Chapter 6
At one point in her life, Mac was sure she'd run out of tears to cry. Harm leaving had made her angry at first, filled with a raw emotion not unlike what she'd felt when he returned to a squadron after so many years. But this departure was different. This time, the possibility of ever seeing him again faded with each unanswered call, each email left without reply.
She cried. A lot. But only when Mic left for the office or when she could hide away in the solitude of her own. It was almost like grieving, but the strange part was that Harm was still very much alive. He was out there somewhere, and yet the distance between them felt as if he'd been lost to her forever.
Mac hadn't realized it at the time, but everything clicked when she opened a scrapbook Mic had made for her, a scrapbook that was supposed to tell the story of their "love." Her eyes fell on a newspaper clipping from her murder trial, a reminder of the moment she'd almost lost everything.
And there, between the pages of carefully preserved memories, it all became clear. Her silence, her failure to share the truth, had created an emotional gulf between her and Harm, one that had grown too wide for them to overcome.
It wasn't just the trial that had pulled them apart, but the choices she'd made in keeping things from him. Those omissions, the ones she thought were insignificant at the time, had unknowingly driven a wedge between them.
After the trial, Harm seemed to pull away. He became colder, more indifferent and less available for their usual working dinners or Saturday morning runs. There was a noticeable shift, a subtle but unmistakable change. Then came Jordan, who seemed to steal him away just when they'd finally gotten so close to… something. She understood, of course, because best friends didn't keep those kinds of details hidden from one another.
One question always lingered: Had they crossed that line from friends to lovers early on, what then? She was married to Christopher Ragle at the time and every relationship then forth was nothing more than a series of affairs. It would have devastated Harm, hurt his pride and add a sizeable chink in that noble armor.
Falling for Mic was easy. He was everything Harm wasn't, uncomplicated and nonjudgmental. He said the right things and painted the perfect picture of the life she wanted most. He was a gentleman who waited patiently for her return to Australia in order to consummate their relationship. Mic was easy and Harm would forever be complicated.
Deciding to marry Mic had been the hardest part. It wasn't because she doubted him or the life they could have together, but because it would close the book on the man she wanted most. Once the ring moved to her left hand, though, it was as if everything fell into place. The decision was made.
All she had to do was show up.
It was comforting in a way, to not have to make the hard choices, to let someone else take charge. Even her wedding dress was selected by Mic even though she had commented that the style of garment made it feel like she was wearing an abaya. He'd insisted on something a little more conservative because his devout Catholic mother believed in modest dresses in the house of God.
Mac agreed, albeit reluctantly. It was easier to marry the man she sort of loved than to keep wondering about the one she'd sell her soul to have. There was a certain kind of comfort in Mic's steady presence and the promise of a future she deserved. But deep down, Mac knew it wasn't the passionate kind of love she'd once craved. It wasn't the fire she'd felt with Harm, the kind that kept her awake at night and made her heart race with every glance.
It wasn't healthy to be consumed by an obsession over a man who clearly didn't want her the way she wanted him. So she moved on until one Spring night on the Admiral's porch shook her resolve.
The kiss was unexpected, a means to say goodbye that quickly turned passionate. A jolt of electricity between them that fractured the walls she shored up around her heart. It wasn't just desire he stirred in her but all the doubts she thought were buried. He made her feel so alive and when it ended her heart broke more than she thought possible.
She hadn't thought of Harm romantically in months—until that damn kiss. It disrupted everything. The kiss kept her from sleeping with Mic, even though they'd agreed to wait until the wedding night. But in truth, she should've ended things with the Australian the moment they got home. Harm's kiss had brought everything to the surface, and she couldn't pretend anymore.
Pride wouldn't let her. Embarrassment wouldn't either because she could never stand to look at her friends and peers when they learned the wedding was over because of another man.
She pressed forward fooling herself into believing that one day Mic would be the man she fell for.
In hindsight, the red flags were all there. Mic had given her plenty of signs that their relationship was more toxic than she cared to admit. It started with his relentless pursuit of her, like a dog in heat. At first, she admired his tenacity because was something to admire about a man who stated his intentions.
When Harm left to fly, Mic had sort of taken his place. It had been slow at first, but those six months working together had forged a mutual respect and, unexpectedly, a kind of friendship. While she wasn't inviting him to brainstorming sessions at her home, there were plenty of working dinners that began to feel more like dates, casual at first, but with an unmistakable shift as the lines between professional and personal blurred.
He was mostly a gentleman, though there were whispers around the water cooler, rumors about his hot evenings with the Colonel. Mic brushed them off, always claiming he'd never betray her that way. He chose the restaurants, the food, and even though he knew a little about her alcoholism, he still drank around her enough that she had to drive him home a time or two.
