What Have I Done?

A follow up to Take it Like A Man

By Lobsterdoc

Rate Teen for language and innuendo

Spoilers for Take it Like a Man and any many other episodes

This story came to me all at once. This is my take on what might have happened to Mac after she left Clay's apartment. Actually this is where the show might go next if I were TPTB. As usual from me, the story is Mac POV.

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What Have I Done?

Four hours and 18 minutes ago, a man I care for deeply gave me the greatest gift one human can give to another, his heart. Clayton Webb, told me he loved me. It's not like I haven't heard the words before; from Chris, Dalton, Mic, all men who wanted something in return: my body, my loyalty, my independence. But this was different. I had been through hell with this man, had faced death head on. He had told me his feelings and then waited until I was ready. Eight months he had waited for us to consummate our relationship, not to mention that he had been willingly tortured to save me from the same fate. This man, I believe, truly loves me, for me. He isn't looking for payment in kind or asking me to give up a piece of me to be with him. I should be happy, shouldn't I?

I climb out of bed taking the blanket with me and walk toward the window. Pulling aside the shade I peer out into the darkness. It's raining gently, the drops rippling the puddle under the street light outside my window. The street is deserted and the darkened, empty windows lining the street stare back at me. The glass is frigid as I lean my forehead against it. The coldness completes the desolation of the scene. The night is as barren as my soul.

What have I done? I told Clay I loved him. And I do, I think, as a friend, as a man. But do I? Once I told Sturgis Turner I was in love with Harm. Was I? Am I? I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders as I begin to shiver, but the blanket cannot banish the chill I feel. What had Clay said? I use Harm's unavailability to hide? Is he right? Have I been carrying a torch for Harm, waiting for magic words from him that I know will never come and using that as a shield, denying myself happiness with another man, a good man? Is that what I did to Mic?

No, I did not love Mic. I cared for him. I felt an obligation to him because he gave up his life in Australia to be with me. I took his ring out of desperation, after rejection from the man I really loved. That was Mic's analysis, and Harm's. Any time a man shows interest, you're ready… Is that what's going on here? Am I running to Clay because Harm won't have me? Because I think I can't have the man I really love? Am I settling? Is that enough? Why isn't anything ever enough?

A thought pricks at the edges of my mind. Obligation. Is that what I feel for Clay? Am I so messed up, tangled in my parents' relationship, desperate to prove that I don't need anybody, that I can't tell the difference between love and obligation? No, I don't think so. I feel something for Clay. In all honesty, I have felt close to him for years. If I didn't care for him I wouldn't have continued to support his ridiculous missions that nearly got us killed every time. I would have been done with him. Right? In fact, tonight I told him I would be done if he kept shutting me up. Is that how you treat someone you love? Run the minute they don't give you the response you are looking for? The moment you think they aren't there for you, you split, leaving huge skid marks on your heart and theirs?

A clap of thunder and flash of lighting bring me back to the present. Startled, I drop the blanket but reach down to pick it up as the cold permeates my body. I flash briefly on another time when I stood in a window much like this one trying to make sense of my life and my choices. I had been about to marry Mic and lose Harm, maybe forever. My feelings for Harm had been pretty clear then, in retrospect. I did care for him, more than I cared for Mic. My life would have been bereft without Harm in it. I didn't care for Mic in the same way and he had been rational enough to see it, thank God. A chuckle escapes my lips, shattering the silence. What a mistake that would have been. Marrying a man when I was in love with another…

Oh God. I'm doing it again, aren't I, running to Clay out of fondness and a sense of obligation when I am really in love with Harm? No, I won't take full responsibility this time. Harm had his chance, several chances, to tell me how he feels and he hasn't done it. Anger fills my empty places as I think about how well things were going last year, how sure I was that maybe, finally, he would come to his senses and tell me how he feels. I mean, dammit, it's only three little words, right? Hell, I've said them dozens of times, to dozens of men. It's really quite easy…

My anger rapidly deflates when I realize that it is easy to say "I love you" when you don't mean it. There's no risk. You aren't putting your heart out on the counter to be torn open. They are just words. They don't mean anything. Am I asking Harm for too much? Asking him to do something that is too risky? He went to Paraguay and damn near got killed and gave up his career for me. Isn't that enough? Anger comes rushing back, replacing guilt. No, that's more obligation. I didn't ask him to do all those things. He made his choices, I didn't demand them. Sure I could have been better at acknowledging what he did. But I think we're ok on that score, now. He knows how I feel.

The truth slams into me with the force of a 50 cal machine gun. What had Harm said when he came to tell me about Mattie? That he didn't think I would be interested? I had dismissed his feelings then, angry because he had been shutting me out of his life. He had ignored more than a dozen phone calls. My feelings were hurt. I had chalked his behavior up to petulance because we didn't all fall at his feet singing his praises. I hadn't fallen into his arms and the admiral had refused to take him back and Harm was pouting. Certainly the admiral's assessment had seemed harsh. But it wasn't completely without merit. I could have taken care of my problems myself. I didn't need the grand gesture of his giving up his life to save me, and those are the only feelings I have ever made clear to Harm. I never thanked him. I have never said to him, the words I long to hear.

"Oh god," I moan to no one in particular, as grief manifests itself as a searing pain in my chest. Sobs grow there until they can no longer be contained. An inarticulate sound, like a wounded animal, echoes off the walls of my apartment as I lose the physical battle to control my emotions. I sink to the floor, gasping for air, sobbing uncontrollably as I realize that this is not Harm's fault but my own. He's right. I have made it impossible to be my friend and then blamed him for my loneliness. I have expected him to read my thoughts and feelings without ever telling him how I feel. I have tried to assuage the loneliness with a relationship with another man. Again.

'Never'. The word echoes in the recesses of my brain and settles in the center of my heart. I told him never. I pushed him away when he was most fragile and he believed me. He moved on. I AM afraid he has lost interest in me and it is all my doing. My problems haven't appeared in the last two weeks. I have been holding people at arms length since I first met Sadik Fahd, perhaps long before then. I have damaged, perhaps permanently, the only one, true, potentially consistent relationship I have ever had.

Epilogue. Two days later.

I am sitting on a barely comfortable couch waiting for the petty officer to summon me. My phone call to the admiral had gone pretty well. He accepted my story that I was not feeling well and wouldn't be into the office for several days. He hadn't asked any questions just quietly and sympathetically acquiesced. I am terrified of my decision. I do not really want to disturb my scars or the scabs from more recent wounds to my soul. I do not want to look at who I really am; not the outer trappings, lawyer, decorated marine, but the inner core, Sarah MacKenzie. I do not know who she is anymore. Perhaps I never knew her.

A call of my name shakes me from my reveries. "You can go in now, Colonel MacKenzie," the young petty officer suggests gently.

"Thank you, Petty Officer," I answer crisply.

I rise and reach for the door, hesitating as I steel myself for the journey I am about to begin. I open the door and enter the complete unknown.

"Hello Colonel, I'm surprised to see you again."

"Hello Commander McCool," I whisper shakily, "I, I think I need to talk."