A/N: Another Trust update. Not a very Christmassy story, is it!

Trust

Chapter 23: I'm Not Sorry

Mac awoke with a start, yelping in pain when she put too much pressure on her tailbone. She was sweaty and her heart was pounding, the result of a familiar nightmare.

Sadik.

For a dead man, he was quite an active part of her life. She generally had two to three nightmares a week about him, some of them taking place in Paraguay, some about the moment she killed him. He haunted her and probably always would; she'd killed before but never in cold blood, not like that.

Webb told her it wasn't in cold blood. She'd ended Sadik for him. For Harm too, she'd told him, but he'd just rolled his eyes. Harm only temporarily lost his hearing and balance. That was nothing compared to what he'd been through.

It was after that conversation that Webb had asked her something that still chilled her. He'd leaned down, lips to her ear, while she sat on her couch dazed and half in shock. She had showered and then wrapped herself in a fluffy robe, wondering if Webb's caña could do for her what vodka had in the past.

She'd expected him to kiss her cheek or behind her ear, but instead, with his cloyingly sweet breath, he asked her if she liked it, if she liked ending someone up close and personal, if she liked the rush.

No, she didn't like the rush, but she'd liked killing that bastard. She wasn't sorry by any means, and that's what tore her heart out.

Flashback:

"He's dead, Clay," she said as she opened the door to him.

"Are you all right, Sarah?" he asked, stepping inside but leaving the door for her to close. As she activated the deadbolt and slid the chain lock home, she saw a splatter of blood on her white sleeve. She felt a rush of nausea and swallowed hard, taking a few deep breaths before turning back to Clay.

"Yeah, I-I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I just want to shower. I'm going to shower, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, she walked past him and went down the hall to her room.

Her hands shook as she unbuttoned her top and her tears started to flow. She did want to talk to someone, and it wasn't Clay. She grabbed the phone by her bed and started dialing, but then tossed it viciously away from her. Harm wouldn't want to talk to her; he was probably still too dizzy and sick even if his hearing had mostly come back. He likely blamed her for the explosion that caused those issues anyway. Of course, there was also the fact that he didn't care for her anymore. What she really wanted was to talk to the Harm of the past, the one who would stop by just to talk, the one who would bring her her favorite coffee just because, and the one who agreed to father her child in five years. That five years was nearly up, and that deal was all but null and void. Even if she wasn't with Clay, she doubted Harm would even consider creating a child with her now.

Once she had removed all her clothing, she stepped into the bathroom where her image in the mirror caught her eye. The first thing she noticed was a myriad of bruises, the worst of which was a large, swollen, purple-red one on her shoulder and chest. Seeing it caused it to hurt more and her tears to flow faster. She turned away from the mirror and stepped into the shower, the hot water against her cuts and bruises causing her to whimper in pain.

She told herself she was merely relieved, that she was merely glad she'd ended the life of the man who'd done so much to her, to Clay, to Harm, but there was something that had already begun to eat at her.

She'd murdered Sadik.

By the time she'd fired that last bullet, he'd already been neutralized. His shoulder wound would have prevented him from firing his weapon and there'd been no need to kill him like that.

Director Kershaw had lamented that they could have gotten so much intel from the terrorist, and he was right. She shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have killed the man in cold blood. He couldn't have killed her, and yet she still shot him between the eyes.

She'd murdered him, and she'd liked it. Had liked it a lot, actually, and as she stared into the mirror, hair and skin wet from the shower, her lip bleeding, her eye swollen and bruised, she heard herself whisper, "I'm not sorry."

She wasn't sorry. She, who'd been taught by her uncle and the marines to be honorable had killed someone essentially helpless, and she'd liked it.

Mac's musing was interrupted by the ringing of her telephone, so she quickly slipped on her robe and went to answer it. "Hello?" she greeted tentatively.

"Mac?"

"Harm?"

"I heard…are you okay?"

"Okay?"