When they worked together, Mic's opinion mattered most, and he always fought for first chair, claiming Admiral Chegwidden only chose her because she was his favorite. He'd argue it was business and Mac couldn't help but see the parallel to Harm's own underhanded attempts to undermine her. How could she forgive one without forgiving the other?
Then there was the way he simply moved back to Washington without discussing it with her. He simply showed up like a knight in shining armor trying to whisk the princess away from his greatest enemy. It was a little comforting.
But that comfort quickly turned to discomfort when she realized she'd have to start sharing her home with him sooner than she'd anticipated. The space she'd carved out for herself was suddenly shrinking, and the boundaries she'd tried so hard to establish were gone.
Mic constantly nagged her about the ring, always pointing out how it still hadn't made its way to her left hand. He was quick to remind her of everything he'd sacrificed to be with her, his life in Australia, his career, his family. He always dangled the weight of his sacrifices over her.
One evening, he declared a return to Australia was on the horizon and with a sudden rush of guilt, Mac accepted his proposal. She didn't want to lose him, but more than that, she didn't want to be alone anymore.
It was the look in Harm's eyes when he finally realized she was taken that nearly put an end to her charade. For a moment, his confident smirk faltered, replaced by something raw and unguarded, hurt and betrayal that was palpable. She could feel the walls of her carefully constructed facade crumbling but there was no future with him, he'd made certain of that one night in Australia.
Moving forward with Mic made sense up until her engagement party and then Harm's plane crash that came quickly after. She knew that losing Harm would have changed everything because he was the one she most wanted to be with. Rescuing him was nothing short of a miracle but what came after, the weeks of rehab and the inability to find some quiet time alone with him only fortified Mic's resolve to get them to the altar.
Mic's presence was suffocating as was his persistence to find another wedding date. He never let her visit Harm alone, not at the hospital or at rehab. Always lingering in the background, pretending to be a chivalrous one, Mic listened to every word they spoke as if he knew that one touch from Harm could take Mac away from him.
Harm's gaze would meet hers, filled with questions and maybe a little hope that his accident had finally forged an understanding between them. Every glance, every unspoken word reminded her of the truth she couldn't escape: losing Harm would have changed everything because it would have ripped her heart apart.
She had naively hoped the accident would change things, that it would awaken something in Harm. All she needed was one sign, anything to show he wanted her. If he had, she would have walked away from Mic without hesitation. But all of that hope vanished the night she arrived at Harm's apartment with Mic in toe and saw him with Renee a little too cozy for her liking.
That was the night everything shifted into place. The wedding date was finalized, and she resolved to move forward. Harm didn't see her as anything more than a friend, and if that was all he wanted, then she would force herself to accept it. She loved him too much to fully let him go.
The Wedding itself was mostly a dream. She felt beautiful and her husband played his part spectacularly. The reception was another story, one that she longed to forget on their extended honeymoon to Australia.
She'd imagined lazy beach days on a Caribbean island, dreaming of the sun and sand. Instead, he cajoled her to visit the land down under, where the weather was balmy, wet, and cold, since their winter months were opposite Washington's summer.
When they returned, everything should have shifted. Their bond as a couple should have grown stronger, but instead, it lay on shaky ground. It started when she called out Harm's name during their honeymoon and continued when Mic began removing the pictures from the mantle.
Each photo was replaced by a vase, a sculpture, and framed images of the happy couple. Gone were the photos from Little AJ's christening, Bud and Harriet's wedding, those moments where Harm had stood beside her. Guilt stopped her from fighting to return the pictures to their rightful place, so she hid them at the bottom of a drawer, ignoring them to keep her husband happy.
They settled into a happy routine, the charming husband driving his wife to work each day.
At first, it seemed sweet, the gesture of a loving husband who wanted her to worry about nothing. But over time, it became stifling. What once felt like affection slowly morphed into a method of control, a subtle way for him to assert his power over her.
As the months passed, Mic began to control everything—who she spoke to, where she went, what she wore, and what she ate. He didn't want a fat wife, and his obsession with her appearance grew. The sweet, romantic man who had wooed her faded, replaced by the true nature of his manipulative, controlling personality. She felt more like a concubine than a wife.
The Friday flowers stopped. The romantic dinners at Washington's finest disappeared. No more slow walks through the Mall or simple joys like carving pumpkins or picking out a Christmas tree. That year, they didn't even decorate because Mic found the holiday an insult to Catholics. The gift she had bought him, his family crest framed in antique wood, was thrown away like garbage. The only presents she was allowed to buy were for her coworkers, and only for the sake of propriety.
