A/N: I'm back! Don't worry—I'll work on Miracles next. I'm ready to be done with that one! Before writing this chapter, I went back and revised/edited the previous chapters. They needed it…lord, the continuity errors alone! Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter.

Trust

Chapter 13: Painful Memories

Flashback…

She could still taste it.

It was just a drop, he said.

I was just happy to see you and I forgot, he said. You get more alcohol in your mouthwash.

Except her mouthwash didn't have alcohol in it.

Mac spit said mouthwash into her sink. She'd swished it around in her mouth so long her tongue burned and no doubt she wouldn't be able to taste much for the next day or two.

Except she could still taste it…

Whiskey. Whiskey like her father used to drink, although she was sure Clay's brand cost more than her father's monthly salary before he drank away the best job he ever had.

She'd gotten home from work a little early today; Clay was taking her to some gala hosted by a friend of his mother's, and she'd wanted time to get ready. She knew Clay would be waiting for her, which was fine, although she wished she could get all dolled up by herself. She found that sort of thing relaxing—those after work moments when it was just her and the quiet while she washed her face and unwound. She also enjoyed putting on her makeup in the mornings, and when she had the opportunity to go beyond the day-to-day, she reveled in it. Clay was bound to interrupt that. Men just didn't get it…

As soon as she stepped in the door, Webb rose from her couch and crossed the room. She ignored the glass in his hand and the way the ice clinked in it as he moved, thus she also missed the brief swallow he took as he approached and kissed her. It started with just a press of his lip to hers and then they opened, hers following suit.

That's when it happened…

The whiskey she didn't know was in Clay's mouth hit her tongue as it dripped into her mouth. The taste of it made her stomach lurch and she ripped herself away from him.

"Clay? What…why…"

"Oh…I didn't realize…I'm sorry, Sarah. I was just happy to— "

She interrupted him by pushing past him to grab a tissue to spit in. It wasn't lady-like at all, but she didn't care.

Clay started making apologies laced with excuses and just to get away from him she made it sound sincere when she told him it was okay. She told him she was going to go get ready and could he please stay in the living room so she could surprise him? Clay smiled brilliantly and agreed, and then she casually walked to her bedroom, closed and locked the door, then rushed into the bathroom and lost whatever was left in her stomach.

And now she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, absolutely no desire to do anything, much less dress for a gala filled with pretentious people she didn't know and didn't want to know. But she'd made a commitment, and she always honored her commitments. Besides, she'd actually been looking forward to getting dressed up for a "fancy" evening, despite the pretention.

Mac turned away from the mirror, intent on sitting down at the vanity in her room to start her make up, but then she tasted that whiskey again. A second later she was vomiting bile into the toilet, after which she spent five minutes brushing her teeth until her gums were raw. More mouthwash followed and she swished it around even longer than before, until her eyes watered and her tongue felt shredded.

She couldn't taste anything for the next week, but at least she could no longer taste the whiskey.

"You were quiet tonight, Sarah."

Mac turned her gaze toward Clay. She'd been watching the city lights whiz by as their car sped toward Georgetown. "I was? Yeah, I was, I guess."

"Rough day at work?"

"Not really…I guess I'm just…tired." She turned back toward the window, knowing she hadn't lied to Clay. She was tired, but it was the cumulative fatigue of a stressful week, month, and year rather than just a sleepless night. Sleep was hard to come by sometimes, but it had been better in the last several days. Clay had been in town all week and his presence had been comforting. Somehow, other than those few minutes she took to wash the grime of day from her face, her want for quiet after Paraguay had morphed into a hatred of it. She mostly kept to herself at work, though to be fair, Bud and Harriet had been trying to engage her more. She took them up on their offers to join them for lunch about fifty percent of the time, usually when Harm wasn't in the office, and had gone to their house a couple of times to see little AJ and his baby brother. However, after an awkward afternoon when Harm decided to visit the little boys as well, she had avoided going over there. She missed the boys, especially little AJ, but had to content herself with the occasional sighting of them when Harriet had brought them by JAG. She didn't go anywhere with the JAG crew anymore. That left Clay.

At least Harriet understood; the younger woman never said anything, but Mac had noticed she brought them by the office more frequently and there had been a time or two that she'd made an excuse to come to Mac's apartment with the boys. Thank God Harriet always called ahead, though…

It took time to hide the bottles…

Lost in thought, Mac didn't hear Clay calling to her; it wasn't until she felt his hand on her shoulder that she came back to the present. "I'm sorry, Clay, what was that?"

"I, uh, I just wanted to say again how sorry I am about…earlier…"

"Oh…it's…don't…don't worry about it, Clay. It's okay." She started to turn away again, but he stopped her.

"No, Sarah…it's not okay." Clay's hand covered hers. "I promise…look, I know I've been drinking more…it's just…well, you know…but after tonight…look, I'm going to cut back. I'll keep it out of your apartment, okay?"

Mac blinked at him a moment. He did look so sincere, so contrite…quashing the thought that he'd only stayed sober for his mother tonight, not for his alcoholic…girlfriend, she turned the hand he held over so she could grip his. "Thank you, Clay. Please…let's not talk about it anymore. We're okay." She smiled at him and squeezed his hand as his lips stretched into a relieved grin.

"Okay, Sarah, and Sarah?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome?" She had no idea why he was thanking her now.

Clay chuckled softly as lights from the passing cars played over his face. "Sarah, I just wanted to thank you for being here, for being you. I couldn't have gotten this far without you and your support…and I just wanted you to know that."

"Oh," Mac answered, surprised. "I…well, I—I feel the same, Clay. You've been good for me too."

"I'm glad, Sarah. So glad."

