The Next Conflicting Phase
Part Nine
"Ma'am, here are the rest of the files you asked for." Mac looked up
from her desk and saw Harriet standing in her doorway, her arms
loaded down with cases. Suddenly, eighty-five minutes seemed like a
lifetime.
"Thank you, Harriet," she said wearily and gestured over to a small
empty space on the file cabinet. "Just set them over there for now."
"Yes, ma'am." Harriet deposited the files and turned back towards
the door. Halfway there, she stopped and spun around to face Mac
again. She had been debating whether or not to say something all
day, and now, seeing how worn down the Colonel looked, she decided it
was necessary. "Ma'am, are you okay?"
Mac was speechless for a moment, startled by Harriet's unexpected
question and the concerned look in her eyes.
"I'm fine, Harriet," she answered finally, forcing a smile, "just a
little tired. It's been a long week."
"Yes, ma'am," Harriet nodded doubtfully. Although she had been
pretty wrapped up in the USO preparations, she hadn't missed the
tension between the Colonel and the Commander. She decided to push a
little harder. "It's just...you seem a little anxious. Tense."
"Well, I did just move into a new house," Mac pointed out calmly,
ignoring the little voice that was telling her to let Harriet know
what was going on. "I'm fine. Really. Things have just been a
little hectic, that's all."
"Of course." Harriet smiled understandingly; she knew all about
hectic. Still, she wondered if that was really all there was to
it. "Is there anything I can do, ma'am?"
"No, I've got it under control," Mac lied, hoping she sounded
convincing. "And you need to go finish up your work so you can go
home and spend some time with Bud and the boys."
"Yes, ma'am." Harriet still wasn't sure she believed her, but they
were at work and Mac was still a superior officer, so she could only
push so far. "If you need anything-"
All Mac needed at this point was to be left alone so she just smiled
and said, "I know, Harriet. Thank you."
"Okay, ma'am." Recognizing the look on Mac's face as a dismissal,
she had no choice but to give up for now. With an inward sigh and a
vow to try again later, she wished the Colonel a good weekend and
headed back to her desk to deal with more of the annoying details
that came with this latest assignment.
Mac sat back with a heavy sigh. Part of her wanted to call Harriet
back in and tell her everything, about the lump and the tests and her
fears of what was still to come. But as much as she wanted to
confide in someone, she just couldn't bring herself to tell Harriet
the truth. And not just because it would worry her, but because
despite the apologies and the progress they'd made since the summer,
she still wasn't comfortable with the idea of leaning on anyone at
JAG too much. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. The mending
of their fractured family was slow and tenuous, and it would be all
too easy for it to fall apart again. Mac didn't want to be the
reason it did.
The shrill ring of her phone startled her out of her thoughts, and
she jumped slightly at the unexpected intrusion. She quickly reached
out and plucked the receiver from its cradle while she tried to calm
her racing heart.
"Colonel Mackenzie," she snapped, irritated at both the interruption,
and her extreme reaction to it.
"Colonel, it's Dr. Carter." The familiar voice of her doctor echoed
across the line. "I'm calling about your appointment tomorrow."
"What happened?" Mac asked, tensing instinctively as she wondered
what had gone wrong this time. "Do you have to postpone again?
Because if you do, then I'd just as soon have someone else-"
"Actually, Colonel," the doctor said quickly, cutting off the
impending tirade, "I was calling to let you know that we located your
results."
"You did?" Mac leaned back in her chair, overwhelmed by the feeling
of relief washing over her. Her mind focused on one thought; she
didn't have to go through it all over again. She couldn't wait to
tell Harm. "Thank God. That's wonderful; so we can just cancel
tomorrow's appointment, right?"
"No, you'll still need to come in tomorrow," Dr. Carter told
her. "I've scheduled you an appointment with Captain Phillips at
1030."
"Captain Phillips?" Mac was confused. She'd never heard of him
before. A thought occurred to her and she asked curiously, "Is this
about the test mix-up? Are you doing an investigation?"
