Whisper of Life

October 14, 2003

Spoilers: Anything at all.

Author Notes: Hey everyone! I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Hannah, and I’m a 17 year old high school student in Oklahoma. This is my first fanfic (or basically anything that I’ve ever written for public) EVER, so please be kind. And gentle. I really want you to e-mail me back and tell me if I should consider continuing my writing. It’s a great outlet for me, I’ve found, and it’s something that I have enjoyed doing. So, please, give me lots and lots of feedback and tell me if you have enjoyed reading it. I would so appreciate it. Thanks a lot guys! And now, on with the story…

Part 1

Oh God. The pain.

Cutting you to your bones with its knife of death. Eating away at your soul, destroying your will to live. Your want to survive. Your desire to keep persevering. It’s beckoning you, calling your name. Over and over. Willing you to its door. Willing to shove the key into your own hands to unlock whatever reprieve is waiting behind it.

But you can’t. You won’t… will you? It’s not right. It can’t be justified. How can it be justified to die at the hands of another on your own living room floor, laying in your own blood and the shards of a broken mug and spilt tea that was meant to calm your nerves and prepare you to be able to concentrate on the work that was in front of you. Which happens to be moot now because you know who did it; you know who murdered Major Benson’s wife, Hannah. You know the face behind the cruelty and malice. You know the hand that gave life to the fingers that pulled the trigger. The finger that pulled the trigger seven times, as a matter of fact, and reduced poor Hannah to nothing but a bloody beaten corpse. You know, because it was the same face and the same hand that killed you. Or tried. Tried to kill you. Because you are not dead yet. And it’s then you realize, you must fight. You are still alive and because of that you must fight and bring justice.

So you gather what little strength left in you and turn your head. The phone is only a couple of feet away on top of the table. Call him, call him… help me, help me… You know you don’t have enough time left to have a conversation with the police you don’t have the strength to answer all their necessary but futile questions because you know you will run out of time. So you reach with your arms and drag your body. It’s a grueling process but becomes your mantra. Reach, drag, reach, drag… Because these words give you power, they tell you, you are making progress. They give you hope to live.

You reach the phone and pull it off the edge of the table. It clatters to the ground in front of you. Call him… help me. You dial the number you know by heart because you know you won’t have to answer his questions. He will already know because he knows you. He knows your every mood, your every decision he will know when you are in trouble, just as you would him. You two are connected like that.

You hear the first ring, then the second, then wait the one-hundred minutes till the third, and Oh God. What if he’s not there? But he has to be because he has to know. You can feel your life slipping away, faster and faster. Three slams of a bullet will do that to you. Please answer. Please help me…please. And just when you feel you are going to give in to the nothingness, you hear a click. Then a shuffle and a breathless, “Rabb,” on the other end. He must have just gotten home, just ran in the door. Maybe he ran to the grocery store after work because he had a missing ingredient for his Eggplant Parmesan. Or maybe he had just gotten back from an evening run. It was a nice night after all…

He interrupts your thoughts with his words…Concentrate, you need to concentrate.

“Hello…hello…who is this?”

Surely he must have heard your labored breathing just as you heard that labored voice in your head: help me… “Hello, Mac, is that you?” He’s worried. You can tell. So you muster every single fiber of strength you have and tell yourself to say it. Make yourself say it. You have to say it or you die, taunts that little voice.

“ ’arm…help…please ‘elp.” It comes out a throaty gurgle because you can feel the blood rising in your throat, threatening to choke you, your body ready to kill you by strangulation rather than asphyxiation. But you're OK now because you said it. And on the last vestige of consciousness you can hear him calling you, screaming your name. But you allow yourself to fall into the welcoming darkness because it is there where the pain is no more.

Part 2

He knew it was pointless to go on calling her name into the receiver. She was gone. He knew she was gone by the absence or her labored breaths and the smash of the phone dropping out of her lifeless fingers on to the ground. But yet, he couldn’t seem to make himself put down the phone. He stood transfixed by the hovering silence. Maybe he was in shock. She was fine. She had been fine. She had stopped by his office before she left, not three hours ago, teasing him about his workaholic tendencies and lack of social life.

