's the only man who. . .wants to take care of me, but knows that I don't need to be taken care of. . .He understands that I can stand on my own and that I don't need him to carry me. . . And yet, I need him. . .I feel this. . .I feel complete around him. . .I feel like I am the only one who could get him back, but I don't know what to do." Harriet's silence spoke volumes. Lately it was as if no one could figure out what to say around her anymore. Finishing her soda, she stood up. "I have to get going."
"So early?" Harriet stood when Mac did, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mac, you need to take care of yourself. . ." It was disconcerting to see the almost robotic way that Mac was living. "Did you. . .Did you think about seeing Doctor Locke?"
Mac shook her head. The last time she saw a shrink, it hadn't solved anything – mainly because she refused to step out of her shell, but it wasn't going to solve anything now either. If anything, it would make her feel more miserable. "No, I don't need to see Doctor Locke. . .I'm not going crazy. . .I do need to get going Harriet. . .Monday's gonna be a bear if I don't finish up some paperwork." She stepped through the house, tossed out the empty cup then went to the living room to find Bud playing with the other kids. "I gotta go, Bud. . .I'll see you on Monday."
"So soon? But. . ." A look from Harriet told him not to go any further. "Monday it is ma'am."
She hugged the kids goodbye and then stepped outside. It was getting warmer and the days were so beautiful and pleasant. Yet she had no one to share them with.
The ride home had turned into a road trip of sorts. Mac had decided to take a ride into Coronado and the surrounding areas of San Diego. She wanted to be by herself, but with that want came the fear of being alone in her home. It wasn't a person she feared nor an invasion by an unwanted guest. Mac wasn't afraid of being lonely or keeping herself company – years alone taught her how to deal with that. No, her fear was realized the moment she passed by a liquor store on the way home two days ago.
If asked, she really couldn't tell how it got into her freezer. Maybe she was suffering her own amnesia that made her forget that just two days ago, she'd driven to the liquor store and purchased bottle of Stolichnaya. There wasn't a particular brand that she preferred, back in the days she would drink whatever her father had bought, which was usually cheap liquor. With Chris it really didn't matter what he brought home as long as it had enough alcohol that she could use the drink to ease the pain. Thinking back, it was a miracle that she'd never suffered from alcohol poisoning. Then again, she suffered through worse – an accident that had taken the life of a friend.
Sighing, Mac glanced out over the bay as the car eased to the apex of the San Diego-Coronado Bridge. Yup, she definitely preferred California to Virginia. The weather alone was a good reason for the move. Lowering the windows, she breathed in the ocean air which hadn't failed to put her in a good mood – until now. Her last flight to the center in Oregon had been horrible. The turbulence just plain sucked and to top it all off, Harm wouldn't see her. She should have called first, but something told her she needed to be there. That he needed her. But the moment that she arrived he'd ignored any of her advances. For one sweet, brief moment, he'd looked at her as if he knew her and then. . . it was gone.
If dealing with everything Harm-related wasn't enough, she still had Vic's case to contend with. While it wasn't thrown out as Hewitt had wanted, it was taking forever to go to trial – no doubt Hewitt's doing. And then there was just Vic, who was back at the office with that 'cat that ate the canary' look. He knew that she knew and was using it to drive her methodically nuts.
Arriving at Tidelands Park, Mac slipped the Corvette into a space and then carefully got out. She set along one of the walking paths, her tennis shoes pounding the pavement in a rhythm that quickened as Mac turned the walk into a run. It wasn't her intention to go for a run, but this pent up emotion needed release and she was tired of crying. The clothes she was wearing – jeans and a t-shirt, were far from being work out clothing, but it would do. What she needed was to be worn out, exhausted to the point that she could get home and just crash.
Pushing her body, Mac ran faster, sprinting down the path until she stumbled and fell. "Shit!" She yelled loudly, slapping the pavement beneath her in anger. Thankfully no one had seen her and no one was helping her. The last thing she needed was another person trying to help. She was fine, damnit! She was a Marine. But, she was a woman too and the woman inside of her was hurting. Wrapping her arms around her legs, Mac rocked back and forth. Tears were burning her eyes. "Damn it."
(AN: Rehab center doesn't exist. . .;) If you think that the Doctor is on Hewitt's payroll. . .You just won. . .well, I am not sure, but you won. ;) – The name of the hospital – Selene – comes from the name of the character from Underworld. I chose Wilsonville because of some pictures I saw of an abandoned hospital/asylum of sorts.)