"We are looking into it, but Captain Phillips isn't involved with
that," the doctor said slowly. For a moment, there was nothing but
silence on the other end, and Mac wondered if they had gotten
disconnected. Just as she was about to speak, though, Dr. Carter
spoke again.
"He's the Chief of Oncology, Sarah," she told Mac softly, a note of
regret in her voice. "The test results indicated that the tumor is
malignant."
Malignant. The word reverberated in Mac's head, drowning out
whatever it was the doctor was trying to tell her. Malignant. She
tried to wrap her mind around the word, but found that it was
impossible. She wasn't prepared for this. She thought she would be;
she thought she'd accepted the possibility that this could happen.
But she couldn't accept it, couldn't understand it. She couldn't
even think.
She heard her name being called from a distance and realized that the
doctor was still on the phone. She was startled to realize that
only ninety-six seconds had passed since she'd heard that word.
Malignant. She shook her head and tried to focus on the doctor's
voice.
"Colonel?" Dr. Carter called out to her in concern. "Colonel, did
you hear me?"
"Ye-yes," Mac stammered, trying desperately to pull herself
together. "I heard you. An appointment at 1030 with Dr. Phillips,
I'll be there," she reassured the doctor. "Thank you for calling."
As she quickly hung up the phone, a small part of her brain
recognized what an inane thing that was to say, but she couldn't help
it; her mouth seemed to be running on autopilot.
Malignant. A malignant tumor. She had a malignant tumor in her
breast. She had cancer.
She didn't know what to do. What was standard operating procedure
for this situation? Was she supposed to cry? Break down sobbing in
the middle of the bullpen? Or maybe she was supposed to get angry.
Take her rage out on her defenseless office; maybe she should throw
her stapler through her computer monitor or something. There had to
be something. Something she was supposed to be doing, some way she
was supposed to be reacting. But she had no idea what that was,
because all she felt was numb.
Moving. That's what she needed to do. She needed to be moving.
Women with malignant tumors didn't just sit in their offices, staring
at their polished desktops waiting for the answers to miraculously
appear. Women with malignant tumors got off their sixes and went out
and found the answers they needed; at least they did when those women
were marines. And she was a marine, so she would go find the
answers. Just as soon as she figured out where she was supposed to
go. Where did Marines with malignant tumors in their breasts go for
answers?
Harm. She would go to Harm. Harm would have the answers; he always
did. Or, at the very least, he would know where to find them. He
would know what she was supposed to do, how she was supposed to
react. Wouldn't he? But how could he, when he didn't even know what
was happening? Oh, god. How was she going to tell Harm? How was
she going to tell Harm that she had cancer?
The questions just kept tumbling over and over in her head, forming a
vicious circle that surrounded her, until all she could think about
was how to escape from it. She needed to escape, to get out of this
place where the walls were closing in on her and she couldn't think
and she couldn't breathe. Vaulting out of her chair, she scooped up
her coat and her cover, slung her purse over her shoulder and rushed
out of her office. She didn't know where she was going, just that
she had to get out. Out into the open, where words like malignant
and cancer couldn't surround her as they echoed within the confined
space of her office.
The thought of going to Harm was still foremost in her mind, but he
was in court and she knew she couldn't interrupt him. A small part
of her wanted to go down and burst into the courtroom anyway, run
into his arms and never let go, but even if she was willing to
embarrass herself that way, she couldn't do that to Harm. She had no
idea how he was going to react when she told him, but the last thing
he would need is to have to put on a brave front for their co-
workers. No, she would go home and wait for him there.
But the thought of being cooped up anywhere, even inside their own
home, was more than she could take. She needed to go somewhere where
she could breathe, where she could be alone, but where he would still
be able to find her. One place immediately came to mind. It was the
perfect solution, and she latched onto to it like a life preserver,
using it to keep her afloat.
Her decision made, she headed quickly towards the elevator. It
wasn't until she passed Coates, who was on her way back to her desk,
that she realized that she was about to walk out of JAG without
informing the Admiral. For the briefest moment, her mind touched on
the idea of going to the Admiral for advice before quickly rejecting
it. She had no idea how he was going to react, and she certainly
didn't want to find out now.
