Trinkets - Part 16

"What's on your back?" queried the man who had stopped Mac. "It looks dangerous."

"Only to me," she replied. "Let me through!"

He did not move to give her access to the stairs. "Not until we get this neutralized," he said, referring to the device strapped to her. "Do you know how to disarm it?"

"It's not a bomb," she dismissed his thoughts. "It's …" She didn't have time for this. "Just … get it off me!" She turned her back to give him access to where the straps had been bound. "Quickly!"

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Seeing that Clinton was eyeing the spot where the gun had landed stimulated Harm back into action. With a strength that came only from sheer desperation and determination, he lunged to grab at the other man, looping an arm around Clinton's waist and turning to heave him away from the gun and back towards where the supply bag sat.

Clinton wasn't about to lose, and the next twenty seconds were full of an intense back and forth between the men … hitting, wrestling, kicking, and slamming body parts against the floor or the wall, whichever was more convenient.

There was no doubt that Clinton was in far better shape, and he did not hold back. He delivered blow after severe blow to the Commander.

But Harm had reached a state of violent delirium. He felt no pain, only anger and the intense feeling that Clinton needed to be stopped before Mac got hurt. The latter notion that Mac had been pulled into this situation and put into danger only fueled Harm's rage, and he began mercilessly beating on his opponent.

He struck and pounded until an unexpected wave of weakness befell him. His arms suddenly refused to move with any force. Harm's head swam with dizziness, and everything blurred in what seemed like slow motion as he collapsed onto his side on the floor.

He had not even felt the prick of the needle that had been jabbed into his chest.

Clinton, now with his own blood dripping from his nose and mouth, sat up, very pleased with himself and his victory. During the battle, he had been able to grab a syringe from the drug kit, which had been lying on the floor next to his bag, and stick it in his opponent.

Although part of him wanted to keep Harm around for awhile to make him pay for the pain and embarrassment caused by this scuffle, Clinton decided that enough was enough. Harm was too much trouble.

He knew the injection would probably finish the naval officer off, but the now-injured villain was suddenly impatient. Panting heavily from the exertion of the fight, Clinton reached for and grabbed his gun. Then he aimed for Harm's head.

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Mac had almost been released from the electric device when she heard the gunshot.

She momentarily froze out of fear, but when she heard a second shot she ripped her arm through the last entanglement of the straps to free herself and then ran up the stairs two at a time.

Her heart stopped at what she saw.

Harm's body, even more battered than it had been earlier, was sprawled across the floor, not moving.

Clinton had dropped his gun. He had obviously taken a beating himself. He was fully leaning back against a wall, slowly sliding downward. It was when he nearly hit the ground that Mac noticed the vertical trail of crimson that was revealed on the wall above him. Clinton's blood. He had been shot.

Mac looked to the window to find a gun pointed in her general direction. But behind the gun was a familiar face.

Dismissing the newcomer as no threat to her, she turned her attention to Harm. When she knelt next to him, she noticed two things: 1) he was still alive, which gave her instant relief, even though he was largely non-responsive, and 2) he had a syringe sticking into his chest, which caused her a whole new level of fear.

Mac looked up at Clinton, who sat crumpled against the wall. "What did you stick him with?" she demanded more than asked.

Clinton turned his head to her. "He won't make it," was all he said.

Not the response she was looking for, Mac quickly got to her feet, jumped over Harm, and knocked into Clinton, pinning him to the wall by his neck. "What did you inject him with? Tell me!"

"Let him go, Sarah. He was suicidal anyways," said Clinton with a grimace that was due partly to his pain and partly his everlasting evilness. "Tried to blow himself up a minute ago."

"Don't lie to me," she insisted.

"He was probably trying to protect you," Clinton whispered through his pain. "Chalk up another man whose blood is on you."

Mac followed his gaze to her clothes, arms, and hands. She was covered in fresh crimson and dried auburn. Mostly Jake's blood from the cleaning. Some of Harm's from his various injuries. Now Clinton's blood from his gunshot wound added to the ever reddening look of her outfit, as she pressed forcefully against him, her forearm across his throat.