March 6, 2010
1212 Local
Selene Rehabilitation Center
Wilsonville, Oregon
The clothing was comfortable enough – black, faded sweatpants, a white t-shirt, bathrobe and those uncomfortable pair of slippers which became filthier by the days – that seemed to be the only comfort he had within the walls of Selene Rehabilitation Center. Everything had an asylum feel about it – maybe because that was partially the point of sending someone to Selene? At least he wasn't inside of his room, rotting away from boredom. It had been his fault that he was shoved inside his tiny cell of a bedroom – he demanded things and the persons who ran this facility weren't into demands or threats. Come to think of it, the threats were probably the one thing that did him in.
It was quite a shock to wake up one day in a dingy gray room with clothing that were just a size too large. Even worse was to look at your reflection in the mirror and not find that normally clean shaven, cropped hair man staring back. That normally crisp reflection came back in the form of a man with longer hair and some sort of beard which, while not long, hadn't really been maintained. The man that was reflected wasn't Harmon Rabb Junior, not anymore. Scared, Harm had slammed his fists into the door, pleading with someone to help. It wasn't until morning that reprieve came, but it wasn't quite what he'd hoped. Answers to his questions came in the form of an injection that was painfully jabbed into his arm.
Liquid relaxation flew through his veins, making his whole body feel like Jello. It was that day that he could have sworn he saw Mac. Yes, Mac. Not Sarah.
Harm remembered.
He remembered, though he couldn't say what had happened between the ejection and waking up at the hospital. That part wasn't even part of his dreams or nightmares. Doctor Haslinger had suggested that trauma due to the ejection had caused his brain to malfunction. As a result, he needed to remain at the rehabilitation center until the danger had passed. It seemed reasonable enough to Harm until demands to contact Mac, Mattie and his parents had been denied. "It's my right to contact my family, Doctor. . . You can't deny me that!" Claims of it damaging his treatment being the reason.
Haslinger had one good reason to keep Rabb's family away – a monetary reason. A certain ambitious woman by the name of Caroline Hewitt had her fingers in that pie as well and was paying good money for Haslinger to keep Harm locked away. Yes, he'd been in on it since the very beginning – conning both the Burnette's and Mac, showing them facts, figures, graphs and even pictures of the institute. They were sold. In the events that they would visit Harm (which was a little too frequent for his taste), the man would be kept on high dosages of mood altering drugs. It had all paid off in the end, though that damned Colonel was difficult to side step.
Feeling like a captive, it was only logical for thoughts of escape to formulate in Harm's mind. It was one of the basic parts of hostage training that was instilled in every military man and woman's mind. Thing is, he wasn't a conventional hostage. Those who worked at the hospital wouldn't immediately help him out knowing his supposed 'mental condition.' One evening, though, after his nightly sedating injection, he'd remembered something from a book he read – that cardiovascular exercise would prevent the drugs from really working. He began with push ups and even when the muscles on his arms burned painfully, he kept his rhythm, his mind going back to the Academy and the penalties for misbehaving. Satisfied that the drug hadn't completely effected him, Harm laid in bed and waited for an opening which came at eight in the evening – chow time.
The past days he'd had dinner in such a haze, it was impossible for Harm to even clearly identify what he was eating. This time, the surprise was on the poor kitchen worker who he grabbed. Threatening to break his neck, he walked with the man down the hallway. But, Haslinger's men weren't really into threats, nothing really bothered them much. Any other thoughts of escape were blown to bits by a jab of a syringe into his body and the beatings he received as punishment. Haslinger had the man power to keep him in control and used it at will. The decision to cracking a deal with Haslinger and promising to behave would probably cost him something in the long run as Harm had every intention to try again.
"Harmon? Harmon!" He barely noticed someone calling his name until he felt a tap at his shoulder from Doctor Kimberly Watson, a psychiatrist that ran that group sessions for the institution. "Hello." She smiled at him, happy to finally get his attention. "Your turn."
Kimberly was the only person that Harm could stand. The woman, probably in her early thirties, was pretty, smart and sometimes funny. Oh, and she was the only one that hadn't jabbed him with a needle. That sure as hell was a plus. No, as far as he remembered, she'd vehemently protested against their treatment of patients. "What was the question?"
