Deanne
APRIL 2007
0730 LOCAL
MACKEZNIE-RABB RESIDENCE
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
"Alright bud, let's get you cleaned up," Harm said as he laid Adam down on the changing table. He'd had an upset stomach the last couple of days, and Harm was sincerely hoping it was just that and not something more serious. The last thing they needed right now, on top of everything else, was for one of the kids to catch something.
"Daddy?"
As Adam began to whine, Harm looked over his shoulder to see Clara standing in the doorway. She was dressed absurdly in an obvious attempt to dress herself, wearing a pink sparkly skirt over her puppy-printed pajamas with a sneaker on the wrong foot and a cowboy boot on the other foot - at least that shoe was on the right foot.
"Yes, baby?"
On a better, less stressful morning, Harm would've taken the time to appreciate how adorable Clara looked, and perhaps even snapped a picture, but this morning was not one of those mornings.
"Is Mommy going to get out of bed today?"
Harm paused for only a second, having grown used to fielding strange and uncomfortable questions like that one over the past several days. The funeral had only been five days ago, and Harm remembered what it had been like to be a child navigating grief, so he was trying to have as much patience as possible.
"I don't know sweetie, she might."
Harm could tell by the way Clara was watching him that she wasn't satisfied with that answer.
"But what is she-"
Like a miracle, Trish appeared in the doorway behind Clara, placing her hands on the little girl's shoulders. "Your mom just needs some rest right now, she'll be better soon," she briefly shared a knowing glance with Harm before looking back down at her granddaughter. "Why don't you go down and have breakfast with grandpa?"
"But-"
"He fixed a bowl of your favorite cereal," Trish said, widening her eyes with enthusiasm. "And he really wants to see your outfit."
As Clara quickly retreated down the stairs, Trish walked into Adam's nursery. "I can do this," she said, plucking the fresh diaper from Harm's hand. "Frank and I can take the kids today."
Harm's eyebrows shot up in protest. Trish and Frank had been a huge help over the past couple of weeks - months really - but Harm was beginning to feel like they were being asked to do too much.
"Nope," Tirsh pressed a finger against Harm's lips. "I don't want to hear any protests. We're taking the kids back to our house after breakfast. You and Mac need the day to yourselves."
"But-"
"Harmon," Trish's tone was suddenly serious. "She needs you right now. The kids will be fine."
Leaving Adam with Trish and listening to Clara's voice as she excitedly explained to Frank what she was doing in preschool that day, Harm shuffled down the hall to his and Mac's bedroom. He was still in his socks and pajamas at a time of day when he'd usually already be dressed for the day, feeling stalled, oddly stagnant as his other half was in the throes of grief. He felt ashamed at his gut instinct to pull away, to avoid it all, but Mac was implicitly demanding of her solitude whenever she was feeling vulnerable, and there were the kids and handling condolences messages from everyone and still making sure everything in the house ran smoothly -
Not to mention, Harm had no idea what to do. He knew what it was like to grieve the loss of a parent as a child, but he had no idea what it was like to grieve as an adult. He knew Mac better than he knew anyone - sometimes it felt like he knew her better than he knew himself - but he had never seen her like this, and he was struggling to figure out how to reach her.
Mac was curled up on her side of their bed, facing the window but ignoring the early morning sunlight. Harm had opened the curtains after he'd gotten up as an effort to entice Mac to get up and see what a beautiful day it was. It was the middle of springtime, the start of California's best weather. Harm had always associated the misery of losing a loved one with the dead of winter, but now he unfortunately knew that grief wasn't weather dependent.
He wasn't trying to rush her grieving process, but he also knew that not leaving the bedroom for almost a week wasn't healthy.
Climbing into bed next to her, getting underneath the covers with her and everything, Harm reached over and wrapped an arm across her waist, trying to keep her anchored.
"Hey you," he spoke softly, talking into her hair. "How are you doing?
He'd stopped asking Are you okay? Because he quickly realized that was an absolutely useless fucking question.
Mac turned over to face him, tucking her head under his chin. He could tell she'd already been crying, which made Harm feel like he was going to throw up. Over the past several days, he'd advanced from the sight of Mac crying making him want to cry to the sight of it twisting his heart so much that it made him ill.
