Fallout
Part 7
Disclaimer: Don't own'em
--
JAG HQ
Tuesday
1947 Local
Mac stared at the phone on her desk. Her conversation with Clay kept repeating itself in her mind. The expression on his face. She remembered her 'encounter' with Sadik. She felt disgusted with herself. What had she done. She'd wanted to break him like he'd wanted to break Clay, break her. What did that make her?
Damn it. She hated thinking these days. It was just too much.
But Clay's words kept replaying in her mind. And the way his behaviour so oddly echoed hers. It was like looking at herself in a funhouse mirror. It was Clay. It was her. It was ... It was all so fucked up. Mac closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
She'd told Harm she would do anything to have him in her life. She hadn't been lying. If she could be sure of nothing else, she could be sure of that. She would do what she had to, and she knew both of them deserved better than her hearing Sadik's voice every time she tried to think, and her seeing Clay's face – pleading and desperate and lost and abandoned – every time she closed her eyes.
Mac picked up her phone. Time to put your money where your mouth is, MacKenzie.
--
Harm's Apartment
Wednesday
2307 Local
Harm sat on his couch and re-read the handwritten note he held for what must have been the millionth time. He needed to get a job. He'd quit the CIA on Monday, and today was Wednesday. It had been, what, two days? Two and a half? He'd gone and flown Sarah yesterday. It had been great. But today, he just needed ... Christ. He sighed. It hadn't helped that he had not seen Mac all of yesterday and today. He'd expected to see her at some point yesterday, to hear from her. Things had been going smoothly, he thought, Sunday and Monday. Well, mostly a few hours on Sunday and a few hours on Monday. And then she'd gone incommunicado. Well, she had left a note – had slid it under his door Tuesday evening. But it wasn't much of a note. It said as much as it didn't say.
Harm.
I had an appointment at Bethesda this afternoon. I need some time to sort through what happened during the session. I'll come to you.
Mac.
What had she told him on Sunday? She needed him to understand. Harm stared at the note in his hand, and read it for what must have been the million and first time. I'm trying Mac, he replied silently. I'm trying.
She'd come over for dinner on Monday night, but had been withdrawn and introspective. He had been desperate to know what had happened during her conversation with Clay, but couldn't be sure it was his place to ask. Or rather, he wasn't sure she wouldn't just walk out without answering, In hindsight, he knew she wouldn't have done that. He was generally able to get Mac to talk to him, Guadalcanal notwithstanding. But she had looked so vulnerable Monday night, like she was about to fall apart, and he couldn't bring himself to try to draw her out.
Well, he thought ruefully, to be perfectly honest: he couldn't bring himself to ask because he wasn't convinced he would like the answer. It was stupid of him, he knew. How could anything work between them if they didn't talk to each other? He berated himself, he was one to talk. He had successfully ignored her for almost five months. At least she'd left him a note last night, just as she'd left him sixteen messages on his answering machine. He would count the paper in his hands as number seventeen. He would also count it as the last time he didn't respond to a missive from her or kept himself from drawing her out, even if she was the one asking that he do just that. Even if he was afraid of how she'd react to his insistence.
It was just that he didn't think he could bear a repeat of Monday night, where they'd eaten dinner in a silence peppered by their stilted conversation, his worry and her distance. She had, however, thoroughly complimented his fish, he reminded himself, trying to find something else positive to think about.
And once they'd finished eating and cleaning up, she'd said she was tired and should head home. It was a weeknight. She'd laid a kiss on his cheek, said goodnight and drifted out his door. He'd felt absolutely powerless, useless, lost.
At least he knew she'd gone to talk to someone yesterday. He hoped good things came of this, he hoped her recovery was smooth. He hoped she didn't push him away in her almost pathological need to do everything for herself, by herself.
But she'd said she would do anything to spend a life with him. He hoped she didn't forget that.
He was hoping for a lot.
He needed a job.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'd update his resume – that ought to be an interesting challenge, if nothing else – and scour want ads or whatever it was people did to find jobs these days. He needed to do something other than worry about Sarah MacKenzie, even if he didn't really feel like doing anything but.