Glad. She was glad Clay was in her life, that he was almost back to normal after having sacrificed so much for her.

So why was she so furious at him now?

Clay was leaving. As soon as they pulled up to her building, he'd walked her to the door, but then didn't follow her in. She turned back to him with what she knew was a desperate expression on her face, and deep down, so deep she could almost ignore it, she felt anger and embarrassment because of it. It embarrassed her even more when the desperation then came out in her words as well.

"You're not coming up?"

Clay shook his head. "No…I'm leaving on assignment tomorrow, early, so it would be easier if I just went home. I don't want to wake you up when I leave."

"Oh…I—I wouldn't mind that, Clay."

He smiled softly at her in the dark. "I know…but you need your rest, sweetheart. You have been looking tired lately."

"Oh…yeah, I guess…thanks, Clay."

"You're welcome, Sarah. Now, kiss me goodnight and go to bed. I'll call when I can."

Mac acquiesced, thinking Clay almost seem itchy to go. He really did enjoy being out in the field again, but he could at least seem more regretful for leaving her.

"Goodbye, Clay. Stay safe." She turned to go inside, hoping he wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes. They were just because she was tired after all, but of course, he called after her again.

"Sarah?"

"Yes, Clay?"

"I just wanted to say…you looked so…that dress, your hair…you are so beautiful, Sarah. I love you."

"I, oh, I l-love you…too…"

But Clay was already back at the car. There was no way he could have heard her response to him. He tossed her a casual wave, and then he was in the car, riding off into the darkness.

And now here she was, back in her apartment, alone, her back against her door.

Clay thought she was beautiful. Clay told her he loved her…

But she didn't care. He was leaving her. She'd gone out and bought a new dress, a black velvet gown that hugged her curves, highlighting her God-given assets while still being modest, a dress that flowed over her hips to the floor, along with new shoes that were probably the most expensive ones she'd ever owned. She'd gotten all of this for him, and she really had been looking forward to this evening. Instead, the evening had been tainted by by Clay's actions before it had even started, and now it was entirely ruined.

Slowly, Mac lifted herself from her door and walked to her bedroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and suddenly she was sobbing. She'd bought this dress for Clay. She had imagined them dancing together at the gala, charming the other guests, happy that for once she didn't have to be the stoic Lt. Colonel in the drab green uniform. She'd had images of the two of them coming back up here, Clay kissing her, unable to keep holding himself back from her as she'd requested in the previous weeks. She's felt so beautiful when she'd seen herself in the mirror at the dress shop, a feeling she hadn't had in so long. Today she would have let Clay take things farther, let him make her feel like a woman again, but instead…

Instead, she was just a sad, skinny woman in a dress too expensive for her, a woman once again desperate for the attentions of a man who obviously didn't want her…

No, that wasn't right…

He did want her.

He had been so happy to see her he'd forgotten to swallow the alcohol in his mouth.

He'd called her beautiful.

But he was leaving.

He told her he loved her.

But he was still leaving.

Suddenly, she couldn't stand the feel of her dress against her skin. Yes, he thought she was beautiful. Yes, he was always happy to see her. Yes, he always told her how much he enjoyed her company. But he hadn't said anything about her dress until he was about to drive away…

In a car with a driver paid by his mother…

A car he didn't have to control…

So he could have that bit of whiskey before he'd have to abstain in front of his mother…

That bit of whiskey he'd forced her to taste…

But she was beautiful…

Mac tore the dress off of her, ignoring the sound of fabric ripping and zippers breaking. She threw it to the back of her closet with enough force to cause the tendons in her shoulder to scream.

And then she was screaming into a pillow on the bed, missing Clay, being furious with him, longing to have him next to her, feeling the tingling of her tongue burnt by mouthwash left in her mouth too long, begging God to bring Harm…no, Clay…no…

She cried herself to sleep, waking four hours later after a nightmare she couldn't remember and, after using the bathroom and taking a shower, she calmly returned to her closet, picked up the lovely black velvet gown she'd worn for Clay, lamented over the broken zipper, slipped it onto a hanger, and then marched it down the hall to the trash chute, where it slid away from her and down into oblivion.

The shoes followed a moment later.

Present Day…

Mac took a few deep, calming breaths. She told herself again and again that the dark time with Webb was over, that those memories couldn't hurt her…

But they did hurt.

And that was okay. Of course, they would hurt. It was what she did with them that mattered.

Mac brushed her tears aside and stood. At her appointment today, she'd asked about counseling and had been given a name. She made a promise to herself to call as soon as she was dressed once more and had some water and something to eat. Mac made to go to her dresser to pull out some sweats, but the burnt-orange dress from today, lying in a heap on the closet floor, caught her eye.

She remembered Harm's words, his compliments. She wasn't angry about them anymore, but they still unsettled her. She didn't want to hear those things from him right now. He used to compliment her all the time…but it wasn't until Paraguay as he gazed down at her barely-covered-with-bubbles body that he'd called her beautiful. Over the years she'd longed for him to tell her that, to tell her he thought she was gorgeous, pretty…beautiful.

She no longer wanted that. Not now. Not after everything.

The memory of tossing that other dress down the garbage chute went through her mind again. She stepped toward her new dress, intent on giving it the same fate, but then stopped.

So what if Harm thought she looked pretty in it.

So what if he thought her hair was beautiful. She certainly wasn't going to shave her head…so why would she throw away a dress she loved just because a certain man liked it?

Why did his opinion matter at all?

It didn't.

Only her opinion mattered.

And she liked the dress.

She loved the dress.

She felt beautiful in it.

Mac stepped into the closet and picked it up. She slipped it back on, smiled at herself in the mirror, and then made the surprisingly easy call to her new therapist.

End Chapter 13