"I'm okay," she croaked, her voice hoarse.
Harm smiled softly. "That's good, babe."
God, he loved her. He loved her so, so much and hated Deanne Mackenzie for dying even though he knew she couldn't help it. No one could help it.
"You should be with the kids-"
"They're fine," Harm replied. He knew Mac was using her concern for the kids as an excuse to be alone at a time when she definitely shouldn't be. "My mom and Frank are taking them for the day," He reached down to tuck a lock of Mac's hair behind her ear. "It's just gonna be us, today. We can do whatever you want."
Mac chuckled dryly, reaching up to massage her face with her hands. "You don't want to be around me right now, trust me."
"No, I definitely do want to be around you right now," Harm corrected. "Need to, actually. That's part of the whole marriage thing. I'm supposed to be obsessed with you and worship the ground you walk on - you know, all that stuff."
Mac looked at him with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and raised eyebrows. "Even when I'm like this?"
"Especially when you're like this."
After seeing the kids off with Trish and Frank and delivering Mac her breakfast in bed, Harm decided not to push her too much and busied himself with some yard work. It was a tough balancing act, letting Mac know he was there for her without feeling as though he was coming off as suffocating.
Clippers in hand, Harm turned around from the row of bushes lining the backyard fence. When he saw Mac sitting on the back deck in her pajamas and robe, he almost dropped them. In an effort to not scare her off, he tried his best at nonchalance.
"Hey," he said, lifting his hand to wave.
"Hi," Mac held up her breakfast plate. It was surprisingly empty. "I finished."
Harm had been trying his best not to keep track, but he was almost positive it was the first time Mac had been able to clear her plate since before Deanne passed.
He grinned. "That's great!"
Mac returned his smile - it was a small smile, but he was grateful it was a smile.
When she heard the bedroom door click shut after Harm left her plate of breakfast, Mac immediately took the plate into the bathroom. She hadn't been able to clear a plate of food since the days leading up to Deanne's passing, and with the little she was able to eat she sometimes wasn't able to keep down, but today she was determined to change that. Still not completely trusting her stomach, Mac decided that eating at the bathroom counter was the safest option.
She didn't care if eating in the bathroom was unsanitary. Her mother was dead. She didn't really have room to care for much else.
It never failed to amaze her how much death put things into perspective.
Mac looked down at the plate Harm had prepared for her, sitting innocently on the porcelain next to the sink basin. It was absolutely packed with all of her favorites - scrambled eggs, strips of bacon, a bagel half with cream cheese and some strawberries. It was more than she would've eaten for breakfast on a normal day, but she supposed Harm was trying to make up for her lack of appetite over the past several days.
Just the sight of the plate made tears start brimming in her eyes. Here she was, being a complete basket case, and he's had to handle everything else himself.
It's only been five days, she had to remind herself. She leaned against the counter, resting her elbows on the edge. She picked up the bagel and tore a shred away from it, deciding that would be the easiest thing to start with.
Five days. It hadn't even been a week. It had felt like years. Eons, even. Mac rationally knew that things wouldn't be this bad forever, but she found herself unable to grasp any rationality and keep hold of it.
Her mother was dead. Every time that thought crossed her mind, it was like she was hearing it for the first time. She would be distracted by something for a few minutes, by something playing on TV or something her kids did or wanted to show her, but then the thought would come to her like a shock, and she would be dragged back to reality.
She couldn't hop on a plane and take the first new job offer that came her way, or hide behind a liquor bottle like she did all the other times she wanted to avoid something. This was something she would have to face head-on, and while she knew she would be better for it in the long run, the "right now" of it all was hell on earth.
But laying in bed with nothing to occupy her but her racing thoughts had proven to be a hell on its own, so Mac decided that today she would get up. She would finish her breakfast, keep it down, and get up and do something. Even if that "something" was laying on the couch instead of laying in bed, she would do it. She had the irrational thought that if she didn't get out of bed that day, she never would.
Also, because life was life, things kept moving even though Mac's world had stopped. She knew she would have to get up eventually, and she figured it would be better if she got up on her own accord rather than being forced to. She only had seven days of bereavement leave left, and she had an appointment with Dr. Lowry in two days - her first in almost two months.