"Memories." She rolled her eyes at him. "The question was about memories. Since you've been here which one pops into your head the most?"
Harm took a quick glance at the other members of his group which consisted of seven others – two women and five men, all of them suffering from one neurological condition, few of which he could actually pronounce. "Memories, huh?" Since he'd woken up, the memories had been endless, but there was one in particular – the first one he had for reasons he couldn't quite explain. "Well. . it's. . .ah, private." And a welcomed memory which had caused him some grief in the past.
"That's usually the case isn't it?" Not willing to give up, Kimberly turned her full attention to Harm. "C'mon Harmon, no one is going to judge you."
Oh, he wasn't afraid of anyone judging him, it's just that the memory was quite. . .personal, if not a little embarrassing. "Fine." He sighed, then leaned the chair back. Playing along seemed to work and if he had to sit through these ridiculous things, he might as well enjoy himself. "It's about. . .about my girlfriend, Mac." One glance at Kimberly and Harm knew that she was tired of hearing the name. "It's an odd memory because it didn't really happen."
Robert, a manic depressive with an obsessive compulsive disorder, snorted. "If it didn't really happen then it can't be a memory, can it?" It seemed the man really couldn't help himself from commenting on everyone's story.
"Robert, we've talked about this. . .control the urges." Kimberly said, then turned back to Harm. "Harmon, explain."
It was clear to him that it had to have been a hallucination – a result of smacking his head on the floor when the Admiral's chair came out from under him. "I was at my place in DC, sitting in bed, reading a newspaper. . .When I glance up I see her coming out of my shower. . .I had the shower made of those clear blocks. . .And it was just a few feet away from the bed. . . Anyway, Mac's standing there, hair slicked back, her body covered in this tiny blue towel. . .what wasn't covered in that towel was covered by drops of water." He decided to skip the rest of the story – like the part when she tells him that she couldn't get enough, nor the part where they almost. . .
"Harmon, you said it didn't really happen?"
Harm sighed deeply, boy did he wish it were real. "That week I'd hit my head and kept having visions of Mac in all sorts of settings. ..In that one. . .the person really coming out of my shower was my girlfriend at the time, not Mac. . ."
"But you saw Mac?" Kimberly cringed, she could already imagine the slap that Harm must have received when the girlfriend found out he was thinking of another woman. "That was interesting enough."
"I'm not sure interesting is the right word." He chuckled, smiling at the look on Mac's face when he'd told her about that little snafu. "Anyway, it's one of the first things I remembered since. . .since I woke up here."
From all of her patients, Harm was the one she liked the best, not that she gave him preferential treatment. He was just real and unproblematic – a man that really didn't belong in this place – but he did. At least, as far as Haslinger told her, problems with Harm's brain prevented him from leading a normal life. It just wasn't safe for him or for others if he left. "Okay, Robert, you're next."
It was almost customary for him to drown out everything, Kimberly had called him on it various times – that he had a tendency to be a dreamer. But, it wasn't a dream, he had a life outside of these walls, one that he was determined to get back to. He just needed to find a way. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, Harm stiffened, resisting the urge to flip the person onto their six. He knew who it was.
"Doctor Watson, are you finished with Mr. Rabb?" Haslinger wasn't well liked in the facility, the man had that uncanny ability to get under everyone's skin and that included Kimberly Watson. Of course, that might have to do with a few sexual innuendos that he tended to reserve only for her. Kimberly's subtle approach – kicking him where it counted when an innuendo went just a bit too far – didn't seem to throw that dog off of her scent. "I have the results of his tests."
She was almost sorry to see Harm go. "Yes, Doctor Haslinger, Harmon may be excused." She rolled her eyes and then turned towards Harm with a smile. "Good luck."
"Yea, thanks." Harm said, standing up and then waving at the group. He followed Haslinger out of the entertainment room and through the hallway with large windows that faced a beautiful field. It was sickening really, how the hell could a place like this be built on such beautiful land? Harm took the steps up to Haslinger's office, something that was rather large and just overly posh for this type of setting. It was rugged, manly and it made Harm want to puke. "Should I take my regular seat?" He waved his hand over to the reclining chair in the corner of the room.