“And yet marine, you are going home to an old dog and a night of reviewing the Benson Court Martial.” He had teased back, watching her stick out her tongue and saunter out of his office. Normally this sort of repartee by anyone else would grate on his nerves and put him on the defensive. But not with her. Never with her smile and her dancing eyes. She knew he would never take what she said seriously, and he knew that she would never mean it seriously. The two of them were connected like that.

So why was he still standing there? He jumped out of his stupor, grabbed his running shoes and shoved them on his feet, not even bothering to lace them because he had already wasted enough time. As he grabbed the keys, he at least had the sense to grab his cell. He had no idea what had happened to her, but he did know, without a doubt, that something was very, very wrong. He could feel time slipping away by the second and he grew more and more panicked that he might be too late already.

As he threw his Corvette into gear, he was already on the phone dialing the police. The drive over there was 20 minutes at the least, and he knew he needed to haul his six. He ran almost every red light in his path and whipped his car around every corner. Sixty seemed like a good speed. Why did these things always happen to them, he thought. Why did this have to happen to her? And couldn’t he at least have been there to protect her? He knew he would have. Whatever had happened to her, he knew he would have taken the equivalent times one thousand if it meant she would be safe. If it meant he could see her beautiful face again. If it meant she could have a chance at the life she always wanted but that he would never give her. He thought they would always have time. Together, they seemed invincible. But one thing he now knew was that time was unpredictable. The only predictable thing about time at the moment was that it was slipping. And slipping fast. Slipping out of control just like his sanity. If she didn’t make it he knew he never would. How could he?

As he whipped around the last corner to her apartments he was greeted with a sight that he had hoped he would never see. Nearly six or seven police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck were stationed outside the dark building. Tenants of the apartments were huddled in masses; some crying, some in shock; all portraying the same emotions that were probably splayed all over his own face. He took a deep breath and jumped out of his car. He ran underneath the police “Caution” tape. Ha, he thought bitterly. The damage has already been done. There is no reason to caution. As he shoved his way through the huddled crowd to the entrance, he felt a hand grab his forearm. A man’s voice vaguely permeated his haze.

“Sir, you can’t go in there. Sir, that is off limits to the public.”

“That’s my partner in there. I called the police,” he said, wrenching his arm away from the meager man’s grasp. He never even broke stride. He was determined to get to that door. To get to her. Just as he was reaching the crowded doorway to the apartments, he stopped still. Frozen in his steps.

There she was. A vision of red on white. The blood was a stark and shocking contrast to the sterile hospital sheets. But the most deplorable contrast of all was the face of the stranger on the makeshift bed to the face that haunted his every memory. The face that he could never see enough each day, the face that gave him hope each day to persevere into the next. The face that he may never see again after today. When she was rushed past him on the gurney he could see the monstrous oxygen mask that was holding her beautiful face captive. He could see the blood trailing down her neck to behind her delicate ears. Her pale face made her seem gaunt and unfamiliar to him as she was whisked away. He didn’t know what to do. For the second time in the past 30 minutes, he slipped into a state of shock. He needed to go with her, he knew he needed to. But his feet. His unresponsive feet remained indifferent to what his mind was telling them to do.

The same officer that had tried to stop him from going in the building was standing off to the side, watching the man witness his partner being carried out on the stretcher. Partner my ass, he thought as he watched the emotions flicker across the dazed man’s face. Hurt, anger, desolation and despair were all making their presence known. But there was something else…something that he could not identify. Something that he saw very rarely. Something like… a love lost. Maybe. Maybe it’s my imagination, he thought. Or maybe not.

Walking over to the lost looking man, he put his hand on his shoulder in sympathy.

“Let’s get you on that ambulance.”

Harm stared at the man surprised, having forgotten that he wasn’t the only one here in this spiteful world. Well, ever since the moment he got Mac’s call, it was spiteful. Before that it was… good. He managed a smile that ended up a complete failure and instead opted for a mumbled, “Thank you.” The man took his arm and guided him towards the ambulance that was loading Mac.

“This man’s going to ride with her to the hospital,” the officer said.

