Weariness of Minds
For disclaimer, see chapter one.
A/N: A thank you to everybody who has reviewed; it is really encouraging, and to everybody else who's reading. Hope you continue to enjoy this!
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I open the oven door to take out the spinach lasagna I made for us. It turned out really well, but I find that I've lost my appetite all of a sudden. I keep seeing Mac's face, how her hopeful and sweet expression had faltered when I turned her down. Suddenly, she had looked so sad and hurt, almost broken. It was unusual that one could read as clearly from her face; normally, she keeps herself carefully guarded and hides behind her tough-Marine façade. That in itself was worrying.
I notice the door closing and Alicia coming back into the kitchen. I don't even need to look to know that Mac won't be with her. I busy myself with cutting the lasagna as I feel Alicia approaching. She comes close, and then I feel her hand reassuringly stroking my left shoulder. It only lasts a heartbeat before she leaves my side and sits down on a bar stool. She remains silent.
My thoughts are reeling and I'm trying to make sense of them. I know I should pay attention to Alicia; after all, it was me that invited her over for dinner. Granted, we had some work to do and it wasn't my intention to make it sound or feel like a date. Yet I'm not that dense; neither one of us objected to the occasional flirting, and I have a feeling that Alicia wouldn't be adverse to something more. Does that mean I was leading her on? Or was I trying to move on from Mac because things weren't developing? Had I given up?
Suddenly I feel like an ass. I told Mac a while ago that it mattered to me that things happened with her. I also told her to come and talk to me. She had kept her distance since then, and I can't deny that it hurt my feelings. But by flirting and even going out with other women, as innocent as it was on my part, what kind of impression must I have given her? It must have seemed as if I wasn't willing to wait for her, as if the offer was only good as long as it occurred on my timetable.
"This isn't going to work out, is it?" Alicia suddenly asks, effectively pulling me out of my reverie. My eyes snap to hers, and she looks sad, yet understanding. I'm fumbling for words, going for denial, trying to say something so her feelings won't get hurt, but suddenly, I just deflate. It's time for the truth.
"I'm sorry, Alicia." And I really mean it. If things were different, she would have been a wonderful woman to get to know. I watch as she hops off the bar stool and gathers her things.
"Go after her, Harm. I think she needs you." She slips on her jacket, then walks over to me. I'm still rooted to the spot standing next to the oven, unable to move ever since everything has spun out of my control. She comes close and gives me a tiny peck on the cheek.
"Be happy, Harm," she whispers, and then she turns around to go. I quickly grab her hand, which makes her look up at me again.
"Thank you," I tell her, squeezing her hand lightly. A knowing smile plays on her lips before she turns and leaves my life.
Left alone, I put about half the lasagna into a plastic container for Mac. Even though there is no meat in it, it is still better than no food at all. I don't know what I'm going to say and how to fix things this time, but nothing is going to stop me now from at least trying. Her sad face is haunting me.
I make it over to her apartment in record speed. I see her car in the parking lot, but when I look up, none of her windows are illuminated. It is too early for her to have gone to bed, I think, so where could she be? Suddenly I don't have a good feeling at all.
I climb the stairs two at a time, rush to her door and knock. There is no answer. I knock again, louder this time, and call her name. Still, there is no answer, no movement in the apartment at all.
I start thinking. She could have gone to sleep. But even if she did, she'd normally wake up when somebody knocked; so far, she has always opened her door to me. She could have gone out, in which case I could just camp out here in front of her door. Somehow, that doesn't seem plausible though; the way she left tells me she would have wanted to retreat to the safety of her home. What if something happened? The thought suddenly sneaks into my mind and makes me all jittery. I call myself ridiculous even as I fumble for the extra set of keys to her apartment that I still have. If all is well, I just hope she won't skin me alive for invading her privacy.
I enter the dark apartment and wait for my eyes to adjust. I don't know why I'm reluctant to turn on the lights just yet. Streetlight filters in from the outside, so it isn't pitch-black, and gradually, I am able to make out the shapes of her place. It's when my eyes travel over the couch that I can finally see her. Relief makes way for worry when she's not moving.
"Mac," I call out while slowly approaching her.
"Mac," louder this time. What kind of a Marine is she, anyway? Someone can sneak up on her and she shows no reaction? I've reached her now, and I squad down in front of the sofa, which is when I realize that she isn't asleep. Her eyes are open, and she is just staring onto her legs.