"Jen," she called out to the Admiral's yeoman just as she was about
to reach her desk. She waited until Jen made her way back towards
her and then said quietly, not wanting to be overheard, "I need you
to tell the Admiral that I had to leave early."
"Ma'am?" Jen started to question the Colonel, but was cut off before
she had the chance.
"Just tell him, Coates," Mac snapped impatiently, her desire to leave
overriding her normal good nature.
"Yes, ma'am," Coates replied quickly, and Mac immediately turned and
headed off. Jen waited for a moment, and then hurried after
her. "Ma'am?" she called out hesitantly, flinching when the Colonel
spun around and glared at her with annoyance. Moving up close, not
wanting to risk the Colonel's wrath any more than necessary, she
asked quietly, "What should I tell him when he asks why?"
"What?" The question seemed to throw Mac for a loop, and as she
struggled for an answer, Jen noticed her pale face and shaking
hands. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on the Colonel's arm.
"Ma'am, is everything all right?" she murmured softly, not wanting
to attract the attention of the entire staff. "Are you sick?"
Mac's entire body stiffened, and Jen caught a glimpse of raw pain in
her eyes before she turned her head away. "Yes," Mac answered, her
voice barely audible. "Yes, I am."
At that moment, the elevator doors opened and she rushed inside,
leaving a confused and concerned Petty Officer behind her.
"Wow, sir," Bud said excitedly, ignoring Harm's obvious distraction.
He hurried to keep up with Harm's longer stride. "I wasn't sure we
were going to be able to pull that one off. We kind of lucked out
there at the end, didn't we, sir?"
"Hmm? Yeah, yeah we did," Harm answered distractedly. "Excuse me,
Bud, I need to go talk to Mac about something. I'll catch you later."
"Okay, sir." Bud called after Harm, but he wasn't listening. All he
could think about was going to see Mac and making sure she was okay.
He was hovering, he knew that, but he couldn't seem to help it. He
had no one to talk to, no one to express his fears to, so he had to
keep it bottled up inside. And the more he tried, the more his fear
grew, until he ended up sitting in the courtroom with his mind
fixated on worst-case scenarios. The only thing that made him feel
any better was to seek her out so that he could see her, talk to her,
remind himself that she was here with him.
It had been especially bad today; for no discernable reason his
anxiety had shot through the roof about an hour ago. It had taken
all of his willpower, but he managed to stay calm, to tell himself
that he was just upset because of the screw-up at the hospital. It
was a logical explanation, but Harm couldn't help but feel that there
was something worse going on. And the longer he sat in that
courtroom, the worse that fear had gotten.
Harm strode through the bullpen, ignoring everything around him, and
reached Mac's office only to find it empty. Taking a quick look
around, he saw that her computer was still on, but her coat and purse
were gone. He felt his anxiety level go up another notch as he
wondered where she could be.
"The Colonel went home, sir."
The voice at the door made him jump, and he whirled around to see
Coates standing in the doorway. She started to apologize for
startling him, but he waved her off impatiently. Gesturing to Mac's
still running computer, he asked, "Did she say why, Jen?"
"Yes, sir," Jen answered promptly, "She said that she was sick, sir."
Harm felt his knees begin to buckle and quickly grasped onto the edge
of the desk for support. "Sick?" His voice was strained, but he
managed to keep his composure enough so that he didn't alarm the
young Petty Officer. "Sick, how?"
"She didn't say, sir," Jen told him apologetically. Not wanting to
worry him anymore, she hesitated before adding, "But she was pale and
shaking a little. It almost looked like she was going into shock,
sir."
In fact, Jen thought privately, Mac looked much the same way Harm did
now. Questions were running rampant through her mind, but she
restrained herself from prying. The Commander didn't look like he
was in the mood to answer questions. "Jen, tell the Admiral-"
"He already gave you permission to secure as soon as you got out of
court, sir," she interrupted with a reassuring smile. It had been
the first thing he'd said when she'd informed him that the Colonel
had left early. "He said to call him if it was something serious,
otherwise just make sure she relaxes this weekend and takes care of
herself."