--
Harm's Apartment
Thursday
1902 Local
Mac knocked on Harm's door and waited for a response. She should've called first. She couldn't assume he'd just be home when she was ready to talk to him. She…
The door swung open and Harm stood in front of her. She watched his expression flit from surprise to relief to worry. It remained stuck on worry.
She forced a smile. She felt terrible about disappearing on him yesterday and Tuesday, but he'd always been the kind to persist and push when it came to getting her to talk and frankly she just wasn't ready to talk. She wanted to be left alone.
She also needed to come up with a better solution for dealing with Harm's sometimes obsessive doggedness, she knew, but for the life of her couldn't fathom what that may be.
One day at a time, MacKenzie. One day.
"Come on in, Mac." He motioned her inside.
"Thanks, Harm." He took her coat as she entered. She watched him hang it up.
"I want to apologize for, uh..." She trailed off, unsure of how to be tactful.
"Avoiding me?" He supplied, watching her with an intent, serious expression.
She laughed nervously. "For going UA on you."
He remained silent at her comment.
She dropped her gaze to a point on the floor, and jumped into the conversation he was waiting for.
"Thing is, that session ... That session was intense. When I was speaking with Clay on Monday evening, he was ... I ... I don't know how to ..." She huffed, impatient with her clumsiness. She took a deep breath. "He said the same things I told you," She waved her hand aimlessly. "About being able to handle what happened. And he said the strangest thing." She paused as she recalled Clay's words and the look on his face, but abruptly shook herself out of it. Harm. She was talking to Harm.
"You know he stopped his sessions weeks ago?" She looked at him for the first time since she started speaking. All of his attention was focussed on her, which unsettled her. She looked away. "I realized that if he couldn't admit that he needed to talk to someone, then maybe you were seeing in me what I was seeing him in. And then I realized that he … that I … I realized that if I wanted this thing between us to work, I would have to do my part. Not for you or me, but for us. I think that may have been the first flash of insight I've had in five months." She gave a self-deprecating laugh, and walked towards his couch to take a seat. He followed her and sat down beside her, his expression still intent, all his concentration still levelled at her.
"So I made an appointment at Bethesda." She wanted to take his hand in hers, but she thought the act would somehow show more than she was ready to reveal. Instead, she made herself look him in the eye. "A lot of things came out of the session. For one, I'll be seeing Commander McCool once a week." The second thing that had come out of her session with McCool was a realization of just how destructive her fixation on Clay was. A form of survivor's guilt, McCool had said, and not one that would just go away with Sadik's death. "And she gave me a bunch of info pamphlets on ... things. What to expect after Paraguay and … and Saturday." She swallowed her misgivings on revealing so much to him. It was like opening a bloody, infected, disfiguring, disgusting wound and asking him to take a look. "I have them in the car. I figured you'd want to read them."
She realized that he was staring at her, gaping, taken aback. It worried her. It did more than just worry her. Did he expect this all to be fixed in one session? Was he not ready to wait or put in
the effort it would require to stick it out with her? Worse still, was he mad at her for needing time alone? Her stomach burned, her lungs felt too tight. She really fervently hoped not. The last time he was angry, it had cost her five months of absence. Please, she thought, unable to speak, don't bail on me now. Not now. Please. I came to you.
"You would let me read the information pamphlets?" His sudden response intruded into her thoughts.
She abruptly silenced her frantic reaction – she needed to stop just reacting without thinking when it came to him – and tried to calm down enough to process his question. He sounded as eager as she felt distressed. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She had made a promise to him, and she would honour it for both their sakes. She would do her part.
To her surprise, he broke out into the brightest grin she'd seen in months and pulled her into a fierce hug.
"Thank you, Mac." He whispered into her ear.
She was too overwhelmed by his words to even think of a response. Instead, she held him tightly. This was going to work. Everything would be fine.
--
Roberts' Residence
Saturday
1856 Local
Harm stood next to Mac on the Bud and Harriet's porch, waiting for someone to answer the door. He was not nervous. Just a bit ... apprehensive. Slightly guilty. But not nervous.
Mac had told him during their run together this morning that Bud had been asking constantly about him. She'd also told him as much at the grocery store on Saturday, during their free-for-all cage fight in the cereal aisle. He marvelled at the progress they had made since then. He was breathing a lot easier. Everything seemed brighter. He grinned, until he remembered he was standing on Bud and Harriet's porch.
