A/N: An update! Not sure when I'll update anything—I'm going on vacation! The best part—my two girls and I are taking the train to Montana. We'll be taking it from Fargo, ND to Whitefish, MT. I'm really excited about that—I used Whitefish, MT in my story Gone. I've actually never been there, and I'm thrilled to finally see it. And now, on with the show…

Trust

Chapter 20: A Scent of Memory

Mac stared at the white paper in front her, unsure of where to start. She absentmindedly chewed on the end of her pen for a moment, once again wondering why she was doing this, then finally started to write. She was a paragraph in when she realized she was trying to protect Harm's feelings by making excuses for his behavior. She was quashing her own feelings, and if they were ever to be friends again, if she were ever to trust him again…

But you don't want to trust him…

Well, maybe I do, or maybe I just don't want to feel all this anger and confusion anymore…

Mac tossed her pen down and crumpled up the paper she'd been writing on. She pulled out another clean sheet, and then wrote what was in her heart at that moment.

Dear Harm,

Thank you for writing me. I wasn't sure what you had in mind when you asked if you could write me a letter and I must say, I was a little surprised when I received it. I feel a little awkward writing you back when I know I can just pick up the phone and talk to you, but you had a good point. This way we can think about things before we say them and we can take time, as you said, to digest what the other has written. We haven't done so well talking in person, have we…

Harm, a lot has gone down in the last few years. I don't say this to make you feel bad, but I'm not sure we can salvage what we once had. There are times when I'm just so mad at you and I remember all the times you hurt me. Some of those times it was inadvertent, but just as many or more of the time, it was deliberate on your part, and I can't forget that. I'm afraid that if I do let you in it'll start all over and I just don't have it in me to go through any of that again. I know I've hurt you too, and I'm so sorry.

I'm honestly not sure where to start here…

I'm not ready to talk about the day I miscarried. I'm sorry. I've talked to my therapist about my feelings toward the baby, and I've talked to you a bit about that too, but I still haven't spoken to her about the day it happened. I just can't. Thinking about it makes me feel like the walls are closing in and I can't breathe. One thing I will say…thank you for going to my apartment even though I told you not to. I don't know how I would have faced everything if I had to see it again.

And now I guess it's time to talk about the "hard stuff" as you put it. Yes, it hurt me deeply when I found out about you and Singer. Why would you keep that from me? I would have helped you, you know that, don't you? Hearing about it from Agent Gibbs…well, it made me feel so many things. Hurt. Embarrassment. Anger. Sadness—even horror. Horror because for a moment I was sure you were the father of Singer's baby. Why else would you have hidden it from me? Of course, I know now you weren't the father, but worrying about that broke me. All I could think about was the baby deal and even though I know you didn't really mean for us to have a baby together, I still felt betrayed. I felt like you cheated on me…and I was mad at myself for feeling that way because of course you didn't cheat on me. I was so confused…so I was relieved when Admiral Chegwidden forbade us from visiting you in the brig. I didn't know how to face you or what to say to you. I was afraid I'd scream at you or cry or yell…and you didn't need that. You also didn't need to see my hurt…I didn't want you to have the satisfaction.

No, that isn't right…I didn't want you to know how hurt I was because then you'd have some power over me. I didn't consciously think that at the time, but during those sleepless nights in Paraguay before everything went crazy, I had plenty of time to ruminate over it all.

Harm, is this the kind of thing you wanted to read? Is it what you had in mind? I'm sitting here wondering if I've been too open. I'm not used to it, not from you nor from me. Then again, writing this has been rather cathartic. I'm afraid, though, that I won't be able to face you in person once you read this. It was difficult to write, and difficult not to try and minimize things.

I'm going to stop here for now. I'm exhausted and a bit emotional as well. One last thing, though…I know you want to talk about Webb. Harm, I can barely say his name without wanting to vomit. I can't talk about him now with you, other than to say it was a very dark time and it's left me scarred.

—Mac

Mac read through her letter one more time as she blinked back tears. It had been difficult to write, but, she acknowledged, it had been cathartic as well. Maybe Harm had something here with this letter idea. Taking a deep breath, she slipped the pages into an envelope and sealed it before writing Harm's name on the back. She tucked it into her briefcase and then decided to run herself a bath to relieve some of the tension in her shoulders that seemed to constantly plague her. Not for the first time, she thought she should install a whirlpool tub, but until that happened, she'd content herself with some of her favorite bath oils. Mac dug through the tiny linen closet in her bathroom, grabbing onto the first bottle she found…and then promptly dropped it.