Mac had started therapy shortly after reconnecting with her mother, seeing Dr. McCool at Bethesda on a biweekly basis, and she had been referred to Dr. Lowry when her and Harm made the move to San Diego. Dr. Lowry was a squared-away Air Force Colonel in her late fifties, and Mac had no doubt she would give her the tough love she needed to get through this. Mac truly appreciated how gentle Harm and Trish and Frank and everyone else was being, but she found that she was best motivated by someone putting their foot up her ass. And she was sure Dr. Lowry's foot would be going somewhere, considering Mac's extensive absence.
She'd stopped seeing Dr. Lowry when Deanne had seriously begun to decline. By that point they'd had enough time to sit with the terminal diagnosis, but Mac still naively believed they would have more time, and the time they did have went by too quickly. Whenever Mac wasn't at work or taking care of the kids, she was either with Deanne or worrying about her. There wasn't any room in that schedule for much else, even therapy.
As she finished the bagel, Mac couldn't help but think of that one month. Last September. They had one month between the time they brought Adam home from the NICU and when Deanne received her diagnosis. One month where they were the perfect family, all of them together.
By the time they caught the cancer, it was advanced. Mac had received a call in the middle of October from Deanne, who at the time was still living in Oregon. Turns out, Deanne had been having abdominal pain for the past several months, and it had reached the severity where she finally decided to consult a physician about it. That physician had recommended she get a second opinion.
Deanne had been vague on the phone, intentionally so, and Mac knew as she booked the last minute flight to Portland that something wasn't right.
She remembered the argument they'd had in Deanne's apartment living room after getting back from the oncologist. Mac was actually ashamed to admit it wasn't so much as them arguing but her berating her mother. She demanded to know why Deanne hadn't come to her sooner, why she had constantly rebuffed Mac's attempts to help her out, financially or otherwise. Why she hadn't thought to ask for help. Ever.
It was after that fight that Mac realized where she'd gotten her extreme, borderline harmful, degree of independence from. Joe Mackenzie had been a leech of a man; constantly needing help or money from someone, and grifting from anyone whenever he couldn't get that help willingly. Maybe Mac had grown up seeing his behavior and had subconsciously decided she would never ask anyone for help, or maybe she was just her mother's daughter.
She also remembered the aftermath of their argument. She'd snuck out to the front porch after she thought Deanne had gone to sleep. Mac called Harm, barely able to get the words out through her hysterical sobs.
However, Deanne hadn't been asleep. She'd overheard Mac's conversation with Harm and came out to join Mac on the porch after she'd hung up. Even in the moment, the irony wasn't lost on Mac. Her mother was the one who needed comforting, and there she was, comforting Mac.
It had taken some additional, infuriating coaxing, but Deanne came down to stay in La Jolla with Trish and Frank. It was originally a temporary arrangement, with the plan being that Deanne would be able to move back to Oregon once she was through with treatment, but soon enough it would become clear that she wouldn't be able to go back to Oregon.
Harm and Mac still had to decide on a weekend to go up and clear out her apartment, but that was a task Mac could barely bring herself to think about.
It was ovarian cancer, the same illness that had taken Mac's grandma. It was the same one Mac was also genetically at risk for, as was Clara. Mac had made peace with the cards she'd been dealt, but the thought of Clara having to maybe go through that one day made Mac want to vomit.
It just wasn't fair. None of it was.
The radical hysterectomy had happened in November, right before Thanksgiving. They found out soon after New Years that the cancer had spread, and that was when Deanne received the news that she could make it to August - if she was very, very lucky.
Because everything was so unfair, luck was something that had never been on Deanne Mackenzie's side, and she passed in April, two weeks shy of turning fifty-nine.
Deanne had been nineteen when she had Mac, and a lot of the time it was hard to believe that less than two decades in age separated them. The cherry on top to all of this was that it made Mac come face to face with her own mortality.
The list of people she could be angry at were endless. She could be angry at the doctors for not trying hard enough, she could be angry at her father for driving a wedge between them, for terrorizing her mother and making Mac's childhood a living hell. She could be angry at Uncle Matt or her grandparents for not doing a better job at intervening. If she thought hard enough, she could find a reason to be angry with anyone.
