Fallout
Part 2
Disclaimer: Don't own'em
--
Safeway - Georgetown
Saturday
0813 Local
Harm followed Mac as she stepped through the sliding doors of the grocery store entrance. Her walk was so clipped and precise, she could've been marching to battle. He didn't care. Two more days and this would be over. He watched Mac grab a grocery cart. He supposed he could be civil. Truth was, though, he didn't want to talk to her; he didn't think he could without getting upset all over again.
He eyed the patrons milling about the store, looking for any individuals fitting the profiles included in the briefing file or matching any of the photos of Sadik's many aliases. After what he'd read though, Harm was pretty sure Sadik could hide at a Sunday night lady's only bingo game at the local rec centre and still not draw any suspicion.
He followed Mac as she marched through the store. She walked to the bakery section and threw a bag of whole wheat pita bread into her cart. That gave Harm pause. Whole wheat pita bread? Since when did she eat whole wheat pita bread. He didn't have much time to ponder that thought before Mac marched away from the bakery section and to the cereal aisle. She completely skipped the produce section – that was not too big of a surprise, although for all his teasing he knew she liked an occasional salad. She also bypassed the aisles with snacks, canned foods, and frozen foods. That was unusual. How desperately did she need to shop for groceries if she was skipping right by the stuff she usually stocked her kitchen with?
To his surprise, Mac marched the cart right in front of a display stocked with boxes of oatmeal. She never ate oatmeal. When they used to take the occasional run together in the mornings and he could convince her to join him for breakfast, she never ate oatmeal. In fact, she went on and on about how tasteless it was.
Why would she suddenly ... unless ... unless she was getting it for Webb. The thought made him want to hit something. It made him want to swear off oatmeal for the rest of his life.
"Is that for your boyfriend?" He didn't snarl, but it was a near thing. He clenched his jaw. This was not fair.
"It's for me." She replied evenly.
"The whole wheat pita, too?" He scoffed. "Gimme a break."
"You want a Kit Kat bar with that." She mumbled under her breath. He heard her anyways.
"What else are you going to buy? Webb a fan of soy milk, too?"
She ignored him, purposefully pushing the cart away. One of the wheels was uneven, and made a loud clattering noise as she shoved the cart down the aisle.
He followed her easily with long strides, and ended up overshooting her when she stopped abruptly in front of boxes of bran.
Now he'd seen everything.
"Bran? You're buying bran?" He crossed his arms and stared at her. "Is Webb going to have you splurge on prune juice next?" He infused as much sarcasm and scorn in his tone as he could.
She spun around to face him, glaring at him so intently, he would've recoiled if wasn't already bolstered by his own anger.
"Stop it." She demanded, her tone controlled.
"Stop what." He played dumb, refusing to give even an inch.
"Stop the bullshit about Clay. He's not even here. What's your real problem. Spit it out." She crossed her arms, a box of bran clutched tightly in one hand.
He thought that by now it would've been plainly evident what his problem was. He decided to let her figure it out for herself.
"Why are you so angry?" She hissed, not raising her voice given their public setting. Always trying so hard to be the consummate officer, he thought bitterly. She continued in the same tone. "You made decisions, choices, all by yourself. You didn't let anyone in, and now you're mad at us!" He heard the inflection in her voice and knew she'd just lost that control, that forced calm she'd been cleaving to so viciously. He'd succeeded in breaking down her defences, just as she'd shattered his. Good.
"I lost everything, Mac." His tone was fierce, his voice harsh. "Everything. And you didn't do a damn thing about it. You didn't give a shit, so don't pretend to care now."
"How dare you." The box of bran in her hand cracked and bent in her grasp. "I've always cared."
"Really?" He snorted his disbelief. "It's pretty hard to tell."
He watched the anger deflate from her form, and without her false cloak of calm, he could see the hurt and defeat painted across her features in blinding clarity for the second time that day. It was difficult to ignore, but he still had his anger so he tried anyways.
"I tried to talk to the Admiral…" She trailed off at the expression on his face.