A sickeningly sweet citrus smell filled her bathroom as the lid popped off and spilled the rich oil over her floor, and she could only stare in horror at it as it slowly spread over the tile.

Webb had given her the bottle. He told her he liked this scent better than her "regular" scent. And what did she do? She'd used it for him. She'd shoved her favorite oils in the back of the closet, only taking them out when she was alone. The funny thing was, Webb had always told her she smelled "so good." But then one night, he went to draw her a bath and she'd found him standing in the middle of the bathroom, the water in the tub rising to perilous levels, staring at a bottle of jasmine-scented oil in his hand.

"Where did you get this?" he'd asked her, and she'd told him she couldn't remember, because she really couldn't. That was hen Webb reached into the little closet and pulled out a little basket filled with lotions and creams, and yes, oils. "Are you sure?" he continued, and then flipped over a tag attached to the handle. To Mac, From Harm, it read, and Mac found herself blushing.

That had been a bad night.

Mac closed her eyes, and though she fought them, the memories swirled around her like the cloying scent of the orange oil at her feet…

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Sarah," Clay said as he set the jasmine oil down and finally turned off the water.

"I-I'm not embarrassed, Clay," she mumbled and looked away from him.

"You're blushing."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are, Sarah."

"Oh."

"Bath oil and lotion are rather intimate gifts from someone who's supposedly just a friend," he went on.

"It was just a gift, Clay. It didn't mean anything."

"Well, maybe not to you." He turned his head toward the tub briefly and then looked her in the eye. "Your bath's ready," he said, then left her standing alone in the bathroom.

Mac sat in the tub, feeling unsettled. She supposed bath items were a bit intimate to be giving a woman who was just a friend, when it came to Harm, well, that was just him. He probably recognized she liked the scent, and, to make her happy, he'd bought something pretty for her. He was a thoughtful man.

Or at least he had been…until she'd fucked things up between them. There'd been no birthday nor Christmas gift from him last year, and she'd shoved his gift into the back of her closet and then forced herself to forget it all. She'd bought her own jasmine oil, and of course, she'd just run out.

Mac sat in the tub until the deep water cooled, then sat a little more. She finally got out when she'd started to shiver, then reluctantly left her bathroom…and ran directly into Clay.

"Oh, sorry, Clay…I guess I didn't see you."

"I guess not."

She realized then that Clay was carrying a different little basket, this one also filled with lotions and oils.

"Clay, what's this?"

"Oh, just a little something I had delivered for you. Thought it was time for a change."

Mac gingerly picked out the largest bottle. "Clay, I-I appreciate this…but I'm not…well, citrus isn't really my favorite."

"Really? You just seem like someone who'd enjoy it. Here," he said as he set down the basket on her dresser and pulled the bottle from her hands. He twisted off the cap held it under her nose. "Smell it."

Mac did as he asked, thinking it could be worse, but it still wasn't her "thing." Still, though…he'd obviously spent a lot on her as the basket and its contents were quite lavish, and to have it sent over already…

"Oh, that's lovely, Clay."

Clay put the cap back on the bottle and smiled. "I knew you'd like it. Now you won't have to use Harm's."

Oh, so that's what this was about, Mac thought with a twinge of unease. "Yeah," was all she said, and then Clay led her to her bed.

"Did you sleep with him?"

Clay's voice broke into her sleepy haze. They'd made love twice, though there was more aggression from Clay than usual. She was fairly satisfied, and now she just wanted to sleep. "What, Clay?" she murmured before she yawned.

"I said, did you sleep with him?"

"Who?"

"Harm."

The mention of her former partner, her work partner, woke her completely and she sat up.

"Of course not! You know that!"

"Do I? I mean, the guy bought you that—that stuff."

"Is that what this is about? Clay, his mother probably picked it out for him! She knew that wasn't true, but a little white lie wouldn't hurt in this situation.

"Do you want to sleep with him?"

"Clay—"

Clay moved closer to her, and that was when she caught the aroma of Caña about him. He'd obviously gotten up for a drink or two…or maybe five while she dozed. Sure enough, she saw a partially filled glass on the nightstand closest to him.

"Clay, I thought you weren't going to drink here."