The only thing overriding Mac's anger, the only thing inadvertently holding it at bay, was her exhaustion. She'd spent the past six months watching her mother wither away right in front of her eyes, she'd constantly tried and failed to make the best out of a bad situation until optimism felt like a concept completely foreign. She'd helped her mother pick out what flowers she'd want for her funeral when Deanne hadn't even been there to help Mac pick out flowers for her wedding - you know, something normal that mothers and daughters did together. All of it had been exhausting. Too much so. Mac could feel it in her bones if she sat with it long enough.
She wondered if she would ever feel normal again, if there was a way to overcome being The Woman With A Dead Mother.
What was most cruel about it was how, despite how taxing and exhausting those six months had been, it had been the closest Mac and Deanne had ever been to each other. They craved each other's presence in a way that neither of them had been able to experience before, not even when Mac was a child. On the better days they were able to laugh and joke together and on the worse days they were able to lean on each other completely.
Mac wished it hadn't taken a terminal diagnosis for them to be that close to each other, but leave it to death to be the only thing to put things into perspective.
Trish had called a little after four, saying that she and Frank could keep the kids overnight if it was okay with them. Mac appreciated that Trish hadn't just asked Harm if it was okay, but had asked Mac as well, despite her borderline catatonic state over the past few days. More and more, Mac was realizing that having Trish as a mother-in-a-law was truly a blessing, and a small silver lining in the wake of losing her own mother.
Mac could tell Harm was trying to make their impromptu dinner alone into a last minute date night, and while she wasn't in the mood, she didn't have the heart to deter him. He'd insisted Mac sit down and relax, almost ordering her to not lift a finger.
"I couldn't cook before she died," Mac told him dryly, making a poor attempt at humor. "I doubt I could cook any better now."
Dinner was another one of Mac's favorites. Spaghetti with homemade garlic bread. Even though she was barely able to finish her breakfast that morning (but she had finished it!), and wasn't in the mood to eat any more, Mac was determined to enjoy the meal - if for no other reason than to avoid Harm's efforts being in vain.
She'd spent the morning watching him do yard work, curled up in one of deck chairs in front of the pool. Even though she felt awful, feeling the sun on her skin was amazing. They spent the afternoon curled up on the sofa together watching all of their favorite movies. It was the closest they'd been to each other since before Deanne passed, not counting all the times Mac had cried in Harm's arms, times Mac was trying her best to forget.
But today had been an easy one, probably the easiest one she'd had in awhile. She wouldn't go as far as to say it was good, but it had been easy.
As she looked at Harm from across the kitchen table, Mac was especially grateful Trish and Frank had taken the kids for the night. She had something she needed to talk to him about - it had been on her mind with all of the other million things she'd been mulling over.
"I've decided something."
Harm looked up from his plate. "Oh yeah?"
"I want to get a hysterectomy."
It was a decision she'd come to rather easily over the past several days, and it was something she'd been considering ever since Deanne was first diagnosed. It also seemed like a fairly straightforward one. She was closing in on forty, she already had two children, and she wouldn't have trouble getting Harm to sign off on it - because a husband's permission was apparently something you also needed. She also had her family history on her side.
Harm sat his fork down. "Mac…"
She sighed. "I think it's for the best, Harm. Truly."
"But what about-"
"There's plenty of other ways we can have a third kid if we want to," she said. "Adoption. Surrogacy."
When they moved out to San Diego, Harm and Mac made the decision that they would try for at least one more kid, and if everything went well with that one, they would shoot for a third. Their hesitancy wasn't just with Mac's endometriosis and fertility related problems, but they had gotten into such a good routine with just having Clara, they had some worries a second kid might be "too much."
But Adam had been the exact opposite; rather, he'd been exactly what they'd needed. Mac had no doubt that a third baby would only bring more joy and love into their household but even if Mac didn't get the hysterectomy, she was doubtful she would be able to carry that child herself. She wasn't naive; the fact that she had been able to carry Adam to a viable term had been nothing short of a miracle, and even then things hadn't gone to plan.