Harm climbed in and immediately sat by Mac, grabbing her cold, lifeless fingers. He sat staring at the illusory image in front of him. As he gently stroked her fingers, he leaned his head down to hers, touching his forehead to hers, wanting, no needing to make contact with her. Flesh against flesh to remind him that she was still here. She was still alive, if only barely. As he disregarded the medical workers helping to keep Mac alive, he closed his eyes and allowed the first few tears of grief slip out on to her pallid cheeks. "Why God?” he whispered.

Part 3

Floating. Hovering between one place and the other. So restful, you think. So calm and so inviting. And once again, something is beckoning you. But this time it is not to give in to the pain. Nor to the fear. This time it is peace. And you smile as you feel it casting its rays upon your face. Warming you and erasing any trace of pain you ever had. You can see the light getting brighter and warmer and it’s getting to hard to resist. But why do you want to resist it. It’s offering you everything you ever wanted. Everything you ever desired.

But as you take a step closer to the light, something makes you hesitate. A doubt. A lingering doubt that slowly pries you away from your first preference. Away from peace. But why? Why can’t it just let you be happy? All you want is to be happy. You hear a voice, a whisper really. But it’s not coming from the light. It’s from behind. You turn your head and see the darkness. You start to feel cold and want to turn away but you can’t. Because you hear that incessant whisper calling to something. Or to someone. A name. It’s calling someone’s name. It drifts through your mind like tendrils of a fog. You try to recognize what it is saying and then at last, your mind distinguishes it:

Ma…’ac…’eez… Mac, please.

Mac. Please. That’s your name. Someone is calling your name, and you’re confused. But you hear it again and the voice to go with it. And suddenly you remember. And with the sudden force of the memory, so comes the sensations throughout your body. A tingle really, a slight buzz. First in your shoulder. As you reach to touch it you begin to feel the same thing in your thigh as well as in your chest. And it spreads. It spreads throughout your whole body until you can feel it coursing through every extremity. You realize then that this is your pain. And the light and the darkness are giving you the choice to choose. And you’re torn. You want to reach back to the light, just a couple more steps and you’re there. But you remember him. And you recognize his voice calling to you. Your name: Mac. He needs you, although he won’t say so. But you can hear it in his voice. You know him and he knows you and that is why you can’t give up. You’re too stubborn to give up. Even in the light, you are lost without him. So you turn and you bravely take your steps towards the dark and the cold and the fear and the pain. And it begins to hurt as you remember it did before. But this is the price you have to pay for life. The price to see him again. And so you close your eyes, take a deep breath and let go. You prepare yourself for the long journey through the darkness but you‘re not scared because you know he‘s waiting for you…

As the ambulance skids to a stop in front of the emergency entry of Bethesda, the EMT drivers run around the vehicle and yank the doors open. The EMT crew hop out, pulling Mac behind them. Harm follows them out, and returns to his vigil at her side. He runs alongside them as close as he can be without disturbing what the crew was trying to fix.

They had almost lost her twice on the way over here. Even in that short 7 or so minutes time. But of course only Mac would know the exact amount.

“That’s six minutes and 38 seconds Flyboy,” she would say. And of course his reply would be the standard, “You know someday, you’ll have to tell me how you do that.” She would laugh and smile slyly like she always did. But now, there might not be a someday. Because each time her heart stopped so did his. Each time he had called out to her, pleading with his voice for her to come back. He would not let her give up. He couldn’t. The two of them were connected like that. He knew she was too stubborn to give up. She was a marine after all.

As they were rushing down the dismal hospital corridors, he vaguely registered all the pitied looks he was getting from strangers. How he must look to them; a lost man with worried eyes and was unable to do anything more than run after the wounded woman he loved.

The wounded woman he loved.

The woman he loved.

He loved the woman. The wounded woman.

And what a perfect occasion to drudge up these relentless feelings. He decided to cast them aside for the moment and concentrate on what was at hand. She would make it. And then he would tell her and then they could be together forever. At least that’s how he had it all planned out in his mind. But that plan required time, and time was something that was not on their side tonight. He forged ahead with the stretcher carrying His Marine and didn’t even notice the sign above the door they had just forged through that said, “SURGERY: Medical Personnel Only” until a hefty nurse with a name tag that read Lucy drew back from the massive huddle and stopped in front of him.

