Chapter 4 - Walk Of Shame

At first I didn't know where I was. There's a sliver of light reflecting against the wooden rafters of an unfamiliar ceiling. My body is lethargic almost as if I'd spent the night imbibing in my most favorite spirit. But, I don't drink any more and haven't had the urge no matter how badly the nightmares from Paraguay kept me up at night.

There's a telltale ache between my thighs and when I bury my head into the pillow it's the scent of him that has me sitting up straight.

Fuck.

What have I done?

I wonder but the memory floods my thoughts and fills in every salacious act. I wanted this, didn't I? Why else would a woman show up to a man's house wearing a trench coat with nothing but a satiny camisole beneath?

I remain silent, barely breathing so my hearing can identify the sounds inside his loft. That's when I realize I have a comforter tucked around me and the heels he insisted I kept wearing during our tryst are no longer on my feet.

It's perplexing to think he'd tuck me in, make sure I was warm and comfortable but, I figure it's the guilt that motivated him and not any emotion of caring or love. We're way past those sentiments and as I inch to the edge of the bed the sounds from the kitchen alerts me to his location.

Fuck! I'd hoped to slink away and never see him again, any easy feat seeing as we no longer work together. I scrub a hand across my face and as my eyes focus on his room, I find my clothes. The cami, underwear and slacks are neatly folded in a small stack on the edge of the bed. I don't know what to make of this or why he'd even care.

I don't want to stay in his loft more than necessary but my skin feels sticky and the need to use the facilities is paramount. When I pad into the bathroom I am confused by another sight: a thick folded blue towel with its matching wash cloth resting on top of the toilet seat. Above the small terry cloth was a travel sized bottle of body wash and a brand new toothbrush still in its packaging.

The body wash is mine, one that I'd left behind last year when my building's plumbing was on the fritz and he offered his shower and a hot meal. Why does such a small gesture make the butterflies flutter in my stomach? And when did the tears begin to fall from my eyes?

Damn him! Damn him to Hell! This is just another method of control, a way to humiliate me more than I've already been. Nevertheless, I accept Harm's challenge, use the bathroom and shower in record time.

Before long I'm semi dressed - my coat and heels are nowhere to be found - and I straighten my spine as I take the three steps down to the living area. It feels like a walk of shame that I take with as much dignity and decorum as possible.

It's childish to pretend I don't see him. Harm's propped up on a stool, reading the morning paper. I try to be quiet as I slide into the heels he placed by the door and am a second away from grabbing my coat and escaping when his voice makes me stop.

"So you're just gonna walk out and ignore me?" He raises his head up and offers me a gentle grin - one of those that makes me weak in the knees. Damn him to hell!

"Yeah, well. I don't have time for chit-chat, some of us still have a job." The words hit him hard, a low blow that knocks the wind out of Harm and I'm too ramped up on adrenaline to care that the grin was now replaced by a scowl.

"Well, not until Monday you don't."

"What?"

Harm hops off the stool and shoves his hands into his pockets like a little boy who knows he'd be reprimanded. "I called Chegwidden, let him know you wouldn't be back until Monday."

Chegwidden? I'll kill him. Of all the intrusive, backstabbing acts this man has perpetrated against me - "Why? What in the hell gives you the right to interfere with my life? You, Harmon Rabb, are a petty, nosy son of a bitch!"

"What day is it?" He didn't wince and never backed off. If anything Harm has slowly moved until he was standing in front of me. "Tell me, MacKenzie, what day is it?"

Here's the thing: my internal clock that hadn't failed me in decades stopped working in Paraguay the second Sadik bombed our suv. I know I hit my head and my vision was swimming a bit. That cartoony trope about seeing stars? It's real and so are the migraines that don't let me sleep at night.

But, I can't tell him I'm broken or just how deep the cracks are. I don't want his pity or to have those beautiful blue eyes looking at me with concern. I want his scorn, his hatred so that my heart can completely break when he and Catherine welcome his child. "Wednesday morning."

Harm doesn't seem appeased and shakes his head disapprovingly. "It's Thursday. You've been asleep a whole day."

No.

That can't be right. Even in my past drunken stupors I'd never skipped a whole day. Annoyed, I march to the island and roughly grab the newspaper, crumpling an edge. My eyes scan for the date on the upper right hand corner and… he's right.

Shit. I hate when he's right because Harm will belittle me for it and my humiliation will crank up exponentially. Maybe, just maybe it'll be good for me as the impetus to fully rid these left over feelings I have for him. "That doesn't give you any fucking right to call my CO!"

I try to slap him but it's not without fail. I'm tired and have been for months, the muscles I worked hard to develop are nearly gone and my reflexes are not what they once were. It's evident when my hand misses his cheek and my body teeters so oddly Harm catches me before I hit the edge of the island.

His arms wrap around me protectively, a familiar comfort reminiscent of simpler times before our relationship became so complicated. I want to thank him and nearly do until my goddamned pride makes my cheeks burn bright red and my hands push against the wall of his chest.