Why the hell weren't they answering the door. He tightened his hold on the bag he was carrying. Bud had left a few messages on his machine, as had Harriet. He felt like a heel. He didn't yet know how to explain it to them. He hadn't really even explained it to Mac, and he trusted her more than anyone else.
Harm sighed.
He felt Mac nudge him in the side with her elbow. He looked down at her eyebrow raised, only to find her grinning brightly at him. He grinned in kind, unable to resist her good humour and not really wanting to try. He so badly wanted happiness for the two of them.
"It'll be fine, Harm." She squeezed his arm. "They love you."
Her words warmed him almost as much as the truth they held.
The door swung open to reveal Bud.
"Sir!" Bud exclaimed, a grin lit up his face.
Harm grinned in response, though still feeling a little uneasy. "Bud, I'm not in the Navy anymore. Call me Harm."
Bud didn't bother acknowledging that, he shook Harm's hand heartily instead.
"I'm sorry we didn't call first..." Harm began, only to be cut off by an enthusiastic Bud.
"Nonsense, Sir! Come in. Ma'am."
"Hi, Bud," Mac replied, her delight at the scene evident.
Harm handed Bud the gift bag he was holding. "Something for Jimmy, Bud. Congratulations." He said awkwardly, trying to quash his guilt.
"Thank you, Sir." Bud took the bag from Harm, his easygoing smile still in place and as genuine as ever.
Harriet came to the door and broke into a wide smile when she caught sight of Harm. She hurried forward and pulled him in for a hug. "Sir!"
"It's good to see you, Harriet." Before he could berate her for not calling her by his name or congratulate her on the newest addition, AJ ran down the hallway.
He squealed at the sight of Harm. "Uncle Harm! Uncle Harm!"
Harm laughed and caught his exuberant godson just in time as he flung himself up for a hug.
"I missed you, buddy." Harm threw AJ up in the air.
AJ, giggling with excitement, caught sight of Mac. "You brought Aunt Mac!"
"Actually, she brought me," Harm winked at Mac.
He held AJ, and looked at Bud and Harriet, feeling contrite. "I'm sorry I didn't return your calls."
"Don't worry about it, Sir." Bud waved away the apology. "We understand you were busy with the new job."
Harm didn't know how to explain that it was so much more than that. He'd been a mentor to Bud, the younger man had looked up to him. Harm wasn't quite yet ready to shatter that image, for his own sake. His unceremonious booting from JAG was still a bit too fresh.
"I see you found him, Ma'am." Harriet grinned at Mac as she greeted her with a hug.
"We found each other, Harriet." Mac replied, glancing at Harm with a small smile.
They heard a wail come from the kitchen.
Harriet laughed. "Poor Jimmy must be feeling left out. He can't wait to meet you, Sir." She looked to Harm, smiling warmly. He saw no trace of resentment or reproach in her eyes. He returned her smile, marvelling at the reception he was receiving.
"And I can't wait to meet him, Harriet." He remembered what he'd said to Mac at the grocery store last Saturday, when he'd wielded his anger like both sword and shield. If anything, he thought, friendship was highly underrated. He was one lucky man.
"Come in, come in." Bud ushered them in. "We were just about to have dessert, right AJ?" He looked at his son.
"Yeah!" AJ wiggled out of Harm's embrace, and jumped up and down on the floor. "Cookies and ice cream!"
"Ooh, my favourite." Mac grinned at AJ. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the kitchen.
"We have two kinds of ice cream, Aunt Mac! Two kinds!"
Harm laughed as he followed them down the hall.
"So, Sir." Bud said as they made their way to the kitchen. "How's the CIA?"
"Actually Bud, I'm no longer with the CIA." Harm replied, surprising himself by how easy it was to talk about being out of a job. "There are some sacrifices I'm just not willing to make," He grinned at Bud. His eyes drifted to Mac. She was walking hand in hand with AJ, smiling at the boy. She turned her head back slightly to catch Harm's eye, and offered a wide, happy grin.
"And others that I need to." He added under his breath, as he followed her into the kitchen.
He knew she still wasn't convinced he'd resigned from the CIA for the right reasons. He had to find a way to put that concern of hers to rest.