"Thanks, Jen," he said gratefully, and managed to muster up a small
smile in return.
"You're welcome, sir." She quickly stepped to the side as he hurried
out of Mac's office. He hadn't gotten more than a couple of steps
when Jen called out, "Sir?"
Harm turned around impatiently. "The Colonel took her car, and I
know you drove in together, so I had a cab called for you when you
came out of court. It should be here in about five minutes."
Harm quickly thanked her, grateful for her foresight, and then rushed
into his office. Kicking the door shut behind him, he headed over to
his desk and immediately picked up the phone to call the house while
reaching out with his free hand to shut down his computer. After
four rings, the answering machine picked up, and Mac's cheerful voice
informed him that they were unable to come to the phone.
Harm waited for the beep before calling out anxiously, "Mac? Are you
there?" He stuffed a few files into his briefcase while he waited to
see if she would pick up. "Mac, pick up the phone."
When there was no answer, he decided that she wasn't there. There
was no way she would have ignored the panic in his voice, no matter
how much she might not want to talk. "Okay, call me on my cell when
you get this."
Disconnecting the phone, he then tried to call her cell phone, but
she must have turned it off because it went straight to voice mail.
He hung up, grabbed his keys and his cover and headed out the door.
A minute later, he was waiting impatiently for an elevator and trying
to figure out where she'd gone.
His first thought was the cemetery where Singer was buried. She
still made a point to try and go at least once a week, but after the
events of this summer, she never went without Sturgis. Since he was
in court, Harm eliminated that possibility.
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside, reaching forward to
press the down button. Halfway there, his hand stopped as a horrible
thought entered his mind. What if she had gone to a bar? He shook
his head in denial. No, she wouldn't do that. She had made it
through everything that had happened in the past year without falling
off the wagon, she wouldn't risk her sobriety now. And she had
promised that she would call him wherever he was, no matter what, if
she really felt like she was going to falter. No, there had to be
somewhere else. But where? Where would she go to escape? He knew
where he would go, but-
Suddenly, he knew exactly where she would go to get away. The one
place where she knew he would find her. Rushing out the doors and to
the waiting cab, he hopped inside and directed the driver to take him
to the Mall.
She was there, had been for hours. A lone figure standing in front
of the cold, black wall, running a gloved hand back and forth over
his father's name. He saw her face in profile, the lines of sorrow
etched there, the defeat, and his worst fears were confirmed. As he
got closer to her, he slowed his pace; partly because he didn't want
to startle her but mostly because he didn't want to face the moment
he knew was coming.
He wouldn't have startled her; she had been waiting for him. Had
chosen to come here for that exact reason. This was his refuge, a
place where he could let go, where he could find strength to face the
challenges ahead. He would need it now more than ever. And because
he needed it, so did she, because he was her refuge. Her safe place,
where she could let go, and where she could find the strength she
needed. She prayed that the strength they found would be enough this
time, for both of them.
She waited until he was standing behind her before speaking. "I
tried to call," she said softly, her tone apologetic, "but I couldn't
find the words. So I came here, knowing you would find me."
"I know," he whispered, stepping forward until her back was pressed
against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and waited, for
words he didn't want to hear and she didn't want to speak. He just
stood there holding her, ignoring the fact that they were both still
in uniform. Ignoring the fact that the temperature continued to drop
and they both needed to get out of the cold. Ignoring everything
that wasn't her; wasn't them.
"Doctor Carter called. They found the results." Her voice was
barely audible, but he heard her. Still, he didn't say anything. He
just tightened his arms around her and waited for her to continue.
Turning in his arms, a single tear trailed down her cheek as she
finally spoke the words they had been dreading to hear these past two
weeks.
"The tumor is malignant." Her voice was tight with unshed tears as
she wrapped her arms tightly around him and buried her face in the
crook of his neck. "I have cancer."