"Mac, I heard about what happened with Sadik."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I've still got a few friends in, ah, the CIA."

"Oh. Yeah, he's dead."

Mac wanted to tell him everything, to tell him how Sadik had lain there wounded at her feet, looking up at her, his eyes taunting. She wanted to confess how she'd closed them forever, but of course she didn't. She couldn't. He'd lose the last bit of respect he had for her, if he had any to start with.

"I know, but I'm asking if you're okay. Can I do anything?"

Mac sat down on her bed, tears once again slipping down her cheeks. "No, nothing, Harm."

"I could come over…"

"No!" she nearly shouted. "No," she said again, embarrassed that she'd sounded so vehement. "It's just that—"

"Webb's there, isn't he." For once, he didn't sound snide or irritated, and she felt guiltier than ever that she had to tell him yes.

"Well, good. I, uh, didn't want you to be alone. Um, I'll see you at work on Monday?"

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"Mac, maybe you should…okay, well, if you need anything, Mac…"

"Yeah, thanks, Harm. Thank you for calling. Bye."

She noticed both of them were hesitating to end the call, and there was a voice inside her that screamed for her to tell Harm everything.

But she couldn't, and with a flick of her finger, the call was ended.

Mac stayed sitting on her bed until Clay called her name. He was ready with an ice pack and a glass of water for her, a tumbler full of caña for him, and with a friendly arm about her shoulders, he led her to the couch.

Clay had turned on the stereo, and the soft strains of Debussy filled her apartment. She thought to herself that she really didn't like Debussy. It was too unstructured for her, and anyway, she really just wanted silence. Clay had offered her some food, but she'd declined, and now she sat staring straight ahead, images of her night playing out in her mind.

"What did it feel like?" Mac jumped, startled when her musings were interrupted by Clay's question.

"What?"

"What did it feel like to kill him?"

How did one answer that? Did she say it felt good because it did? Or that she'd only done what she had to do, even though she hadn't? Maybe she should tell him it was satisfying to kill someone who'd caused him so much pain and had most recently nearly killed Harm. No, she wouldn't mention Harm. Clay was already insecure enough about her former best friend, and it would do no good for him to know that her killing of Sadik was partly in revenge for hurting the man who'd saved her in Paraguay.

"Clay, killing is always hard."

"You liked it, didn't you."

"What?" Clay leaned in, his lips near her ear. "You liked it. It's a rush, isn't it? To be so close, to know that you are the one holding someone's life in your hands. It felt good, I know it did. I could see it in your eyes when you came in."

"I-I—Clay, I don't—killing is never easy!" she repeated, her heart pounding in her chest, almost as much as it had when she fired that final shot.

"But this one was easier than most, wasn't it."

"Y-yes. He hurt y-you."

"He hurt Harm, too. It felt good to kill him for that too."

She couldn't deny it. "Yes, it did." Clay rolled his eyes.

"I wish it had been so simple for me. I bet Harm already has his hearing back."

"I think so."

"Since he called and you answered, I expect you know he has."

"Well, yes, Clay. I'm sorry. It's been a rough night. I'm not thinking too clearly." Mac wrapped her arms around herself, shivering though the room was warm.

"Of course, you're not, Sarah. I shouldn't be talking to you about this now. Are you sure I can't get you something to eat? To drink?"

"Maybe some tea?" she asked, just to give him something to do. She needed a moment away from him. Clay nodded and stood up but turned around when he was only halfway to her kitchen.

"Sarah, I know what happened. I know you shot Sadik twice and the second time he was defenseless. I just want you to realize you didn't kill him in cold blood. You killed him for me, for what he did.

"I know, Clay, but I didn't have to—"

"No, you didn't have to shoot him between the eyes. But you did, and I'm glad. I know you are too. I know you, Sarah. I know you. You aren't sorry."

"Maybe I'm not, Clay, but that doesn't mean I liked it." Even though I did, she thought to herself.

