Fallout
Part 4
Disclaimer: Don't own'em
--
Outside Mac's Apartment
Sunday
0800 Local
Harm slammed his car door shut behind him and walked at a brisk pace towards Mac's building. He spotted her car parked in its usual spot. She was in. Good. He was going to talk to her, consequences be damned. He figured whatever conversation they had couldn't be much worse than those they'd been having since Paraguay. And this time he'd try his damndest not to get upset or say stupid things as he tended to do when she roused his ire. No lashing out, Rabb, he coached himself.
Harm took the steps to Mac's floor two by two, not bothering with the elevator.
He was pretty sure he wouldn't lash out, though. Just picturing that look on Mac's face as she watched Sadik bleed on the floor of that building, her clothes and hands covered in his blood ... it had made for a very troubled sleep last night. He hadn't realized how much the bastard had affected her. He'd stupidly thought her usually extraordinary resilience was still firmly in place. But waiting while she went in to face that psycho by herself at such risk without talking to him about it first, hearing her conversation with Sadik, seeing that look on her face ... It put a lot into perspective for him. He'd also been kept up all night wondering if his realization was too little, too late.
But he wouldn't worry about that until he had to. He strode down her hallway, to her front door. No lashing out. He took a deep breath and knocked.
He counted to twenty. There was no answer, and he could hear no movement inside her apartment. Was she sleeping? Unlikely. She was a morning person, he hadn't known her to sleep in later than 0800. Then again, a lot had changed ... He sighed. He knew he shouldered some of the blame for that, they both did. There was a time when she always came to him. He knocked on her door again; maybe she was in the washroom.
He counted to twenty. No answer. Harm frowned. He cursed the doctors for insisting he stay overnight for observation. He knew Mac had been released after a quick check-up. He also knew she'd been at Langley well into the night, being debriefed. He'd hoped she was too exhausted after the events of the day to do anything except go home and fall into her bed for a restful sleep. It had been a lot to hope for. He'd also hoped she'd pay him a visit in the hospital, but knew that had been even more to hope for.
Alright, he pulled himself from his thoughts. She obviously wasn't home. What did Mac do when she needed to unwind? She went to the gym or she went for a run. It was an absolutely gorgeous fall day out. He'd bet good money she was pounding out her frustrations on the unpaved trails that lined Rock Creek Park.
Harm gave her front door one last glance before heading back to his car.
--
Rock Creek Park
Sunday
0810
Mac paced herself as she jogged along the winding, knotted trails that snaked through the park. She'd spent some of the most tedious, emotionally numbing hours of her life being debriefed at Langley. It had been late at night when she'd finally left. Damn CIA. They'd sucked her dry of every drop of information, and still kept drilling for more. She guessed that they weren't too pleased Sadik was dead. To hell with them. Let them sit through what Clay had and then they could tell her what pleased them and what didn't. Maybe this way they'd stop bothering her with their stupid missions.
Once she'd finished going through the seventh level of hell, she'd asked to be dropped off at the hospital so she could stop in to see Harm. And so that he could see her. She needed to confirm that he was okay. The doctor had told her, after much cajoling, that he had a mild concussion and was being kept overnight for observation. They hadn't spoken since the paramedics arrived on the scene yesterday, though Harm kept throwing her concerned looks on the ride to the hospital. She was fine, but thought that perhaps he needed to see it. So she'd gone to the hospital to let him know she was okay, and make sure he was okay.
She'd taken the elevator to his floor and walked down the hall to his room and was all geared to walk in and face him. That was when she'd been hit by the strongest sense of déjà vu she'd ever experienced. It had been her walking down the hall to see Clay and hearing him welcome Harm into the brotherhood. That feeling of dread, of loss, of irreversible finality had glued her feet to the ground and robbed her mind of any conscious thought. Next thing she knew, she was sitting in a cab, giving the driver her home address.