"Sarah." My name is soft on his lips, a tone of concern that forces me to feel something I'd rather not. Harm doesn't let me pull away, choosing to pull me closer until I can't fight him anymore. "Sarah, please."

"Don't call me that." I try to struggle again but it's useless - I'm too weak. All that's left is for me to cry, my eyes already burning from unshed tears and with another, softer attempt, I beg for him to let me go. "Don't you fucking call me that!"

He does only because Harm realizes his grip is hurting me and once freed I make a beeline for the coat rack. "I have your keys, Mac."

"Give them to me." My voice cracks and I turn away so he can't see the tears I roughly brush away with the back of my hand.

"I will but answer a few questions for me first. Simple 'yes' or 'no' answers will do."

"What questions?" It's curiosity that makes me stop and turn towards him with the trenchcoat hanging loosely from my arm. The intensity of Harm's gaze is a little frightening at first until he lets out a shaky breath and I realize that the pilot with nerves of steel is scared. He's nervous and for some reason, it makes me feel so guilty.

"Are you with Webb? Yes or no?"

"Harm."

"Yes or no." He insists and I wonder if he's broken a lawyer's most cardinal rule: A seasoned attorney doesn't ask questions without knowing the answer and I realize someone may have tipped him off to the fallacy that is mine and Clay's relationship. Funny, it wasn't that long ago Harm was snidely making fun of "pillow talk" under the assumption I was actually sharing a bed with the spook. I might be broken but have more dignity than to sleep with Clayton Webb.

"No." I say, my voice attempting to sound strong but wavering a little.

He breathes a sigh of relief and it fuels his next question. "Did you ever date him?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

"Good God, no."

He sighs again and finally lets me go. Like a bird who's been caged all her life, I don't leave. It's intriguing how he paces back and forth, fighting his own demons. "Did you mean it? What you said outside the hotel in Paraguay? Never?" Harm emphasizes like I haven't replayed that whole conversation over and over in my head only to regret it. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes and no."

"Yes and no?" He parrots. "What the hell is that supposed to mean!?" He's yelling now and I wince at how quickly his soft voice turned harsh. "Tell me, Mac!"

I came back for this, didn't I? Why else would I have sat in my car outside of his loft, waiting like some sort of stalker. I walked up his steps needing answers to questions I didn't dare ask and now, I'm not even sure where to start. "You have Catherine now, a baby on the way. Why do you care about me and Webb or that one-sided conversation in Paraguay? We had our - way overdo - fling, let's move on from it."

"I'm not with Catherine." He says, after several long moments. "And the baby isn't mine either."

Harm looks relieved and is staring at me waiting for a question I don't ask. It suddenly all clicks into place, all the bits and pieces that went awry before the Paraguay assignment was even dropped in my lap. There was a familiarity between Catherine and Clay that I wrongly believed was admiration; a little hero worship on her part.

I should have seen it for what it was, a failed attempt at hiding an inappropriate relationship by two persons who couldn't be any less incompatible. "It's Webb's, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And they're still together." An obvious reason why he was losing interest in me. He had a woman and she was carrying his child - a baby spookster that will likely run around talking into a sneaker phone.

"Working on it, according to Catherine."

"So you and her-"

He frowns, "One night, three months ago that we both regretted the following day. I needed to get someone out of my system."

Me. "Did it work?"

"No."

"Oh." I don't know what to say. I guess I should be flattered that I'm not so easy to shake off but, I can say the same about him. "I didn't come here tonight just to ask for your help."

There were ulterior motives. Why else would a woman wear a trench coat that makes her look like she's wearing nothing underneath? I took great care styling my hair just right and using the correct mix of makeup to hide the dark shadows under my eyes. I wanted to feel sexy, something I haven't felt since Paraguay and I wanted to be sexy for him. I didn't anticipate what would happen.

Harm cracks a soft smile as his eyes follow the lacy neckline of the cami. "A woman doesn't wear that to see a guy she isn't interested in….are you interested?"

"Are you?"

He rolls his eyes but that smile doesn't fade from his lips. "Don't answer a question with a question, counselor."

It's hard not to consider all that transpired these last six months. "Seventeen unanswered messages, eighteen but your machine was full."

"Yeah, I never listened." He admits, dropping his gaze to the ground. And here I thought he deleted each one, laughing at me while I begged for forgiveness. "Should I listen?"

"You should but, not today." I can't bear to hear my own voice or see the expression on his face when I desperately asked him to call me back. "I'd better go."

He doesn't stop me and I'm both sad and relieved when Harm stands there, his hands deep inside his pockets. Shadows fall across his face, a myriad of emotions for a man who doesn't know what he wants. After today we both know we won't speak again - the tension has been relieved and replaced by something less tangible. I still love him and always will but, this isn't the time or place for us.

I spot my heels by the door, slip them on and hesitate for just one breath before I unlatch the locks and walk out his door.