"Sure, Sarah. I'd better get your tea." He turned back around, and as soon as he disappeared into her kitchen, Mac buried her head in her hands. What had she done?

She wasn't sorry, but she knew in that moment that she'd lost a part of her soul.

Mac carefully sat up, trying to keep pressure off her injured backside. Killing Sadik hadn't lessened the demons that still chased her. She knew they still chased Webb, and maybe that was why he'd acted the way he had when she told him she was pregnant.

No. There was still no excuse for what he'd done and said.

Mac wondered if Harm knew that she'd killed Sadik the way she had. He'd called her that night, and since he'd sounded concerned, she was fairly certain he didn't. They hadn't discussed it when she'd returned to work, though she felt his eyes on her often. The admiral had watched her carefully as well; she'd initially thought he was oblivious to her struggles after her tormentor's death, but he'd proven her wrong. He insisted she see a counselor, who very rapidly deemed her fit for duty after Mac said all the right things, and then Mac did her best to be the marine she'd been before Paraguay. That way Harm, the admiral, Bud, Harriet, and everybody else in the office wouldn't know she still suffered.

Mac's affair with Webb had intensified after that. Wild, rough sex allowed her respite from her dark thoughts about herself and Sadik, and having Webb tell her he loved her made her feel like she wasn't just another murderer. Sometimes Webb actually wanted to slow down the sex, to make love to her, but that was too much for Mac. She needed the furious sexual encounters because god knew she didn't deserve actual love making. Webb eventually understood that, and the two of them had been practically insatiable. Long nights made way for longer days, but she didn't care. As long as she was doing her job, no one else cared either.

The familiar nausea that occurred every time she thought or spoke of Webb began to rise up and she took a few deep breaths until it passed. Thinking about sex with him made her feel terribly dirty and she felt the need to shower. Struggling a bit given her cracked tailbone and injured wrist, she eventually managed to get herself off the couch. In the bathroom, she started her shower, praying it wouldn't be too difficult to step into the tub, then disrobed.

It was then that she saw herself in the mirror. There were obvious bruises from her fall, but given her nightmare of Sadik, all she could think of were the bruises left by her fight with the terrorist. Her heart began to pound and she felt dizzy, knowing she was sinking into another panic attack. She didn't have them often anymore, but this one was shaping up to be worse than usual.

She grabbed her robe and turned off the shower, then stepped out into her bedroom. She lay down on the bed, closing her eyes, then tried to slow down her breathing. She used some of the tricks her current counselor had taught her to beat back the anxiety, and eventually, she did calm. However, she couldn't keep thoughts of the circumstances surrounding Sadik's death from overtaking her mind.

Time had done nothing to diminish the disgust she felt toward herself for taking a helpless man's life, nor had it made her to actually regret killing that particular man. Anger rose up in her when she thought of how Webb had told her she'd liked killing him. She hadn't wanted anyone else to know that, but Webb understood her like no one else since the horrors of Paraguay. He was wrong, however, when he said it was a rush. It was a night that had broken something in her. Webb should have comforted her. He shouldn't have pulled her further into his darkness.

Panic started to settle into her chest again. Nausea was roiling up once more. She wished someone was there to hold her and pull her back from the abyss.

Her cellphone dinged and it startled her; she hadn't realized she'd brought it in here with her.

It was a text from Harm. He apologized for bothering her, but he had a question on a case…

She should probably call him back.

She quickly dialed his number, and he picked up on the second ring. "Hey, Mac, sorry to—"

"I killed Sadik." Long seconds passed before Harm finally spoke.

"I-I know, Mac."

"No, Harm. I murdered him. And I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry, Harm."

"Mac, honey…"

"Harm, can you…can you…"

"Do you want me to come over?"

"Y-yes."

"I'll be right there, Mac."

"Okay."

Mac hung up the phone, wondering what she had just done, wondering why she was letting Harm in again.

End Chapter 23