“I’m sorry sir. Medical personnel only. You’ll have to wait outside.”

“But I have to be with her. She needs me,” he pleaded with his scratchy voice.

“She needs a doctor sir. Please have a seat on a chair and we’ll keep you abreast,” she said as she guided him out the “Medical Personnel Only” room and showed him to a seat.

“She’ll be okay, sir. They always are.” and with a sympathetic pat on his arm she took off after the waiting doctors.

He stared at the doors as they swung back and forth after she pushed through them. Back and forth. Back and forth. An ongoing rhythm so unlike the rhythm of life. Defeated, he sunk into the proffered chair. He looked around the room for some sign of assurance that everything was going to be okay. Any sign that what the nurse had told him was true. He needed everything to be okay. But the only thing he noticed was that the room had a leak in the corner on the ceiling. His head sunk to his hands and he wondered. Who had done this to her? And why? Why would someone want to hurt Sarah McKenzie? He jumped up and threw the flimsy plastic chair away from him. He turned around and pummeled his fist into the wall, over and over. He did not notice any pain except hers. Why couldn’t I have been there God, why couldn’t I have protected her, he thought. Leaning his forehead against the wall and finally overwhelmed, he cradled his bleeding fist in his other arm and he fell hard into heartache. Slowly, he sank to the floor and broke…

Part 4

Harm had been at Mac’s side for the whole thirty-four hours and however many minutes. He could distantly remember the “medical personnel only” nurse- what was her name again…Lucy- coming to inform him that Mac had made it through the seven hour surgery that had seemed more like seven days to him. He dimly registered the fact that while the two bullets through the shoulder and the thigh had made a clean punctures, the bullet to her chest nicked her right lung and cracked a few of her ribs. But the one thing that he was fully aware of was that “Colonel Sarah McKenzie” was being moved to the ICU and he could go see her after she was stabilized. Twenty minutes later he was standing outside her door with his hand on the doorknob, preparing himself for what he would see on the other side. Strengthening himself so he could be strong for her when she needed him when she woke up. But the real truth was, he was the one that needed her. So with that final thought, he twisted the knob in his hand and stepped hesitantly through. What he saw made his stomach drop and his knees buckle, almost plummeting him to the floor.

She had so many tubes going in and out of her like snakes trying to devour her body. Her eyes were taped shut, for precautionary measures they had said. But she was breathing. Thank God she was breathing. But not voluntarily, he noticed. No, that small blessing was due to the large apparatus that was literally growing out of her throat, forcing her to live when everything else around her proved that she shouldn’t live. It was eerily quiet in the room. Almost deathly. No, not deathly…never deathly. It was just…too quiet. Except for the steady best of her pulse on one of the many machines and her pseudo, life giving breaths, there was not another sound. Witnessing all these machines doing their work, it was apparent to him why the next day would prove if Sarah McKenzie would live or die. They said she had lost too much blood, and it was up to her to pull through. Oh God.

He clenched his sweaty fists and pulled one of the standard issue plastic hospital chairs over to her bedside. He sat down and scooted closer to her. His eyes gently moved over her body, his mind trying to imagine her before. Before all this. Her beautiful brown eyes. Her teasing smile with it’s soulful laugh.

He reached his hand out hesitantly to touch hers. Afraid to touch her for fear of breaking her. As his fingers made contact with her, he remembered the cold he had felt before. He wove his fingers together with hers and picked them up and placed a small kiss on her palm. Then he laid them back down on the side her bed. He looked down at their intertwined hands. How small hers were to his. How small and meek they looked now compared to the ones that used to be ready to take on the world. Ha, if she knew I was thinking about her being small and meek, she’d kick my six all the way to the Patrick Henry, he thought with a grin. But then he sobered. He had become aware of the perfect fit. Her soft delicate fingers tucked into his large ones. If only he had recognized that sooner- three or four years sooner, he thought ruefully.

