Chapter 21 - Run
The image of the man she loved exterminating her life was a burden too heavy to bear. Before the loud crash shook her apartment Mac closed her eyes tightly and forgave.
She was sure that Harm pulled the trigger but there was no blood and no pain, nothing at all other than her front door being repeatedly slammed into until it broke open.
A man she didn't know stepped through, heavy boots crunching over the splintered wood now scattered at the entrance. He scanned the apartment and quickly focused his attention on Harm who was now pointing the gun his way.
"Lenny." The former Naval Commander said the name with an anger and contempt she'd never heard before. As Mac opened her mouth to speak, the man took several steps forward and stopped only when Harm pulled the trigger.
But there was no deafening crack or a muzzle blast, just the sound of the hammer striking the pin repeatedly without ejecting a single round. The weapon had jammed.
"Shit." Harm cursed as he braced himself for impact as the man rushed at him. He dropped the gun, raised his hands and used his attacker's momentum to throw him to the ground. "Webb sent you, didn't he? You piece of shit."
"Fuck you, Rabb. I knew you weren't dead. I knew when that bitch disappeared on me that she was going right to you." Lenny glared at Mac who realized the man sprawled on her carpet was the same she'd seen following her in Tennessee.
She stepped towards him with palms balled into fists and a steely determination that was fueled by anger. But as Mac got closer an ear-splitting 'crack' made her take cover as the bullet sailed wide and hit the rear wall. Another one of Webb's goons had joined the melee and while his first shot missed, the second grazed Harm's bicep.
A third shot was wasted when all 6'4'' of muscle slammed into his midsection and forced the gun out of his palm. Harm sat astride him, fists connecting over and over even as the man begged him to stop.
It was Lenny who wrapped his arm around Harm's throat and as the former Naval officer stood, he propelled himself backward stopping only as they stumbled over Mac's coffee table, breaking it to pieces.
Mac reached for the discarded gun, cleared the misfire and took aim as the second attacker went after Harm. The bullet slammed into his back and instantly the man dropped to his knees, lifeless. But she couldn't shoot at the man called Lenny who was wrestling Harm, each man attempting to lock a limb and pull until something snapped.
There was a loud scream and then another. When Mac was able to get a clear view she saw the blood and lifeless eyes along with a knife shoved deep into Lenny's gut.
The second he stood, Harm knew there was something wrong with him. A cut on his left flank burned like hell and each time he inhaled, it only got worse. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, taking the dead man's pistol that had landed on the floor and pointing it at Mac. She too held a gun, his and from the look of the indicator, it didn't appear to be jammed any longer.
They stood pointing the weapons at one another for a breath and then it was Mac who lowered her arm and let the gun fall from her hand. "Harm-"
Maybe now he'd understand? Maybe now she could explain and make Harm see that she was never a threat to him. Instead his thumb pushed down on the hammer and his finger wrapped around the trigger when she opened her arms and took a step towards him. "Stop."
"Harm, please."
"Shhh…listen." It was a faint sound that echoed and quickly drew closer, the whining drone of sirens as they approached. "Police…Fuck." He needed to run. Precious time was ticking away the longer he stood deciding whether to do as Kitcher instructed or paving his own path.
As it was, Harm's hand began to shake as he continued to point the pistol at Mac. The pain on his side began to make raising his arm a kind of agony he could no longer ignore. Part of him wanted to leave her behind, the woman who betrayed him but the rational side of him knew a hostage would be required.
So he took the pistol with his opposite hand and waved it between Mac and the broken door. "Walk."
"What?"
"Walk, Colonel. Get moving, you're coming with me."
But she didn't outright listen. Instead Mac stood still, her arms coming up in surrender. "You don't need that weapon."
"The hell I don't." He snorted. She was still in uniform, still the perfect picture of a US Marine Colonel with enough knowledge in hand to hand combat to easily take a weapon from a wounded man. "I said move, MacKenzie."
A smarter woman would have stalled in hopes that the police would arrive sooner than later. But, in regards to Harm, Mac had long since stopped making excuses for her stupid desicions and instead walked out of her door and followed his instructions.
They descended down the rear stairwell and exited to the parking lot where a large SUV sat illegally parked in a handicapped space. Harm threw open the door, waited for Mac to sit and then hurried across to the driver's side - the barrel of the gun always aimed in her direction.
Sirens were closer, a block or two away when he navigated the vehicle onto the streets and away from the flashing lights.
He'd driven for less than twenty minutes when Harm sensed the feeling of Mac's eyes on him.
He used one hand to drive and the other kept the gun trained on her not that she seemed concerned about the weapon. What worried her the most was the blood that began to show through his blue t-shirt and was quickly spreading.
Mac could even smell it now, that nauseatingly rusty scent that made her stomach churn. She saw his hand press down on his abdomen and traces of the sticky substance coated his fingers. Harm was injured and it didn't appear that the wound was closing any time soon. "What?"
"You're hurt." She stated the obvious and braced herself for some sort of nasty retort that never came. Instead Harm drove them out of the city and onto the highway heading North.
The weakness began to hit him up the road when the feeling of blood seeping his shirt grew exponentially. He knew his attacker had swung at him with a broken piece of wood from Mac's table but he couldn't imagine it would have done this much damage.
It pinched and burned whenever he pressed a hand against it and, eventually an odd lethargy began to accompany the pain that made his body want to shut down. The seriousness of the wound was made evident when the vehicle swerved and barely avoided a ditch.
"Grab the towel in the back." Harm demanded figuring a thicker cloth could help slow the bleeding. He was surprised that Mac didn't question him, instead slipped between both seats and dug through a gym bag out of which she pulled a yellow towel that Harm immediately balled onto his side.