"I will gladly have your blood on my hands, and your dead body, too, if you don't tell me what you injected him with!" Full of abhorrence and anger, she leveraged her arm against his throat, cutting off at least part of his air supply.

"Colonel, stand down!" her Commanding Officer, who had made his way fully into the room from the window, ordered.

"He won't do us any good dead," he explained. "I'll work on getting info from this bastard," he insisted. In a slightly softer, but still urgent, tone, AJ added, "Harm needs you."

Mac knew the Admiral was right. She was too angry for a practical interaction with the malicious man. And someone had to tend to Harm before an ambulance arrived. Suddenly realizing that help needed to be summoned, Mac released Clinton, letting him slump to the floor.

"We need to call …"

"Already done," said Sturgis, who had made his way upstairs by this point. "An ambulance is on its way." He held his cell phone to his ear, apparently still on the line.

Mac hurried back to Harm. She noticed that the syringe had not fully been emptied, and not wanting to risk any more of whatever chemical it was to enter Harm's body, she grabbed the silver needle itself as close to Harm's chest as she could get with her thumb and a finger and carefully yanked it out of him without pressing on the plunger.

She dropped the syringe to the floor on her side and then lifted Harm's head to try to get a response.

"Harm? Come on, open your eyes for me," she pleaded.

She got no response and wasn't satisfied with having just her hand under his head. She needed to hold him, so she somehow managed to hoist him up enough to get her bent legs under his back, and she sat, cradling his head in the crook of her left arm.

"You're gonna be okay, alright, Harm? Help is on the way." Her right hand caressed his battered face examining his new injuries. She scanned his body, looking to make sure he wasn't shot. After all, she had heard two gunshots.

As far as she could tell, there was no telltale pool of blood from a bullet. But Harm was bleeding a lot from the wounds on his head.

He had been though so much abuse. "You've come this far, Harm. Don't give up on me now."

Harm's eyes fluttered open just a tiny bit.

"That's it, Harm." Mac was encouraged by seeing his eyes briefly register with hers. "You stay with me," she coaxed him.

His eyes fell closed again.

"You stay with me!" Mac repeated, this time as a command. "Harm, come on. Stay with me." Now she was pleading.

Water began to fall from Mac's eyes, providing a much-needed emotional release. A big salty drop landed on Harm's forehead, clearing a spot of the blood away to reveal his bruised and swollen skin. As another tear trickled down her cheek, Mac unthinkingly wiped it away with the back of her hand, smearing a reddish brown color across her face. It didn't matter. She was covered in blood at this point, and an increasing amount of it was Harm's.

She prayed that he would make it through. She needed him to stay alive. She needed him - Period.

Of the three men whose blood she literally had on her hands at the moment, it was Harm's fate, if his blood ended up being on her hands metaphorically, that would kill her.

"What can I do?" she asked quietly, trying to put pressure on some of his head wounds.

Sturgis noticed some clean cloth in Clinton's bag and tossed it to Mac so she could use that. She gratefully accepted and made quick work of applying it as best she could to slow the bleeding. But it was that injection to his chest that had her most concerned. Harm had already been drugged, beaten, electrocuted, and now poisoned with who knows what in that injection … How much could his poor body withstand?

"Harm, you need to stay tough, okay. It's over; he's not going to hurt you anymore. … But I need you to keep fighting … to stay with me … I still need you."

She fell silent then, opting to just cuddle him close and tend to his wounds the best she could. She occasionally pulled his head up tightly, but gently, to her chest and kissed his hairline. After one of the times she had done this, her eyes closed and her lips found their way near his ear. Without thinking, she whispered, "I love you."

TBC ...

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A/N - I'm hoping that you are somewhat satisfied that help has arrived and Clinton has been subdued, because this is where I'm leaving you until I have the time and inspiration to write more. I know there are still questions to be answered. The next part of this story will start with a new scene in a new location. And just to prove that I'm not being mean, I will go ahead and tell you that Harm will survive this story ... one way or another.

Thanks for all of the reviews!