"Why don't you get changed and I'll heat up some soup for dinner," he
told her gently, giving her a little nudge towards the stairs for
good measure. She looked up at him and then nodded.
"Okay," she agreed quietly, and made her way slowly up the stairs.
Harm stared after her worriedly, wondering what to do. Other than
telling him about the appointment with the oncologist tomorrow and
letting him know where she'd parked the car, she hadn't said a word.
He wanted to draw her out, get her to talk to him, but he didn't know
how. He was as lost as she was, trying to deal with something so
large and frightening that he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around
it.
Mac walked into the bedroom and headed straight for the closet
without bothering to turn on the light. Opening the door, she
reached blindly for a hanger and began to strip out of her uniform as
rapidly as possible. Once she was clad only in a bra and panties,
she hung up her uniform and made her way through the darkness to the
other side of the room. Halfway there, she tripped over one of
Harm's sneakers that he'd left lying in the middle of the floor, and
just barely managed to keep from falling. She swore softly as she
felt her toe began to throb, but continued on her path to the
dresser. She knew it was foolish not to turn on the light, she could
do a lot more damage then just stubbing her toe, but the last thing
she wanted at this point was to see herself. Whether it was in a
mirror or just her own eyes, she couldn't bear to look at the body
that had betrayed her.
Finally reaching the dresser, she slid her hands into the drawers and
picked out, by memory alone, a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.
Dressing quickly, she made her way out of the room and back down the
stairs, needing the warmth of the kitchen and of Harm.
She found him standing in front of the stove, jacket off and sleeves
rolled up, stirring a small pot of chicken noodle soup. She paused
in the doorway and took a moment just to watch him. His broad
shoulders were hunched over a little, and she could see the tense
muscles of his back through his shirt. He was hurting, and she
wanted to help him, but she didn't know how. The few feet between
them felt like a chasm, and she couldn't see a path to the other side
where he was.
Slowly making her way over to him, she lifted her hand and, after a
moment's hesitation, placed it softly on his back. Lost in thought,
Harm hadn't even realized she'd entered the room until he felt her
touch. Startled, he dropped the spoon in his hand and whirled around
to face her. Mac quickly pulled her hand away and took a step back
from him.
"Sorry," she apologized hastily. There was a moment of awkward
silence as they both tried to think of something to say. Finally,
unable to stand the tension, Mac spoke.
"Go and change out of your uniform," she ordered quietly, her gaze
fixed on the stove. "I'll finish here."
"Okay." He handed her the spoon before sliding past her and out of
the kitchen. Stepping up to the stove, she forced herself to
concentrate on the simple task of getting dinner on the table.
Stir the soup. Turn off the stove. Move the pan to a different
burner. Get down two bowls. Ladle the soup into the bowl. Carry it
to the table. Set it down. Go back to the stove. Pick up the other
bowl. Ladle the soup. Take it to the table. Get the silverware.
Pour the drinks. By focusing all of her attention on these simple
steps, she managed to keep her mind clear of more disturbing thoughts.
She had just finished setting the glasses down when Harm reappeared,
dressed similarly to herself in sweats and an old Patrick Henry t-
shirt. He waited until she sat down before sliding into his own
chair. Picking up their spoons, Harm and Mac slowly began to eat. Neither one of them was very hungry; they ate because it was dinnertime. And there was some small comfort in doing what they were supposed to, in following a routine; something they could do without thinking or worrying. Unfortunately, without the lesser things to worry about, their minds inevitably began fixating on the greater things. Soon the silence became oppressive, and the tension too much to bear.
"We need to start planning things." Mac's words came out of nowhere,
and startled Harm out of his intense contemplation of his soup. He
looked up in confusion, trying to pick up the thread of the
unexpected conversation.
"Things?" he repeated slowly, hoping for some clarification.
"You know, who to tell, and when," Mac explained. She shrugged in a
studied attempt at nonchalance. "I mean; we'll obviously have to
tell the Admiral. I'm going to need time off, medical leave or
whatever." Her hands started to flutter as she began to speak
faster, and Harm could see her level of agitation rising. "And we'll
need to see what kind of time you can get, I suppose. And of course
there's probably going to be a hundred forms we'll have to fill out.