Haslinger sighed deeply. Rabb was testing his patience again, as he always did. This was the hardest money he ever had to earn, Hewitt had no idea what she was up against, not that he was going to tell her. "Yes, go ahead." He slipped into his chair, behind the rather large, hunk of wood that was his desk. All in all, with the dark red rugs, the collection of stuffed animals and the odd collection of weaponry, one could say that the good doctor was trying, just a little too hard, to act like a man. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll be straight with you. I'm afraid your mental condition is. . .deteriorating."
Shocked didn't quite seem to be quite the word to cover Harm's emotions. For the life of him, he still couldn't put the finger on whatever mental illness they claimed he had. In fact, the only times he ever felt like shit was when they were jabbing needles into his veins. This was truly alarming. "But, I feel fine. . .Better than I have in a long time."
"This disease won't make you weak, Mr. Rabb. . .In fact, physically, you're perfectly healthy. . .The effects of your mind, that's a different story. . .It will, undoubtedly, effect the parts of your brain responsible for inhibitions and rage. . .You'll become a danger to yourself and others. . .To top it off you will not remember those episodes at all. . .It's. . it's kind of like an amnesic seizure of sorts. . .That's the best way I can explain it."
Alright, so Harm never claimed to know any medical mumbo jumbo. Everything that had been told to him was basically Greek. But, with a little clarity, he began to realize that medical names were never given, just a paraphrase of what the illness could be. The term 'vague' came to mind. "If I'm becoming a danger to myself and others maybe it's due to the shit you're injecting into me. . .If you stopped using those things on me, I'd probably be fine!" He stood up quickly, the chair tumbling back behind him.
Knowing that Haslinger would have his finger on his 'magical button' (the one that called in his goons) Harm stood far enough away to not be deemed a threat. "It's not the medication, Mr. Rabb! The medication is a prevention. . .If we don't administer it, you might go into one of those episodes and God knows what you will do. . .How can I explain to your family, to your girlfriend that you hurt yourself and I couldn't stop it?"
Ah, the family/girlfriend card, it had worked numerous times before, but at this point, Harm was tired of believing something that, he felt deep inside, wasn't true. So, he did what he knew was the best course of action and went along with it. "I. . .I don't want to hurt them." Dramatically, he hung his head down, trying to seem like a person who was just being torn up inside about the notion. It really was a horrifying thought, but Haslinger had to be wrong. Part of him felt like this was all a ruse for one reason or another. Who had he pissed off now? "How long do you think I'll be in here?"
Haslinger breathed a sigh of relief, for whatever reason, it seemed that his most unruly patient was starting to come around. He wasn't going to question it and he wasn't going to tell the truth either – that Hewitt had paid him to keep Harm away from society and if he remembered, he would be paid extra just to make sure he never saw life outside of those walls. "That's difficult to say. . .Days, weeks, months, years. . .I'm trying to help you get out as soon as possible, but you have to work with me, not against me. . .And you have to keep the faith."
Faith. Perhaps that was the only thing really keeping him going. "I think I can do that. . .I have no choice." Bending over, he picked up the over turned chair and righted it. "Is that it? I, ah, still have another hour of therapy left."
"Harmon. . .This isn't that bad, you know? It could be worse." Part of him felt guilty for it all, for lying to a perfectly healthy man who badly wanted to rejoin the normal world. The other half of him only cared about the money and the promises of destroying his family if he didn't do as told.
Harm nodded. "I know. . .Thanks." He stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him. "Damnit." He said under his breath, then began a slow trek through the facility and towards the group. Passing the expanses of the hallway he couldn't help but look out to the world outside of the hospital. Things out there were still moving, living, and he was stuck. It was completely unreasonable to him that neither Mac nor his folks had come to see him. Then again, there was that one day that he'd seen her. Between the haze of the drug and his anger at the men that administered it. . .He remembered her and it couldn't have been a dream, not with the haunting, hurt look in her eyes.
Pressing a palm against the window, he hoped the sun's rays would warm up this cold he felt inside. Damnit did he miss her, more than he'd thought ever humanly possible. Maybe there was a danger to feeling too much. Still, even if he wound up in this very same spot, he wouldn't have changed the months he'd spent loving Sarah MacKenzie.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he took a deep breath, then turned to continue down the hall. Sounds of laughter drawing him back to his circle of fellow inmates (he preferred to call them that). As he went to step into the entertainment room, Dr. Watson was finished with the session and stood packing up her briefcase
Out of everyone in the hospital, Kimberly Watson had been the only decent individual. The one that even served as an advocate when he was unfairly treated. Maybe she was his way out? "You did good today, Harmon. . .I think you'll be out of here in no time, no matter what Doctor Haslinger presumes."