"I have nothing to say to the Admiral." He ground out. That man was currently lowest on his list of concerns. Harm tried his best to remember that he'd once respected the man. It was damn hard to remember.
"Harm—" she put a hand out, reaching for his arm, only to stop in mid-movement and let her hand hang in midair.
His anger irrationally snowballed at the hesitancy in her gesture.
"I had to deal with it in my own way. What's wrong with that?" He was trying his damndest not to yell. Why the hell could no one understand. He couldn't bear to see anyone, not after he failed so theatrically, so completely and utterly. He was unaccustomed to failure. He hated it. This kind of thing didn't happen to him.
"You didn't have to push away your friends to do it." Her struggle to tame her anger was obvious.
"Friends?" He scoffed. "Let me tell you how overrated friendship is."
"Do tell, Harm. You seem to have all the answers. You wouldn't even return Bud's calls!" She accused with renewed momentum. "You weren't in touch with anyone. No one even knows when you are in town and when you aren't. And I tried…"
"What, Mac? What?" He cut her off, prodding impatiently, angrily.
"I …" She looked away, and he caught a glimpse of vulnerability in her demeanour. No, he berated himself. Not this time. He wasn't falling for it. He clawed blindly for his anger, threw everything he had at her.
"What? Kept your options open? Nicked me in the aorta and then ran off to play house with Webb?"
"Everything is black and white with you." The steel was back in her voice, in her eyes. "And you never listen. You only see and hear what you want to. Clay and I –"
The sound of her referring to the ass that led them into this mess in the first place snapped what little restraint Harm had. He knew her well, knew her strengths as well as her weaknesses, knew how they bled into each other, fed off of each other. Just as she knew of his.
"Oh, the great Sarah MacKenzie. Everything has to revolve around you. What, were you gunning for one in hand one in bush, like with poor, whipped Brumby? You're so afraid to be alone, you'll jump to any warm body that's interested."
"Go to hell." Her voice was surprisingly level.
"Already here." He scoffed.
"You're right. You are." She jabbed her finger into his chest. "Your pride is so important to you that when things don't go your way, you blame the world."
"And you came out smelling roses?" He looked down at her, taking advantage of his height.
"I didn't say that. I'm sure we're at least even on that count. But I'm not playing the poor martyr. I'm trying to pick up the damn pieces, instead of chucking it all." Tears thickened her voice, yet her eyes were dry and steely. "For God's sake, I tried to call you—"
"Stop with the damn messages! You just wanted to ease your guilty conscience." He waved a hand to dismiss her. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Like hell I don't. What did you say once? You save someone's life, you're responsible for them? I think it's the other way around—"
He was on a roll, speaking without hearing, talking to keep her words away.
"And when you destroy someone's life?" He put on his most condescending glare. "Do tell: how many lives are you personally responsible for?"
The shrill ring of her cell phone interrupted them, left his words hanging in the air, awkward and accusing. It surprised him that for all they had just said to each other, neither had raised their voice. They glared at each other, and he searched her eyes for the hurt he was sure he'd inflicted. He couldn't find it. Instead he saw anger and, somehow, resignation. It confused the hell out of him. This was how she'd looked at him right before she said never by the taxi stand. It infuriated the hell out of him. Wasn't this hurting her? This was supposed to be hurting her, too. He did not acknowledge the pang of memory that reminded him how the hurt look she had given him at her apartment not even an hour ago had twisted his heart.
She broke her gaze away from him and dug into her purse for her phone.
"Oh, is that one of them now?" He eyed the phone with disgust, and turned away. Enough. He needed to dig her claws out of his heart. He needed it to stop hurting. "I have to buy some bread. Come find me when you're done with Lover Boy."
He walked to the end of the aisle and turned without looking back.
--
Mac watched Harm walk away as she absently answered her phone.