Plus-"
"Mac," Harm finally interrupted, and grabbed her hands in his own,
causing her to jerk back in surprise. "Honey slow down. Stop and
take a breath, okay?"
He laid her hands on the table with what he hoped was a reassuring
smile. "We don't need to take care of this tonight. There's not
much we can do until we talk to the doctor anyway." He gave her
hands a quick squeeze. "Okay?"
"Fine," she agreed quickly, pulling her hands free and turning her
attention back to her soup. For some inexplicable reason, his
attempts at reassurance irritated her. And the more she dwelt on it,
the more irritated she became. It was irrational, she knew, but she
couldn't seem to help herself. And his next words just made it
worse.
"Are you okay?" It was a stupid question, and he regretted it the
moment it left his mouth. He started to apologize, to try and take
it back, but it was too late. Mac looked up from her bowl and stared
at him disbelievingly.
"Am I okay?" She parroted sarcastically, the need to argue, to lash
out suddenly overwhelming her. Her eyes flashed with anger. "I have
cancer, Harm. What do you think?" she spit out, throwing her napkin
down and pushing away from the table. Harm caught her arm as she
started to storm past him.
"Mac," he pleaded, trying to pull her back to him. She shook her arm
out of his grasp and stepped away. "Mac, don't do this."
Mac looked down at him and saw the pleading look in his eyes. Her
anger vanished, leaving behind a bone deep weariness. "Harm,
please. I just-" she sighed, not sure how to make him
understand. "I just need some time to myself."
"Mac, don't push me away," he said, standing up and putting his hands
on her shoulders, as if to keep her from doing just that.
"I'm not!" she protested defensively. He just stared at her in disbelief. She sighed again. "I'm not," she repeated softly.
She reached up and placed her hands atop his. "But I need a little
space, Harm. A chance to catch my breath. Please?"
He saw the pleading look in her eyes and sighed. "All right," he
agreed reluctantly. "I'll go and clean up."
He started to pull away, but before he could she reached up and took
his face in her hands, giving him a soft but sincere kiss. "Thank
you," she whispered gratefully. With tears in her eyes, she dropped
her hands, turned and rushed out of the room.
Within moments, Harm heard her heading down into the basement, which
they had turned into an exercise room, complete with treadmill and a
hanging punching bag. It was a good alternative to running when the
weather turned too cold, and gave them someplace to go when they
needed to sweat out some of their demons. Like now, he thought, and
decided that as soon as he was finished cleaning up, he would go down
there and join her.
He gathered up the dishes and took them back to the kitchen.
Fighting the urge to just dump them in the sink and go after Mac now,
he set them down and took the time to rinse each one before placing
it in the dishwasher. Grabbing a plastic container, he poured the
rest of the soup inside and placed it in the refrigerator. By the
time he'd gotten everything put away and the table and counters wiped
down, almost thirty minutes had passed. Figuring that he had given
her enough time to herself, he tossed the towel on the counter and
headed to the basement.
Opening the door, he was surprised when the only sound he heard was
Mac's heaving breathing and the occasional thump as she hit the bag.
One of the first things she had done was to install a relatively nice
stereo downstairs; she almost never worked out without music.
Curious now, he quietly made his way down the stairs, hoping for a
chance to watch her a little, unnoticed.
By the time he reached the bottom few steps, he realized that he
could have come down the stairs with a brass band and she probably
wouldn't have noticed. She was completely focused on the bag in
front of her; kicking and punching with a ferocity he had never seen
before. That worried him; he knew what an angry Mac looked like when
she worked out, it was one of his earliest memories of her. But this
was something he'd never seen. There was no control in her
movements, none of the grace that she usually possessed. She was out
of control, blindly lashing out with her arms and legs at whatever
was within reach. He wondered if she'd even notice if he walked up
to her now, or if she'd just look at him as part of the punching
bag.