Her actions still surprised her. And pissed her off. What the hell was wrong with her. She didn't want to think about it. She'd gone to her apartment and fallen into bed. She'd woken up at 0403 with an uncontrollable need to wash her hands, to take a shower. She thought she may have peeled away a few layers of skin in her eagerness to feel clean. She'd only gotten out when all the hot water was gone, and her body could no longer tolerate the cold spray.
She hadn't been able to sleep after that. All she wanted to do was run until she couldn't breathe.
Her thoughts wandered back to the debrief at Langley. She wondered if the news had reached Clay by now. Probably. He was still recovering from the nightmare in Paraguay. He'd gone to his family home on the shore for the weekend, where it was quiet and he could be alone. She wondered if his preference for solitude had been heightened after Paraguay. She didn't think so. He'd always had an air about him, a man who looked to be alone even in a roomful of people. She'd been like that, once. Before she'd forged such deep relationships with the Roberts, the Admiral – or so she'd thought – and Harm. And Chloe. Although she had still sometimes felt the old pull, the retreat into herself that had been her safety blanket since she was a kid. It had become a merciless urge recently, had become almost instinctual during and after Paraguay. She tried to fight it, but it was just easier to stop trying. And she found it a lot easier to stop fighting when she was with Clay.
Clay. They were friends and … something. Maybe. She wasn't sure. She didn't know. She didn't even want to think about it, talk about it. They didn't talk about it. She was as supportive as she could be for his recovery, but he didn't talk much about them or about what had happened down there. They'd both been there, no need to go over it again and again.
She had seen something in him though, down there. Something that attracted her to him in a way she hadn't ever felt before. Something that drowned her, coated her skin with liquid warmth. She didn't think it was physical … She couldn't explain it, didn't care to understand it. Talking to him gave her such comfort. It was as though they had formed their own bubble, their own haven in that wooden shack that smelled of humidity and desperation and a foreboding so intense she could feel it prick in her bones. And talking to him, being in a room with him, looking into his eyes was like recreating that bubble, finding that safe haven where the world was shut out and it just him and her and the dread that lurked in the air couldn't touch them.
She fleetingly wondered what it meant, but found it too comforting to worry about it.
And she did care for him. She felt bound to him. She'd meant what she'd told Harm: it was the other way around. Clay had given up so much for her safety, endured so much. How could she not feel responsible? And the same went for Harm: she was also responsible for him. She'd always felt she was, always felt that it was vital for her to make sure he was safe, otherwise something of her, some part, would be lost. Some essential part she could not bear to lose.
But that was all over and done with now. Harm hadn't been returning her calls, and wasn't about to start after that horrendous confrontation in the grocery store. It still left a sour taste in her mouth. He'd said cutting things as he tended to do when he felt threatened. She'd retaliated in kind as she tended to do when she felt cornered. He would not speak to her. But she still felt the irrational pull to keep trying. She was responsible for him.
It didn't matter, she told herself. It didn't matter.
She picked up her speed, ran a little faster along the unpaved trail. She concentrated on her rhythmic breathing and the steady beat of her shoes against the hard dirt. No more thinking.
--
Rock Creek Park
Sunday
0828 Local
Harm veered his car through the winding roads that snaked through the park and kept his eye on the jogging trails. It was a ludicrously long shot, but he hoped he'd catch her on the trails that were visible from the road. He'd beaten even more incredible odds in the past. He was counting on his luck to keep up.
He saw a familiar figure running at a steady pace through the trees to the left of the road. He exhaled his relief. He was one lucky bastard. Harm quickly parked his car on the shoulder of the road and ran up the dirt incline, avoiding rocks and roots, towards Mac.
She was not running fast, so he didn't have much trouble catching up to her. He didn't say anything until he was just beside her, keeping pace with her. She hadn't noticed him, which was unlike her. He wished he was wearing running clothes.
"Mac," He said softly, hoping not to startle her. In the muffled silence of the forest, his voice sounded unnaturally loud and intrusive.