Adoption and Surrogacy were already things they'd considered when IVF treatments weren't going well when they were trying to conceive Adam. Mac didn't see why any of that would be different now.
"I'm not talking about another baby, Mac," Harm said. "I'm talking about you."
She blinked, watching him carefully as he continued. The spaghetti was sitting on her plate, cooling rapidly as it remained untouched.
"In the past year you gave birth to a premature baby and lost your mother," he said. "I think you need to rest. You deserve a break from life altering events more than anyone."
Mac felt tears welling up in her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. She quickly swiped at her eyes before clearing her throat and looking up at Harm, her husband. Deanne's passing had brought a lot of clarity to her life, one of which was how much love she had for Harm.
"You know I'll support whatever you decide," Harm said. He reached across the table for her hand. "I just think you need to take some time for yourself, first. Something like this isn't going to pass overnight."
She nodded. "I know."
"Your mom would want that, you know that, right?"
Mac tried her best to swallow the lump in her throat. "I do."
Deanne Mackenzie hadn't had an easy life by any means, even after she left her husband. The least Mac owed her was to make things as easy for herself as she could.
ONE YEAR LATER
1645 LOCAL
SHARP MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
The recovery time would be about four weeks, about the same as for a c-section or an appendectomy. When Mac woke up in her hospital bed, she expected to feel lighter, or like a piece of her was missing, but instead she just felt sore and a little groggy. She did feel a little lighter though, just not in the way she was expecting.
Post surgery, it felt like a weight the size of the entire world had been lifted from her shoulders.
Surrounding her bed was an array of cards, balloons, and flower arrangements from friends and family, both new and old. She was especially excited about the coupon for a free spa day that she got from Harriet and a giant box of chocolates she'd received from the Admiral.
But there was one present she was still waiting on, one that she was especially excited about.
From the bed, Mac watched Clara as she sat with her box of crayons at the small table by the window. She was drawing on a piece of printer paper Harm had been able to snag for her from the nurses station with a level of concentration that seemed well beyond her six years of living, and Mac was very eager to see what her creation would be.
"Hey, Miss Clara," Mac called softly, getting the young girl's attention. Clara looked up from the paper, her hands instinctively covering the paper protectively so Mac couldn't see the paper.
"Yeah?"
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"I love you."
A grin instantly spread out across Clara's face. Despite it only being March, the California sunshine had already given Clara a smattering of freckles dotting her cheeks, the same ones Mac used to get when she was a little girl.
"I love you too, Mommy!"
Mac patted the spot next to her on the bed. "Can I see what you drew me?"
"It's not done yet!" Clara insisted.
Mac continued to watch her until the drawing was at last done, and Clara brought it over to her. Mac gasped when she saw it, partly because it was her motherly duty and also because it was really that impressive. Her and Harm really had a budding little artist on their hands.
"See? That's our house, and that's you, and that's Daddy, and that's Adam, and that's…"
Mac watched Clara as she talked through her drawing, still once again finding it hard to believe that she could've gotten so lucky. The past several months had been difficult, some of the most difficult of Mac's entire life, but it was times like these, times when she was looking at her daughter or son or Harm, that Mac realized that for all of life's cruelty and unfairness, it could also be a very beautiful thing.
If it's any consolation for having to read a largely miserable chapter, I absolutely hated writing this. Mac spent so much of the show sad that I hate writing her sad in Fanfiction, but alas, it was what the muse requested.
I know I have a lot of other works in progress that I haven't been updating; please trust that I haven't forgotten about them. I feel like there are too many cooks in the kitchen right now, with the cooks being stories and the kitchen being my brain. It's always easy to update Family Ties though, because it's characters I know well and the story I know the best out of the other ones I've written. Another Case would also be easy if it wasn't a linear story that had to follow a cohesive plot, but sadly that's how most stories have to be :)
I'm working on updates for Undercover Lovers, Nagging, and Not a Girl, Not Yet A Woman as we speak. I also have a couple of stories I'm attempting to prewrite. It's all stuff I'm very excited about, and I hope you guys enjoy all that stuff once it arrives.
As always, thanks for reading!
-Harper