"Sarah," I call her. I sound fearful and frantic now; I've never seen her in that state. Suddenly, I receive a painful blow to the head, and I'm a bit dazed before I realize that she had finally become aware of me, and I startled her.
"Sarah, it's Harm," I reassure her, and just as quickly as it started, the flailing of limbs stops.
"Harm?" She murmurs shakily. I look up at her. She has retreated to the corner of the couch, sitting up now, but her arms once again protectively wrapped around her legs. With the help of the eerie illumination spun by the streetlights, I can make out the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and her big eyes staring at me, like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Are you alright?" I know this is one of the dumbest questions people can ask; clearly, if one feels the need to ask it, it must be quite apparent that things are indeed not alright! I'm trying to grasp one of her hands; it's icy.
"I'm… cold." She still sounds dazed, and I can't blame her. I get up and get a blanket out of her linen closet. Back at the couch, I drape it over her so that only her head remains visible. I can't possibly squad down in front of the couch again; it is really painful to my knees, so I decide to sit down on the couch next to her. I turn my head and find her looking at me, her big doe eyes gazing at me with what seems like bewilderment. Can't blame her for that either; last she saw me, I appeared to be on a date with another woman. Suddenly I'm thinking, the hell with it, and before I can talk myself out of it again, I scoop her in my arms and settle her down on my lap, blanket and all.
I expected protest, or resistance, but instead, Mac just lets her head settle in the crook between my shoulder and my neck. Her hands come to rest on my chest, and for a while, all is quiet.
Then she starts crying. Silently at first, so my only indication is the feeling of wetness against my throat.
"Oh Sarah," I whisper, wrapping her tighter in my embrace. My hands come to rest on her back, and I run my fingers up and down the length of it, murmuring inept reassurances. It only makes her sob harder. Her hands are clutching my shirt now, and her slender body is wrecked by violent outbursts. But I hold on; the only help I feel I can give her right now.
I feel silly when I realize that a few tears have sneaked down my cheeks as well. I will deny it later if asked. But her sadness overwhelms me; I didn't apprehend to what extent she is suffering. I'm miserable for this amazing woman to whom life throws one curveball after the other and who feels so vulnerable on the inside that she sees the need to push everybody away for fear of breaking. Whose mistrust of people was so deeply ingrained into her during a miserable childhood that she still thinks she must fight every battle on her own. I hold her tightly to my chest, willing her to understand that she is no longer alone in the world.
We sit like this for a long time. Gradually, the violent sobs stopped, to be replaced by sniffling. I can feel her slowly calming down in my arms. She's still clutching my shirt with both fists, but I can feel her taking deep breaths to steady herself, the warm bursts of air tickling my neck.
"Sneaky squid," she suddenly voices softly, followed by a sniffle. "Sneaking up on your Marine when all her defenses are down." I chuckle at that, and I can feel her smile against my neck, before it registers what she said. 'Your Marine,' she had called herself. I'm sure it was unintentional, but it warms me from the inside like nothing has in a long time.
"Did it help?"
"Yeah," she sighs, "I guess I needed a good cry." She relaxes her hands a bit, but leaves them resting on my chest; then she sighs and seems to settle her body even closer to mine. I realize that one of her hands is playing with the button of my shirt the same time I notice that one of my hands has sneaked under her sweater and is stroking her bare back on the inside. Her skin is warm and soft and I feel my breathing go quicker.
"Where's Alicia?" She murmurs into my neck, and my hand comes to a halt at the small of her back. I can hear that she is trying to be brave for whatever answer will come, yet I could detect the inflections of insecurity and fear in her voice.
"I don't know; not with me."
At this, she lifts her head off my shoulder and looks at me, waiting if there is more to come. It's time I give that to her.
"I'm not dating her, Mac," I point out, "I'm not dating anybody." I look into her eyes, willing her to see the truth in that statement and all that goes with it.
"There's nobody else I want. Only you." Wow, I've said it, point-blank. I can feel my heart-rate speeding up waiting for her reaction.
"Really?" She whispers.
"Really."
For the longest time, we just stare at each other. She looks at me wondrously, an expression I'm sure must be mirrored in my eyes. I can't quite believe we're finally there, on the same page at the same time. I take in her tousled hair, her warm, chocolate-brown eyes, her incredible lips that are slightly opened and are glistening in the faint glow of the room. The rest of my body grows increasingly aware of her closeness. My hand resumes stroking her back, and the contact with her skin is inflaming my need for her. The tension grows thick around us, and I'm breathing harder. The heaving of Mac's chest indicates that she, too, can feel it.
TBC