She faltered in her step, and looked at him in surprise. He didn't think she looked upset, at least not with him. She just looked so terribly worn.
"How're you doing, Mac?" He felt stupid asking, but didn't know how else to kick start a conversation with her. And she just looked so worn, he couldn't bear to be silent.
"Fine. How's your head?" She turned her attention back to the trail, looking very tense.
He nodded, and then frowned in thought. How would he start this conversation. He decided on the direct approach.
"Talk to me, Sarah."
She almost tripped when he said her given name, but didn't say anything. She scowled. Her pace increased. What was she doing, he wondered. He matched his pace to hers.
"Talk to me, Mac." He persisted.
She ran a little faster and said nothing for about twenty paces. He was just about to resign himself to running alongside her in silence when she spoke.
"You wouldn't understand," she stated flatly.
"Try me." He concentrated on his breathing to keep from losing his composure at her categorical accusation. Her words were an affront.
"No." Her pace quickened.
"Mac." His patience was wearing thin.
"Drop it, Harm." Her pace quickened yet again. What the hell. He clenched his jaw. No lashing out, Rabb.
"We need to talk." He insisted.
"So now we need to talk." She mumbled cuttingly.
He stayed silent. She needed to vent some of her stress, he told himself. She didn't say anything for a good thirty paces, so he tried again. If she wouldn't talk to him...
"You need to talk to someone." He tried to make it sound like a suggestion.
She didn't respond.
"You need to talk to someone." He repeated. He didn't want to voice that she talk to Clay. It was not a palatable thought. He wanted her to talk to him, like she used to do.
"Mac..." He began, but was left speechless when she started sprinting.
"Mac!" He exclaimed, picking up pace to catch up with her. She sprinted faster still. He increased his pace again when she suddenly veered off the trail and into the adjacent wooded area.
"Mac!" He called after her. She'd turned so suddenly that he'd overshot her. He pivoted sharply and cut into the wooded area, following her. "What are …" He trailed off when he had to duck to avoid being hit by a branch. "Mac!" He yelled. "Mac, you'll hurt yourself!
He kept running after her, and she kept sprinting ferociously. He knew she wouldn't be able to keep that pace for long, and followed her doggedly as she sped through the wooded area. He felt the heavy branches and twigs brush sharply against his jeans. He noted that she was wearing shorts, and all he could think was that she must be getting scratched painfully all over her legs, yet she kept running.
He tried to catch up to her as she ducked and dodged around the trees and under branches. But he stopped calling out after her, because every time he said her name she just ran faster, farther.
--
Mac ducked her head under a low branch. She focussed on her breathing. Her legs felt like someone had run sharp blades over them, and her lungs were burning. She didn't care. In fact, it gave her something to think about other than the fact that she was too pissed off to even see straight.
She put out a quick hand to brace herself on the trunk of a tree as she turned to her left, where there were fewer rocks on the ground. She was so damn angry. Talk to me. Why the hell did he decide when the hell it was time to talk. Talk to me. He was the one who hadn't returned her calls for five fucking months. And then he decides it's time to talk. Fuck it. She didn't want to talk.
She jumped just in time to dodge a fallen tree trunk that lay across her path. She was done. Mac seethed. Her pace quickened, her breaths came in short, angry spurts. She'd tried. He'd ignored her. Damn him. She was done with him. Done.
She surfaced far enough out of her anger to notice the large rock jutting out over the path a few paces in front of her. She was running too fast, she realized. Damn it. That rock would destroy her ankle. Mac did all she could think of to do to avoid the impending disaster: she jumped forward, tucked and rolled, hoping she didn't hit something more valuable – like her head –against another rock.
