CHAPTER 19 - Weak

When I wake up I'm not in my bed or his. There's a light whirring sound coming from the area to my left and upon inspection, I realize I'm in the hospital.

Fuck. I hate this place. The sights, the smells, the rough sheets I'm wrapped in and the stupid gown I'm likely wearing. How I got here lives in flashes of memories I'd rather forget but, this isn't a dream I can simply wake from.

I passed out and although I did wake up, my want to ignore the episode was met with resistance by my lover.

We argued and I said various insults I'm sure will pull us apart forever. It was like another woman had taken my place, this one crazed and fueled with hatred until the migraine began again. I was in and out of consciousness when Harm drove me to emergency and faintly remember the doctor wondering about the bruising over my body, asking if they needed to use a rape kit.

I can't remember much after that but do recall laying on a hard table inside a machine that sounded like a plane was taking off.

"Hey." Harm. An odd warmth radiates from my hand that his large palm is covering. It's euphoric, this feeling I get when my eyes focus on him. God, he looks exhausted and the light in those beautiful blue eyes is completely gone. I did this to him, destroyed another good man and although I've tried not to cry in front of my partner, I'm too weak to stop it.

It's that gut wrenching, ugly crying that leads me into his arms. I want to fight, scream and tell him to leave me alone because, after my mother left, I vowed never to let anyone see me cry. But, it feels cathartic to be so vulnerable in front of him. The warmth of his body is like a balm that soothes whatever has been happening to me.

He gives me comfort without asking why I've broken down and I'm grateful for it because I wouldn't be able to explain how or why. I still hate being this weak, especially around a person who has been an enemy as much as a confidant. "I don't like being vulnerable around you."

Harm sighs and tightens his hold on me. "You're not vulnerable."

"I'm weak."

"You're not weak either, Mac." He pulls away to look at me and as usual, the pad of his thumbs wipe away any stray tears. "You're strong, stronger than me sometimes."

"I don't think so."

"Well, I know so. Besides, you've seen me cry too. It's a natural response when you're going through something." He swallows hard and I can tell he's hoping the right words were said. I love his positivity, his desire to fix things and when he pulls me back into his arms, I can't help the fresh wave of tears - I won't try to stop them from falling.

Harm stands at the far end of the room quietly listening when the doctor asks, yet again, if I've been sexually assaulted. "No. I'm a Lt. Colonel in the Marine Corps and-"

"Ms. MacKenzie…"

"Doc, I know what it looks like and I can only tell you that I was assigned to a classified investigation with the CIA. The bruising is a parting gift from a very dangerous man who was finally taken off the streets. If you like, I can put you in touch with the Deputy Director of the CIA who will corroborate my story. Commander Rabb did not assault me if that's what you're implying."

The man seems satisfied and so does the nurse who stands by his side. I am grateful that they're thorough and can't imagine how many women may have walked through their doors with a different story to tell. "So let's move on to why you're still here. Have you recently hit your head? Maybe during your uh…assignment?"

"No. Why?"

"Your CT is negative and when you were admitted you complained of sudden, severe headaches and a dizzy spell. Except for the obvious bruises, you appear to be in good health, your labs were perfect. My next conclusion is possible a traumatic brain injury that has gone undiagnosed."

"Traumatic brain injury?"

He nods slowly. "A concussion. Even a minor one."

Out of the corner of my eye I see Harm move closer. "We had that mechanical issue with that plane in South America, remember? The hard landing?"

Hard landing my ass! It was a crash and I never hit my head nor did I black out although I wished I had. My heart races just thinking about that inbound Stinger that only missed us due to Harm's evasive measures. The old plane could not take the powerful maneuvers which stalled the engine and turned us into nothing more than a glider. We drifted towards the trees, eventually crashing through the brush, tearing the wings off the fuselage.

I was conscious for the whole terrifying ride and once I realized nothing was broken, I found my partner worse for wear. The military taught us both to stay at the crash site but seeing Harm unresponsive made me rush to find help. "I never lost consciousness. Never hit my head."