There was something to the way she said his name that struck a cord. Was she a woman scorned? Or was she a woman harassed? "Ah, about that. . .Is it possible for you and I to speak in your office?" He made sure not to use the word 'privately' which seemed to scare most.
Kimberly sighed. "I was going to try to escape early, but sure. . . You look like you need a friend at the moment." She walked off ahead of Harm, leading him through the hallways and to the tiny office that she called hers. It had a nice view, but the size of it reminded him of that office at JAG Headquarters that Chegwidden had banished him to for heading to Paraguay. Talk about one memory he wasn't interested in making a permanent one. "Close the door and have a seat."
Harm did as told, then hesitantly, slipped into the chair across from Watson. "This is going to sound odd, actually. . .I'm not quite here for the reasons you think I am. . .In fact, I'm not supposed to be here at all. . .Whatever Haslinger has said, he's talking about someone else, not me."
One of the things that all of the healthcare personnel on the staff had come to familiarize themselves with, was the constant yarn that patients loved to spin. If they had it their way, none of them were supposed to be here. "Mr. Rabb, you do realize that I've heard this speech before. . .it's tiring."
"It's not a speech." He defended, then sighed deeply. Damnit, was everyone in this place losing their minds? "I don't know how I got here. . . No one will tell me anything other than I was being violent. . . But, what if it's a lie?"
"Why would we lie to you?"
Why indeed. "I don't know, but something isn't right. . .I can feel it." He bit his lower lip, then rubbed his hand against the hair on his face. "I have a woman that I love. . .I am not even sure if she came here to see me. . .I was pumped full of drugs and in a haze. . .Can't you see something wrong with that?"
Oh, but she could and yet, her orders were simple: shut up and do your job. "Harmon. . .I can't do anything about it. . .Haslinger's. . .he's the boss and my life revolves around this now."
"You're young, intelligent, you can't tell me that some creep is going to tell you what you can and can't do."
Kimberly chuckled dryly, life wasn't that simple. "And because I am so young, I did a lot of stupid mistakes. . .Wound up with a DUI and nearly killing someone because of an addiction to painkillers. . .Trust me, this is it for me. . .So I need to make the most out of it."
Hmmm, guess that meant she wasn't going to be too receptive when it came to Harm's great plan. "I guess that means you won't help me escape."
"Escape?" Now she was really rocked out of her socks. A confused expression over came her pretty features. Out of everything that patients had asked of her, this was certainly the most farfetched plan. "I'm going to ask you to leave now, Harmon." She reached for the phone, attempting to call security.
Harm raised his hands in surrender. "Please don't call them. . .All they'll do is inject me with some crap while they beat the shit out of me. . ." Dejectedly, he stood up and made his way to the door. Pausing with his hand on the door knob, he turned slowly to face her. "Doctor Watson, I am a normal man. . .I am a private investigator and a military officer. . .I fly planes for the Navy and before that I used to be a lawyer for the Navy. . .People like me don't just lose it without reason. And I don't believe my crash had anything to do with the real reason I am here. . .I have a whole life outside of these walls. . And I have a bad feeling about the woman I am involved with."
Kimberly nodded, many of the people in here had the same feeling. "You're afraid you'll lose her to another man?"
"No." He shook his head. "I'm afraid that she's in trouble and I won't be around to help." Releasing his hand from the knob, he crossed the office and sat back down on the seat. By the look on her face, Harm had her attention. "Look into my files. . .I'm sure you'll find something missing. . .You're all I got left in here. . .Damnit, do I look like a man that is a danger to others or himself? You certainly know I am not drugged at the moment and it's not the medication talking. . .Please, help me out."
Still, a few years in this place, hearing stories that went out of control had left their mark on Kimberly Watson. "Harmon, I'm going to pretend this little chat between us didn't happen. . .Now, it's lunch time for you. Get out of my office."
Harm stood up and sighed. "I'm sorry for bothering you. . .Thank you for your time, Doc." He closed the door behind him, then leaned up against the wall, hoping to God she kept her word. If news about his little talk with her got out, God knows what would happen to him. He hoped that out of some miracle, she would look into his files and find something wrong. He hoped that she would believe him. If not, it was time to start finding a plan B or die trying.