"MacKenzie." She stated automatically, still trying to regain control after that disgusting display with Harm. Damnit. She clenched her jaw and focused on regulating her breathing. She'd promised herself she would stay calm when she spoke to him and tried to get him to tell her why the hell he had cut ties so dramatically with his previous life. She was half surprised he hadn't disconnected his phone and moved to the other end of the country, if not the world. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had. She was supposed to take advantage of his forced presence to fix things, damnit, not make them worse. Damnit. She'd never known him to be so angry, she barely recognized—
"It is good to hear your voice, Sarah." The familiar voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you surprised to hear mine?"
Mac felt the breath rush from her lungs and her heart drop to her toes. No, no, no. Damn it. In her worry over Harm and in the intensity of their standoff, she'd lost sight of why he was with her in
the first place. She took a breath and hoped her voice would be steady, even as she tried to regain her equilibrium.
"Sadik." She was suddenly irrationally thankful for the anger Harm had incited in her. It gave her something to hold on to while she tried to find her footing with the bastard on the phone.
"I wish you had told me you speak Farsi." His thin voice percolated through the line.
"Where are you?" She ignored his comment.
"Exactly where I need to be." He replied patiently, and then picked up his previous thread of conversation. "It seems we share a common heritage."
She didn't bother responding, and instead began walking to the end of the aisle to locate Harm. The bread section, he'd said.
"Now, now, Sarah. Where are you going? You and I are talking." She forced herself not to change her pace. He was watching her. Or someone else was watching her for him. The latter made more sense. He was crazy, but not stupid. He would not act until he knew he wasn't at risk of being apprehended.
"I have nothing to say to you." She responded, trying to goad him. If Kershaw was right, she was a distraction to Sadik; she might as well do her fair share to earn the title.
"Ah, but I have a lot to say. I have great admiration for you, Sarah."
She hated the way he said her name. It reminded her of a snake coiling around its prey.
"Which is why you almost tortured me to death in Paraguay." She stated testily.
"Yes, well that was a distressing circumstance. You see, at the time I was still confusing you with the enemy." His words dripped down her spine. "I am truly sorry."
"Sorry." She scoffed, incredulous. She had a very hard time believing he was even capable of remorse.
"Except for the fact that it allowed me to see the great strength of you heart." He paused, and she could feel her skin crawl under the sinister implications behind his words. "Yes ... I would like to make it up to you."
"How?" She was nearing the end of the aisle. She debated going to the bread section to find Harm. How many people did Sadik have watching her? And where the hell were they?
"Walk to the back of the grocery store," He stated. "Go through the double doors that lead to the inventory area. There's a back door through the docking zone that opens onto an alley. Make your way there."
"Now why would I do that." She replied flippantly.
"You will come." He stated, pausing only briefly. "In our souls, we are more alike than we are different. We are both warriors, both impassioned." He paused again, his words slow and measured, admiring and curious. She did not like what she heard behind them. "You were incredibly brave in Paraguay, more than any woman and most men that I have ever met. You will come, Sarah, because I intrigue you." His certainty annoyed her.
"Like a science experiment gone wrong." She answered, trying to buy time as she reached the end of the aisle. The bakery section was to the left, the storage area to the right. Harm was nowhere in her line of vision. Damn. Now what.
"You will come, Sarah," Sadik continued, ignoring her barb. "Because in you there is strength and wisdom you do not recognize. You are with men who are weak, but their weakness is not your weakness."
His words stilled her. His voice was grating, tight and thin and taunting. It brought back the metallic smell of blood and the suffocating, breathless horror inside that torture shack in Paraguay. She could feel the restraints on her wrists and ankles. She could hear the battery being charged for the first shock. Mac swallowed the echoes of the anger and helpless fear she'd felt then, and held them in the pit of her stomach until they hardened, dark and black and immovable. She knew what she had to do. Paraguay may not be a complete failure yet. Sadik had to answer for it. And this time, she was in a position to fight back.
She took a right towards the storage area, and slid her hand into her purse. She fingered the cool metal of her service weapon before taking the panic button from her purse and putting it into her pocket. She wished she'd gone with her initial instinct this morning and strapped a second gun to her ankle instead of settling for her service knife. At the time, she'd just thought she was being too paranoid.