Not wanting to find out, he lowered himself down onto the steps,
watching as she worked herself into a frenzy, coming at the bag hard
enough to start it swaying back and forth. He was up again a minute
later when the bag swung back unexpectedly, forcing Mac to hold up
both hands to stop it and bending her hand back sharply. She managed
to get it stopped before bending over, hissing in pain and clutching
her wrist.
"Mac!" Harm cried out in alarm, jumping off the steps and rushing
over to her. He grabbed hold of her hand to examine it, but she
immediately began to struggle. Breaking free, she angrily jerked her
arm out of his grasp and resumed her attack on the bag.
"I'm fine." She spit out angrily. She hit the bag as hard as she
could, ignoring the throbbing of her wrist. "I'm fine."
"I'm going to be fine," she repeated firmly, speaking more to herself
than to Harm. "I've finally got my life together. I've finally got
things where they're supposed to be, and I'm not letting go." She
punctuated that statement with a particularly heavy blow. Wincing at
the pain it caused, she glared at the bag. "I'm not giving it up.
Not because of some stupid disease."
She paused to push her hair out of her face, and froze when she
caught sight of herself in the mirror against the wall. "This wasn't
supposed to happen," she whispered, anguished, "It's not fair. It's
not fair!" she screamed, whirling around to face Harm. "Damn it! We
finally get things right, and I go and get cancer and it's not
fair!" She was trembling with rage and fear.
"It's not fair, Harm! Why is this happening?" she asked
tearfully, "Why is this happening to me? What did I do that was so
wrong that I deserve this? It's not fair!"
She spun back towards the punching bag. Pulling back her injured
arm, fueled by rage and grief, she smashed her fist into it as hard
as she could. The moment her hand made contact with the bag, she
screamed in pain as her wrist gave out under the force of the blow.
Cradling her injured arm to her chest, she began to sob. Harm
quickly moved in behind her, wrapping his arms around her. She
struggled briefly before giving in, collapsing against him and
forcing him to lower them both to the ground.
Pulling her onto his lap, he cradled her in his arms as she cried,
finally letting go of all of the emotions she had been bottling up
since the doctor had given her the news. She clutched at him,
repeating over and over again between sobs that it wasn't fair.
Rocking her gently back and forth, he did his best to soothe her,
running his hands gently up and down her back and pressing his lips
softly against her hair. Finally, when her sobs became sniffles
punctuated by the occasional hiccup, and her grip on his shirt had
loosened, he lifted her face with his hand and spoke.
"You're right," he told her softly, brushing the last remnants of her
tears from her cheeks, "It's not fair."
"But it isn't your fault, Mac," he added firmly, tightening his hold
on her chin when she tried to turn her head away. He waited until
she met his eyes again before repeating himself. "This isn't your
fault, Mac. You didn't do anything wrong, didn't make this happen.
It just happened."
Before she could agree or disagree, he leaned down and whispered
softly, "You're right about something else, too."
"What's that?" she asked with a little sniffle, leaning her head on
his shoulder. Harm pulled her closer.
"You're going to be fine," he told her softly, pressing another kiss
to the top of her head. "Whatever it takes, you're going to beat
this, and I'm going to be there every step of the way," he
vowed. "We're in this together, Mac. And we're going to be fine."
She lifted her head again. Taking a long, hard look into his eyes,
she found that she believed him. "Okay," she said, and the smile she
gave him was small but sincere. She reached up and wrapped her arms
around his neck, pulling him down for a long, passionate kiss.
"I love you, Harm," she whispered fiercely when they were finally
forced to come up for air. Holding him a little tighter, she said it
again. "I love you so much."
"I love you, too, Sarah," he told her, his eyes shining with unshed
tears.
They sat there for a few more minutes, holding each other tightly.
Eventually, once Mac recognized that they were still sitting on the
hard basement floor, she separated herself from him and stood up.
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, her eyes full of concern.
Ignoring the dull, steady throbbing in her left hand, she reached out
with her right to help him up. He brushed her hand lightly aside and
quickly scrambled to his feet.