She was miserable at Bud and Harriet's Christmas Eve party, faking a migraine to avoid the questions from their friends about her well-being. They were starting to see through the charade, but their concerns fell on deaf ears. Mac had become a prisoner, the worst kind, a willing one. Stockholm Syndrome had made it impossible for her to leave.
Her rock, the one person who had once kept her grounded, was gone. She had begun to believe Mic's lies, not because she was easily controlled, but because her guilt for loving someone else had made her more malleable. At work, she was still herself, but at home, it was easier to let him do everything.
Their intimacy had become a transactional thing: sex when he wanted it, and it never mattered whether it pleased her or not. It was a means to an end that, thankfully, never came. She couldn't get pregnant, and Mic saw her as a defective woman he had been conned into marrying. It only added to her guilt.
His control over her finally broke a month later when she walked into her apartment to find Mic sitting on the sofa, smoking a cigar. He knew how much the stench would make her sick, so much that Harm had once confessed it was one of the reasons he quit smoking.
Exhausted from a long court case, Mac was already on edge, the Marine in her wanted a fight. Seeing him made her snap. She screamed and Mic yelled back, spewing obscenities she never imagined he could say. He called her every degrading name she hated, words that made her feel like trash.
Mic was drunk, eight beers into a twelve-pack of Fosters, his frustration from watching Australia lose to England pouring out with every slurred word he uttered. She'd seen him like this before, and part of her might have tolerated his inebriated state because it would be followed by long apologies and romantic gestures that would last at least a couple of weeks. But this time, it wasn't the man she had married anymore. This time, it was a wild animal, replacing the man she had tried to love.
Cigar burns hurt like hell.
She still didn't know how he moved so quickly. Clearly, muscle memory from his former glory years as a boxer hadn't diminished. Mac barely had time to react before everything went black. She passed out the moment her head hit the floor, and when she came to, the searing pain of a lit cigar pressed against her flesh was enough to wake the dead. The shock of it was almost worse than the burn itself, sending waves of agony through her body as she gasped for air, her vision still blurry from the blow.
Mic straddled her waist high, his legs pushing her down to prevent escape while he left four burns on her forearm. It was impossible not to scream, a sound he stifled when his large palm wrapped around Mac's throat. Falling ashes blinded her but as her vision began to tunnel, Marine training kicked in.
He did burn her once more, a welt where her neck met her shoulder but his promise to disfigure her face never came to fruition. Mac managed to turn her body in time giving enough of a gap for her knee to slam into his groin.
When the police arrived they found both of them bleeding. Mic with his face mangled, resembling ground beef, and Mac with a laceration at the back of her head. She was rushed to the hospital, a week-long stay for wound and concussion care whose effects would last several weeks. The burns would heal, she was told but scarring could take months to years to completely resolve which was why she mostly wore long sleeves since the attack.
Divorce proceedings came quickly from her end, though Mic tried to paint himself as the martyr. He offered to go to counseling, promised to fix his drinking problem, but Mac had finally woken up. She refused to continue believing his charade.
Then came her crusade to find Harm. As a free woman, she thought it would be easy to track down her former partner. She believed Webb would help, but as the months passed and little information came back about Harm's whereabouts, her concern deepened. The silence was unbearable, and with each day that passed, the fear that something had happened to him only grew.
Mac's attitude at work began to shift. The once well-liked Chief of Staff had become a shell of her former self—angry, bitter, and downright difficult to engage with. While her colleagues hadn't completely abandoned her, it was clear they kept their distance, hoping that whatever had changed would eventually resolve.
None of them believed her claims that something was wrong. Webb had insisted that Harm had relocated to Europe for work, that he was happy, healthy, and on a classified assignment that required little contact with his friends. But Mac couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise. The silence surrounding Harm was deafening.
He wasn't meant to be forgotten, but that's exactly what happened. Over time, people moved on, and few worried about their past coworkers once they were gone. But Mac couldn't let go. She worried, argued, and pleaded to find him—because something was wrong. Seeing his new identity, David Elliot, was a small but painful validation.
Unfortunately, David carried the same bitterness Harm had shown on her wedding day—anger and contempt in his eyes. The familiar scowl and darkness were all there. It almost made her want to rush back to Washington, but halfway through packing her bags, Mac stopped. Something inside her held her in place, a feeling she couldn't quite explain.
"What the hell are you doing?" She muttered to herself. She hadn't traveled half the Pacific NorthWest just to let him slip away again. Mac was a Marine, always ready to fight and she wasn't leaving until they spoke - calmly - like the rational adults they once were.
But the tears came anyway, because his response had stirred up memories she wasn't ready to relive. She'd give in to the tears, the hurt, and the guilt this last time, because it still weighed heavily on her. But tomorrow, Mac would climb that mountain and demand David Elliott talk to her.
Hell hath no fury like a female Marine on a mission.