The act made the car swerve again, its tires screeching as it attempted to grip the asphalt. It was nearly impossible to hold the pistol, put pressure on the wound and drive. When Harm tried to steer with his thigh the car jerked violently and nearly slammed into another vehicle.
"Harm! Watch out!" Mac ignored the weapon he could barely hold and reached across, pulling the wheel so hard that it forced them off the road. "You're bleeding bad."
She tried to reach for him but Harm pulled out of the way as if her touch would hurt him. "It's a flesh wound, I'll be fine. Just stay on your side of the car."
"You're gonna kill us both if you keep going on like this."
Mac was right and the argument died on his lips when his head began to pound. "Fine. You drive." He hopped out of the driver's side and came around while Mac climbed over the center console to the driver's seat.
"Where we going?"
He was still holding the gun but with a grip far looser than before. Without needing to hold the wheel, Harm was better able to put pressure on the wound and stop the steady flow of blood until he could better assess the nature of his injury. "Pennsylvania."
"You don't need the weapon. You know you don't need it. You know me."
Harm stared at her and those amber eyes that captivated him now more than ever. She was being sincere and yet, the nagging voice at the back of his head reminded him that Mac was not to be trusted. "Do I know you? I knew a Sarah MacKenzie once and it turns out she betrayed me."
The vehicle was on the road again with Mac navigating the SUV through the light traffic. She turned to him for a moment and shook her head. "And you lied to me. You know I defended you to Webb, denied over and over that you'd ever turn and you did anyway. You're a traitor."
"And you're a spy, we're quite the pair."
Mac sighed heavily. He was right about her and the information MI6 dug up was spot on but she'd never spied on him or her colleagues. Her job had merely been to facilitate the CI with information they wouldn't readily receive. It helped save lives from time to time and gave Mac a purpose greater than just being a military lawyer. Her lies didn't feel so bad when it protected innocents.
"I wasn't sent to spy on you." She said quietly.
Irritable and tired, Harm raised the pistol again and waved it between Mac and the road. "Stop talking and just drive."
"Fine but whatever you think, whatever you believe, know that I still love you."
"Yeah well, love is a promise delivered already broken."
Harm still loved her too.
An hour away from Washington, the small airpark wasn't evident until the SUV passed the trees and a Cessna came in for a landing. Harm guided her past the main buildings and towards the hangar at the end of the runway where he told her to stop. The doors were easy to open and when Mac looked inside she was surprised that two of his most prized possessions sat side by side.
The bright yellow bi-plane stood proudly in the middle, blocks holding the wheels as if she might take off at any moment. To her left was his old Corvette, with the top up and shiny red paint that made it so beautiful.
She hopped back into the SUV and guided it inside as Harm commanded but when she ran around to help him out, the stubborn man had stumbled. His grip tightened on the door, the only thing keeping him upright as Mac reached out to steady him.
"I don't need your help." He shrugged off her hand and used the pistol to motion towards the hangar doors that needed closing. "Shut those, there's a bolt on the inside and a padlock. Hurry."
His orders grew tiresome as did the heartless tone Harm used when addressing her. Mac was treated like a subordinate and although his anger was understandable, she'd done nothing to deserve so much contempt. Mac felt vindicated when Harm stumbled yet again as he tried to climb the stairs on the right of the hangar and the blood soaked towel fell out of his grasp.
The steps headed up where she saw windows and imagined some sort of office like the one she'd seen downstairs. "Let me help you." He was out of arguments when Mac draped one of his arms over her shoulder and, together, they made their way upwards.
"A loft?" She said, in awe of the small apartment Mac saw when the door swung open.
"A safe house." Harm corrected as he maneuvered them to a bed that was prominently in the middle with the headboard just below a high window. Across the mattress were pale blue plaid pattern sheets with matching pillow cases, a throw folded and stretched across the end.
To the corner nearest the door was a tiny living room with a sofa and coffee table. In the back was a modest sized kitchen, next to it a half door which led to the bathroom. It was a quaint and neat space, something she could see him toiling over to suit his needs.
When she spotted a familiar latop sitting on a tiny round kitchen table her heart plummeted to her stomach. Was this place set up by MI6 or did someone in the CIA help Harm procure such a place? While she found it odd that two of his most prized possessions sat downstairs, her mind was blasted with endless questions she couldn't dare explain.
Harm was still holding the gun when she dropped him onto the bed. "There's a backpack, a med kit on the closet shelf. Bring it." She did of course and began to pour over an extensive set hat would make a corpsman proud. "Bastard stabbed me with wood from your coffee table. I think…I think I still have a piece inside. That's why I'm still bleeding."
Mac glanced down at his shirt as Harm raised an end with one hand. Blood had dried on some of his skin but the wound refused to close completely. "Take it out." He commanded and once again the pistol was pointed in her direction.
That would be her last straw. "No." In defiance she sat back and folded her arms across her chest daring him to shoot.
"No?"
"No. I'm not gonna help if you keep pointing a weapon at me. If you're gonna shoot me then do it…But you won't because you can't!" When she yelled his hand shook and the angry look in his eyes worsened. Harm ground his teeth while the thoughts of hurting her ran fleetingly through his mind. Mac was challenging him because she knew him. She knew he'd never hurt her no matter what betrayal Kitcher had wound into his brain.
Running was still a possibility and the idea to have Mac don a set of handcuffs was quickly quashed when he remembered his mother's old mantra 'Darling, you get more flies with honey than vinegar.' And like it or not, Harm needed Mac.
With a groan he uncocked the pistol and set it on the nightstand. "Fine…Now help me."
"Help me, please."
Harm rolled his eyes at her sing song voice and braced himself as Mac donned a pair of gloves and reached for cleansing fluid. "Please…owww!" He'd pass out five minutes later.