During the next several hours, Harm made calls to the Admiral at JAG and to Col. O’Hara in Leavenworth, relaying to them the situation that they all found themselves in at the moment. The Admiral showed up at the hospital not 20 minutes after being informed. He tried to order Harm to go home and get some sleep, or to at least get some rest on a couch here but all efforts were futile. Harm was bound and determined to stay awake and at Mac’s side until she came back to him. Sturgis came up to offer Harm some support and words of encouragement. They all gave him words of encouragement and sympathy, but why give them to him though? It was Mac that was fighting for her life. It was Mac that had been shot three times. He started to get frustrated with the endless mumblings of “she’ll be okay” and the incessant “Mac’s a marine. She’s too stubborn to back down from a fight.” He probably would have gone crazy from all the compassion if Harriet and Bud hadn’t showed up with little AJ. It’s funny, he thought, that the tiniest things can give you the most hope.

He remembered the look on little AJ’s face as he pushed through the door to Mac’s room and bounded into his Uncle’s arms.

“Uncle Harm!”

“Hey kiddo,” he laughed as the little one squeezed his tiny arms around his neck. “Hey guys,” he added as he saw the Bud limping through the door and guiding his pregnant wife, a few steps behind their bouncy bundle of energy.

“Hey sir,” Bud said as he came up to the Commander.

“Bud…Harriet, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s just Harm when we’re out of uniform,” he laughed as he placed AJ onto the floor.

“Of course,” they smiled. “How are you Harm?” Harriet asked. She put a protective hand to her stomach, something that had become sort of a habit for her whenever she was worried about something, or someone, and in this case would be him.

“I’m doing okay Harriet,” he answered. Though not very convincingly, because they were still staring at him with doubt. He looked down to the floor. They were right. They were all right, he was not fine. He was not okay. And he was tired of pretending to be. He sank into his chair and put his head into his hands. “To tell the truth, I don’t know really what I’m feeling,” he said. He felt tiny fingers grab his hands and pull them away from his face.

“Uncle Harm, why are you sad?” AJ asked innocently. He became envious of the child’s naivety. He really wished he could be oblivious to the situation right at the moment. He looked up to Harriet and Bud to try and see just how much they had told him of the situation. He took the little boy’s hands and held them in his own.
“I’m sad because Aunt Mac is very sick,” he told him. AJ looked over to his beloved Aunt and said, “But Uncle Harm, look. She’s just sleeping.” Harm closed his eyes and put his chin to his chest.

“AJ, baby…” Harriet tried to interrupt to save the grief-stricken Commander. She didn’t think that he needed to go through this again, much less with a four-year old who doesn’t understand the concept of life and death yet.

“No, Harriet…it’s okay,” Harm stopped her. He looked over to Mac and really looked at her. “It does look like she’s sleeping doesn’t it,” Harm said, agreeing with his godchild. He pulled him up on to his lap and they watched Mac together.

“What do you think she’s dreaming about?” He asked, choosing to go along with AJ’s innocent suggestion. He decided that a little trip into a child’s mind right now may not be such a bad idea. AJ squished his eyes together in concentration and thought for a moment.

“You, me and Aunt Mac are all at the park together. And we’re doing the swings like we did the other day, remember Uncle Harm? And I’m sitting on her lap and you’re pushing us both and we’re going really high. But I’m not scared because Aunt Mac has her arms around me real tight so I won’t fall out.” He turned around to face his Uncle and saw that he was crying. “Don’t cry. It’s a happy dream. She was laughing, remember?” He reached his little hands to try and wipe away the tears that were slowly making their way down Harm’s face. Harm took his tiny hand and pulled him towards him, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Yeah, I remember kiddo,” he said pulling back to look at the remarkable little boy.

“AJ, baby. It’s time for us to go now, okay? We can come visit Aunt Mac and Uncle Harm again later, sweetie,” Bud interrupted. He too was tearing up because he remembered that day that Harm and Mac had come home from taking AJ to the park that day. They were so happy. And looking at the scene in front of him now, he realized that might never happen again. He took AJ’s hand and helped him off Harm’s lap.

“Bye Harm, we’ll come back later, okay?” Harriet asked.

“Sure Harriet. I’d like that,” he responded. He watched as they started to move towards the door. But right before they left AJ turned around and told him something that he would never forget.

“Don’t worry Uncle Harm. I don’t think that she wants to leave yet anyway,” he told him.

“Why do you think that buddy?”

“Because she’d miss you too much,” and then he turned around and grabbed Harriet’s hand and was gone.