--
Harm watched in horror as Mac dove forward and rolled to a halt on the ground. He was right behind her and running way too fast to avoid falling on her. Harm tried his best to skid to a halt, and realized too late that he should have tried to jump over her instead. He also realized too late that she'd jumped to avoid the rock jutting out of the forest floor. His foot caught on the rock, tripping him. He tumbled to the ground, falling on top of Mac in an unceremonious heap.
He lifted himself off of her as quickly as he could. She was lying on her side. He braced himself on his knees next to her, one hand on the ground and the other hovering uncertainly above her prone form.
"M –" He stopped himself just in time from saying her name. Lord knew how she'd react to that. "Are you okay?" He asked instead. She was breathing hard, her hair covering her face.
He brushed her hair from her face, not knowing what to say because he didn't know how she would respond. He figured the events of yesterday, hell, of the last few months, had finally caught up to her.
He moved her hand to look at her face, and a wave of panicked crashed into him when he saw the tears coursing down her cheeks.
"I can't," She sobbed, her hands swatting his away. "I can't do it anymore."
"Mac. Sarah, talk to me." He tried in vain to grab a solid hold of her. She kept moving away from his touch.
"No." She said forcefully, breathing hard. Her hands were covering her face.
"Are you hurt?" He ran his hands along her legs. "Is it your ankle? Your knee?" He looked up to see her still covering her face with her hands. He tried to quell his panic. "Let me see your face, Mac."
She suddenly pulled away from him in an abrupt movement. He watched as she absently wiped her face of her tears. She scooted along the ground until she was out of his reach, and lay down on her back. She stared at the canopy of trees above them, tears silently trailing down her temples, her hands clasped over her forehead, thumbs pressed into her temples. He was convinced he'd never felt this confused before. Or helpless. He watched her for a few long minutes, worried about her behaviour, unsure what to do. She said nothing. She only looked up at the sky through her tears, at the clouds that were drifting overhead. Finally, he lay down beside her, arm's length away, and stared at the clouds with her.
--
Mac kept her eyes on the intricate patterns made by the golden leaves against the sky. She focussed on the feel of the cool ground beneath her. It felt good. Lying here, feeling the exhausted contentment that only came from physical exertion. The rush. She'd pay the price once adrenaline wore off, especially after yesterday's ... events. Every high is followed by a crash. She knew that. She knew it...
She waited for the silent tears to stop falling, stared at the sky and the tree branches, blurred by her tears. She could admit that the cry had done her some good, too.
She turned her head to look at Harm. He was lying on his back, at arm's length, staring up at the clouds and the cover of leaves.
She'd tried to outrun him. He'd chased after her. They'd both fallen in a tangled heap.
How fitting, she thought wryly. It seemed all they did was take turns trying to get away from the other. He'd been running away from her as far and fast as he could for the last five months, she supposed the pendulum was due to swing the other way. It had been her turn. She sighed. They had to talk.
She reached out her hand and tugged his jacket sleeve. He turned his head to face her.
"I'm shouldn't have ..." She waved her hand over her shoulder, "That was … the stress."
He shrugged, she thought she saw a smile forming in his eyes.
"How's your head?" She asked again, because she didn't know what to say.
"Head's fine. It's my lungs that are burning. You put on quite the chase, Marine." The smile in his eyes took form on his lips. She could still see the worry line his face, but knew he was trying to hide it from her.
She felt embarrassed by her behaviour. She hadn't been thinking, just reacting. She needed to stop doing that, but didn't know where to start. How to start.
"Don't worry about it." He insisted, and she could hear his sincerity.
She turned her attention back to the clouds drifting across the sky. It was a textbook beautiful fall day.
"About Paraguay…" She trailed off when she felt his hand come to rest on her shoulder. She turned her head to look at him in question.
"Don't, Mac. I … I should've paid more attention. You'd been through a lot. I didn't…"
She put her hand over his to stop him from finishing his thought, "Same goes for me, Harm." She interrupted gently, not yet ready to go over all of that in detail just yet. She didn't know how to explain everything. Her need to run, to feel. Her conflicted feelings over Clay, the security blanket he offered. Harm wouldn't understand. She removed her hand from his.