"That's my line," he told her jokingly. He gestured to her injured
wrist, even though he knew that wasn't what she was talking
about. "I'm not the one who-"
"Don't." Mac reached up and placed a finger against his
lips. "Don't do that, Harm. If we're going to get through this
together, then we have to be honest with each other." She brushed
her hand against his cheek and said softly, "I need you to talk to me
too, Harm. Tell me what you're feeling."
He sighed, leaning his cheek against her palm. He tried to find the
words to describe his conflicting emotions.
"I'm feeling the same things you are, I guess," he finally admitted.
He pulled her hand from his face and held it between his, focusing
his gaze on the lines of her palm. "Angry. Terrified. Helpless. I
don't know what to do," he told her quietly, "and I hate not knowing."
She slid her hand up under his chin and lifted his head to meet her
gaze. "I know," she said reassuringly. "And that's okay."
He nodded and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering
gloom. At least for a while. He reached for her injured
hand. "Let's get you upstairs and put some ice on this."
"Harm." She started to protest, to launch into her `I'm a marine'
speech, when his next words brought her up short.
"Let me take care of you, Mac," he said earnestly, and it wasn't an
order but a plea. "Just for a little while. Please."
Overwhelmed by the look in her eyes, she nodded her head. "I can do
that," she agreed, and was rewarded with a full flyboy grin. She
could do it, she repeated to herself. Not because she wasn't capable
of taking care of herself, but because taking care of her made Harm
feel a little less helpless, a little more in control. Taking care
of her was what he needed right now, so that's what she would give
him.
"Come on, marine," Harm said, wrapping his arm around her waist and
leading her towards the stairs. "Onward and upward."
For the first time since Dr. Carter's phone call, Mac felt the
smallest ray of hope. Wrapping her arm around him, she smiled up at
him and decided it was time to try and lighten the mood.
"Harm?" she asked innocently. "Does taking care of me include making
me hot chocolate?"
Looking down at her, he knew exactly what she was trying to do, and
he was grateful for it. He wanted to smile and laugh and tease, for
however long they could, so he decided to play along. He pretended
to give her request serious thought before conceding, "I suppose that
could be arranged."
"With marshmallows?" she added hopefully in the little girl tone she
had discovered early on that Harm was powerless against.
He glared at her before agreeing grudgingly, "With marshmallows."
"And a foot rub?"
"Don't push it."
December 12, 2003
JAG Headquarters
1535 EST
Mac slowly made her way through the bullpen, balancing a load of case
files and her sixth cup of coffee. Completely exhausted, she needed
the constant influx of caffeine to get her through the day. She
wondered if Harm was faring any better. Despite their best efforts
to think positively and not to worry, neither one of them had managed
to get much sleep, and it had left them tired and irritable. At
least the only thing she had to worry about was finishing up
paperwork; Harm was still in court, dealing with closing arguments.
She took a quick check of her internal clock and sighed; only eighty-
five minutes and the day would be over.
JAG Headquarters
1640 EST
The trial was finally over. Harm and Bud had pulled off the
impossible and won, once again due to one of Harm's last minute
miracles. Any other time, Harm would have been celebrating his
victory, but today he ignored all of the congratulations and
compliments and rushed out of the courtroom, heading straight for the
bullpen and Mac's office.
Vietnam Veteran's Memorial
1730 EST
The sun had set, and what little warmth the daylight had provided was
long gone. Still, a few brave souls wandered up and down the Mall;
tourists mostly, willing to endure the cold to get their money's
worth out of their vacation. He passed them quickly, intent on
reaching his destination as soon as possible, knowing she would be
there.
Rabb/Mackenzie residence
1840 EST
Harm unlocked the front door and ushered Mac into the house before
closing and locking it behind him. When he turned around, Mac
had hung up her coat in the closet and was silently holding out her
hand. He shed his own coat and handed it to her, and she quickly
hung it up in the closet before turning to head for the kitchen.
Before she could take more than a couple of steps, Harm reached out
and caught hold of her arm.