Mac hoped the CIA's surveillance team was keeping close tabs on her. And this time it actually was Harm's job to come after her. She didn't doubt he would find her.
--
Harm stared at the stacks of bread in front of him without seeing anything. He was seething. He'd been angry at people and situations before, but never like this. He knew he wasn't thinking, knew he was acting on emotion, as Mac had once put it. It seemed it everything always came back to her. Even his thoughts. Even him.
He was trying the fresh start approach. He didn't think he was the kind of person who shirked his responsibilities. This time it was just easier to forget what he'd once had by not bothering to hold on to the dregs of his former life, especially now when everything was still fresh and raw. He was just so angry. At Mac. At Webb. At the Admiral. At the Navy. At the entire situation. And he was hurt by Mac. By the Admiral. That had been an especially bitter pill to swallow. A slap in the face. If they could cut him off so easily, he could cut himself off just as easily. He didn't need their help with that. Harm felt his heart rate increase as his anger rose. He forced himself to stop thinking about it.
He had a job to finish. Then he could go back to his life, and Mac could go back to hers, and never the twain shall meet.
He walked away from the wall of bread and back to the oatmeal. He'd known her for seven years and she never ate oatmeal, and then five months with Webb had her buying 1kg bags at a time. That was just icing on the damn cake.
Harm turned into the cereal aisle, but didn't see Mac. He walked the length of the aisle to make sure she wasn't there, eyeing each of the patrons as he went. He spotted her grocery cart, including a 1kg bag of oatmeal and a squished box of bran. The cart had been pushed to the side. Where the hell was Mac. An eerily familiar sensation of dread clenched his stomach and made his heart lose its rhythm. It was the same thing he'd felt every time he woke up from one of those damn nightmares five months ago.
Where the hell was Mac? He quelled his panic and fear. Now was not the time. Maybe she was one aisle over, without her grocery cart, picking up something or other. He walked to the next aisle. She wasn't there. No. Something was wrong. She wouldn't just make him worry out of spite. Something was wrong.
Damn it. Where was she? His eyes scanned the next aisle in vain.
Harm pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialled Mac's number. It went straight to voicemail. Shit. He hit the speed dial button for the agents who were supposed to be watching Mac. His call was answered halfway into the first ring.
"Where is she?" Harm demanded, as he hurried to the next aisle in search of her.
There was only a slight pause on the other end.
"What? You lost her?" The agent exclaimed, sounding surprised and mildly alarmed. Harm felt dread in the pit of his stomach slowly spread. This did not feel right. Something was wrong.
"Did she walk out of the store?" He asked impatiently. His worry was making it hard for him to think straight.
"Not through the front," was the instant reply.
Shit. "Did she press her panic button?" Say yes, Harm thought. Say yes.
"No."
Shitshitshitshit.
"I'm going to check out back," He said into the phone as he broke into a sprint towards the back of the store. He dropped his cell phone into his pocket.
This didn't feel right. This did not feel right.
Harm pushed through the swinging doors that led to the inventory area at the back of the store.
"Mac!" He yelled, searching for her through the aisles as he ran. "Mac!"
Harm spotted the back door that led to the loading dock. He increased his pace and headed for it. He had to find her. He would never forgive himself if he was venting to racks of bread while she was taken from under his nose. He was going to find her.
He shoved through the back door and burst into the back alley of the store. Harm squinted in the sunlight, and blinked rapidly to help adjust his eyes. Why hadn't Mac pressed the panic button? Just as the question registered, Harm felt an intense, sharp pain as someone slammed a blunt object into the back of his head. The blow jerked Harm forward and he fell to his knees, his
palms skinning on the asphalt. The sudden pain radiated across his skull and greyed the edges of his vision. Harm tried to stand up, but could not get his body to obey his orders. He remained kneeling on the asphalt. He blinked once, then twice. The grey would not go away. He tried to catch site of Mac, to lift his head and look down the alley to find her, but the grey at the edges of his vision turned darker and crept over everything. Then faded to black.