She sighed and looked around her. The air was sharp and smelled of the dead leaves that littered the park. The ground beneath her was damp, and the cool undercurrent in the breeze chilled her skin. The warmth of the sun against her face was weak and waning. Birdcalls echoed through the trees, from those few holdouts that had not yet migrated south. The forest was ablaze with colour. Her lungs were still strained from the intense and prolonged sprinting she'd indulged in, the scratches on her legs were starting to sting and burn, and her sweat was trailing down her temples, beading on her heated skin. Her shoulder was warm where Harm's hand was still resting. The tears on her face were drying, leaving their trail over her skin.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on capturing this moment.
She didn't want to hide, didn't want to seek refuge under a blanket she'd only needed to quell her fear. She didn't want to miss all of this. She wanted so much more than what she'd found in that stale, stuffy cabin in Paraguay where the walls were suffocating her, where every breath threatened to shatter life. She opened her eyes. She needed more.
But could she have it? That had always been the question, she thought, and the answer had never yet worked in her favour.
--
Harm eyed Mac warily from the corner of his eye. Her expression was so intense, focussed, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking. He remembered the woman who had walked into the CIA briefing room. It felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn't been able read her, he'd resented her, wanted to be rid of her, felt angry and furious and hurt and slighted. She was nothing like the woman lying next to him, covered in scratches and dirt and leaves. This was the woman he knew, loved. She had been hiding behind her own hurt and anger and sense of failure, but he hadn't seen it. He'd been too busy hiding behind his.
He looked up at the sky and sighed. He really screwed up. He could grudgingly admit that the Admiral had a point. He'd been willing and ready to give up everything to go find her, but he'd done nothing once he'd found her, couldn't keep her because he hadn't bothered trying. What would've happened if—
No, he berated himself. No 'what ifs'. 'What now' was the real question.
Without daring to look at her he trailed his hand down her arm, and took her hand in his, holding it carefully. She started as his hand first moved, but then went absolutely still, her hand lying loosely in his. He was relieved and warmed beyond words that she didn't pull away from him. He glanced at her: her eyes were still searching the sky and the forest for something. What was she looking for? He wondered if he could he see it, whatever it was.
They lay there for a long while, until the sky began darkening as the cloud cover thickened, and the cool air chilled further under the waning sun.
He caught her slight shiver through their joined hands, and remembered that she was wearing only a long-sleeved t-shirt and shorts, probably both damp with sweat and cooling rapidly against her skin. She must be freezing. He sat up and tugged her hand to pull her up before letting go. She rubbed her hands over her arms as she sat up.
"Come on, Mac. We'll catch cold." He removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
They both stood with much difficulty, stiff and sore from their recent fall, and their earlier ones.
He was stretching his shoulders and she was loosening her calf muscles when they caught each other's eye. They both laughed softly, uncertainly.
"Getting too old for this." She said lightly. Her bearing was uneasy, her words hesitant.
"Speak for yourself, Marine," he smiled in response, watching her as she brushed away the damp leaves that were sticking to her skin and clothes. The bright red and orange and gold leaves fell to the ground like drops of fire. He was reminded again of how beautiful she was.
Tentatively, he put his hand out to her. She eyed his outstretched hand for a moment before just as tentatively reaching for it. He looked at their joined hands, marvelling at the quiet comfort he could feel from such a tiny gesture. He glanced at her, and caught her watching him. He could see exhaustion line her face, could see the uncertainty and doubt in her eyes. No, he thought, he had not realized what a toll the mission in Paraguay had taken on her.
He tugged her hand and they made their way through the forest, towards his car. The only sounds that could be heard was the soft sound of the leaves beneath their feet, and all he could feel was her cold, slender hand holding his in a firm, almost vice-like grip. It wasn't necessary, he thought: he wasn't going to let her go.