"Last time, I promise," he answered, then grabbed his glass and took a sip of his liquor.

"Clay…"

"Let me just finish this, Sarah. But you didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"I asked if you wanted to sleep with Harm."

Mac's mouth dropped open. "Why…why would I want to sleep with Harm? I'm with you."

"Now…but is this really where you want to be?"

"Clay, why are you saying these things? Of course, I want to be here. I want to be with you. We wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Well, maybe I'm just the backup for what you really want."

Mac was suddenly furious. She threw herself out of bed, covering her nakedness with a blanket they'd long since kicked to the floor. "Clay, what the hell are you talking about? I don't want to be with Harm. I want to be with you!"

"I just wish I could be sure, Sarah."

"Why aren't you sure, Clay? After what we just did…how can you doubt me?"

"Women fake it all the time."

Mac's eyes filled with tears. Why was he being like this?

Because he's drunk, Mac, a voice whispered in her ear. It sounded a lot like Harm's.

"I've never faked it with you, Clay!" she protested, her tears finally falling. Clay was suddenly beside her, his hand reaching out to rest on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. "I think you should leave, Clay."

"Sarah…"

"No! If you don't think you can trust me, you should go."

"Sarah, Sarah…I do trust you. I do. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

Mac felt herself being pulled into Clay's embrace. She wanted to pull away, but Clay kept whispering apology after apology, and it was obvious he was sincere. She wrapped her arms around him, and when they both calmed, he led her back to bed and essentially tucked her in. He slid in beside her, but before he lay back down, he took another sip of his drink. Mac, exhausted by the emotional battle they'd just engaged in, didn't notice that, and when Clay leaned down to kiss her, the liquor still on his lips fell into her mouth. Her eyes flew open in shock, but Clay had already turned himself over, his snore telling her he'd instantly fallen into an alcohol-induced slumber. She lay in the dark, trying desperately not to gag. Her efforts were a dismal failure, and soon she was rinsing her mouth with mouthwash that once again left her tongue burning to cover the taste of vomit and alcohol. When she walked back into the bedroom, she saw the bath products Clay had bought her sitting innocently on her dresser. She picked up the basket they rested in and took it into the bathroom, shoving Harm's gift to the back of the closet before settling Clay's gift on the shelf in front of it. She supposed she'd better use Clay's oils from now on. She didn't want a repeat of tonight, and the orange oil wasn't the worst, she supposed.

The next morning, Clay didn't mention their conversation about Harm, and in the shower, she used the bodywash from his basket, then massaged in the strongly scented citrus lotion, telling herself that as long as Clay liked it, it was okay with her.

Clay did, of course, like it, and from there on out, the scent of citrus followed her.

Mac was startled out of her fugue by a splash of water at her feet. With a cry, she realized the tub had overflowed, the fast-flowing water overcoming the efforts of overflow drain. She turned off the water, then gazed down at the oily mess on her floor. The scent made her gag, and she knew she'd better clean it up as fast as possible. She didn't want to use her good bath towels on the spilled oil, knowing she'd never be able to wash the scent completely out of them, so she grabbed some old dishtowels from her kitchen. As she headed down the hall to her bedroom again, the sound of the phone ringing stopped her in her tracks. Somehow, she knew who it was, and sure enough, when the greeting on her machine ended, Webb's voice filled her apartment.

"Sarah, pick up the phone now. You can't avoid me forever."

Clay said more after that, but Mac had nearly sprinted down the hall to get away from him. She ran directly to her bathroom once she was in her bedroom and, forgetting the spilled oil and water, she stepped in it and promptly slipped, her bottom landing hard on the floor. She'd tried to catch herself, but instead only succeeded in hurting her wrist as well. The sweet scent of the oil surrounded her, and all she could do was cry into her hands.

"Hey." Harm looked up to see Mac standing in his office doorway. She looked tired, and his protectiveness toward her welled up in full force.

"Hey, Mac. What can I—"

"I wrote you back." She stepped forward and held an envelope out to him. He accepted it, and now that she was closer, he could see she looked more than tired.

"Mac, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Maybe, uh, maybe read that when you get home, okay?" She turned away from him before he could answer her, and he could tell by the tenseness in her body and her careful gait as she left his office she was in pain. He stood up from his desk and called after her.

"Mac?" Mac didn't stop walking, and Harm could only stare after her, worry filling his heart.

End Chapter 20