"Did anything happen before?" Harm asks as he touches a spot on his forehead. "You had a cut on your forehead and Gunny mentioned something about a car accident."

"No, I…Yeah. Yes…Yes there was a "car accident." Not a crash but an explosion when I rushed off to rescue Victor Galindez.

Webb tried to dissuade me from my little mission but he wasn't a Marine. It was never ingrained in his system to never leave a man behind. Not to say that it was a complete failure - Victor escaped but we were captured. One minute I'm yelling for Gunny to hurry and the next…BOOM!

I didn't actually feel the explosion, just the eardrum of my right ear partially perforating and then nothing. I don't remember blacking out or being pulled away from the vehicle. My first memory was the cool water splashed on my face as I lay on my back on the rocky ground.

The headache that followed was excruciating but I needed to stay coherent in case there was a fighting chance for Clay and me. "There was a car wreck of sorts, I blacked out and came to some time later."

"Have you experienced headaches since?"

"From time to time."

"Fatigue?"

I nod slowly, always believing the exhaustion was work related. Harm's absence saddled us all with extra caseloads that Imes' blunder made far worse. My hours were stretched and even the weekends were no longer my own for a time. "Some."

"Have you been irritable?"

I snort, "Sometimes I've been downright nasty, doc." The words I spewed at Bud sting a lot and I dearly hope he never took a single one to heart.

The doctor frowns, then glances at Harm and then back to me. "How've you been sleeping?"

Insomnia has always plagued me. Even from a young age there were times I just couldn't sleep. A pediatrician once told my mother I had an overactive mind, that I would get over it the older I got. It never went away but I must admit that my cycle had become far worse after Paraguay. "There's times I don't sleep for days and when I do…I've lost a whole weekend just sleeping. Like I can't get enough."

"You never told me that." Harm says and the look in his eye is concerning. "You think she's had a concussion, doc?"

"Yes. It won't show up in a CT but the repercussions of never seeking treatment can wreak havoc on the patient."

"But it's been months, nearly six and-" I try to argue but the doctor stops me with a wave of his hand.

"It can last for a year or longer." He glances between me and Harm, clearly knowing we both hide a secret neither of us can tell. Paraguay is still classified and will always be a gray area of my life that I need to carefully traipse around. "From what I can gather, I am going to assume your assignments left a significant amount of PTSD as well."

"It's been discussed, yes."

"I'm going to put in a referral for a neurologist and also a psychiatrist. You'll need therapy, a few times per week to fully heal the brain trauma. I suspect you haven't had much down time since the assignment?"

"None. A lot of things went wrong and I found it was better to keep my routine which, as a lawyer, can be stressful as is." Clearly, I made the wrong choice.

…..

The ride to my apartment is mostly silent. Only the smooth sounds of light jazz play from Harm's radio. He hasn't spoken much at all since the doctor's visit just been my strength when I felt I had none.

"I should have known you had a concussion." He says quietly while stopped at a red light. Harm's hands grip the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles go white. "Back in Paraguay, I should have known…You weren't you."

"Neither were you. We nearly died and instead of being grateful we were just nasty to one another."

Harm's hand takes mine and the second the light changes, he pulls off the road and into a parking lot. The serious expression on his face is a little intense but he never lets go of my hand. "Before the CIA cleared me to fly, I was put on, what the agency called a 'concussion protocol.'"

He tells me it was a standard test for officers out in the field and, if several concussion symptoms were present, specialized therapy and medication were offered to the patient. "I ticked most of the boxes: headaches, dizzy, irritability…took a few weeks before they let me fly a plane."

"Did it help?"

Harm nods, "Yeah, Mac. Except for the irritability, I was still pissed over you and me." He looks down, casting his head in shame. "I just never realized all that snipping and irrational behavior was because we were both suffering the effects of a concussion."

I turn my hand over, threading my fingers through his. "We can't change the past but now that I know what's wrong, we can look forward to the future."

"I'd like that."