There was a bottle of vodka in the freezer.

Mac was seated on the couch attempting to watch television, but all her attention was really in the kitchen. On that bottle. With every fiber of her being she was totally aware of that bottle.

She’d slept for a total of 4 hours, taken 2 showers, consumed countless cups of coffee, worked out at the gym, and gone through some case files she’d brought home from work. And, oh yes, she’d stopped and bought a bottle of vodka.

She’d actually stopped to fill up the car with gas, grateful for the pay at the pump feature. She didn’t have to step inside the convenience store. Even being this close to a similar situation had her hands shaking as she’d pumped the gas. It was during that vulnerable moment, when flashbacks were crowding in, that the sign had caught her eye. The liquor store was right next to the gas station. Without even thinking about it, she’d replaced the gas hose on the pump, collected her receipt, and stepped across to the beckoning neon sign.

Once inside, she’d stopped at the door, overwhelmed. There were hundreds…thousands of bottles of forgetfulness right in front of her. Rows of oblivion. An entire store of anesthetic. She couldn’t breathe.

“Can I help you?” The kindly looking woman behind the cash register had sounded so helpful, but Mac had shaken her head, unable to articulate anything. Her heart pounding, she had wandered up and down the aisles, pausing only to touch a label occasionally, skimming her hand over the bottles.

She had stopped at the vodka section. Delicately, reverently, she’d trailed a finger down a bottle of Stolichnaya, a very old friend. One she hadn’t talked to in a good many years. Oh, she remembered the smooth taste of that particular potion. Straight, chilled, with no ice, it was quite possibly the elixir of life. Or death, the sane part of her mind whispered to her, but she’d ignored it.

She’d broken out in a sweat, the sound of her pulse beating loudly in her ears as she picked it up. It was heavy, but the cool glass of the bottle felt so good against her fingers. It was all she could do not to open it right there in the store and take a big swig. She had tried to put it back. Really. But before she could figure out just what the hell she was doing, she was at the cash register and handing the woman her credit card.

As the woman ran her credit card, she’d looked Mac over. “Are you all right, honey?” Apparently, she’d looked bad. And unable to answer, she’d just given the woman a nod, signed the receipt, and practically run to her car, the Stolichnaya tucked tightly under her arm.

And now, here she was. Hiding from it.

She’d placed it in the freezer and run into the living room. But out of sight was definitely not out of mind. Like a siren, it called to her, luring her. She could hear it. ‘Mac, I’m here for you. Remember how I can make you feel?’

Desperately she reminded herself of the struggle she went through to dry out. The physical pain, the emotional torture. She recalled the look Harm had given her when she was drunk, and his words, “You’re not just a drunk, you’re a mean drunk.” She went over the 12 step program in her mind. She forced herself to remember the feeling of being hung over, of feeling like crap.

But most of all, she remembered the feeling of not caring about anybody or anything, least of all herself. The feeling of being free…to do anything she wanted, to ignore the world and everybody in it. And that was what she wanted more than anything right now. Not to care, not to feel, not to remember.

Shutting the television off, she rose slowly from the couch and headed for the kitchen. She could feel herself sweating, her pulse pounding again, just like it did in the store. In a surreal slow motion, she took the bottle out of the freezer and set it on the counter.

It was cold now, chilled, just how she liked it. The little drops of condensation on the outside of the bottle were dripping down the side to form a puddle around it on the counter. Without taking her eyes off it, she reached up and retrieved a glass from the cupboard and set it next to the bottle.

With a shaking hand she took the bottle of vodka in her hands and opened it, breaking the seal in one forceful twist. The sweet subtle scent of it hit her like a brick. Oh God, it had been so long since she’d really smelled that wonderful aroma. She inhaled, hoping against hope that that alone would satisfy her. But she knew, even then, that it wouldn’t.

The bottle neck clanked against the glass as she filled it. The glub glub of the flowing liquid hitting her ears like music. Somewhere, deep inside her, a voice was saying ‘STOP’, but she wasn’t listening.
She raised the glass to her lips, pausing to savor the scent.

There was a knock at the door.

She stopped, debating as to whether or not to ignore it and keep drinking, but the knock sounded again, louder this time, insistent. Knowing once she started drinking, she wasn’t going to stop, she set the glass down on the counter.

Determinedly she stalked towards the door, irritated at being interrupted and promising herself to get rid of whoever it was as soon as she could. Without checking the peephole she whipped open the door, fully prepared to give a quick speech to any well-meaning friend who was there and hurry them out.

The words died on her lips unspoken. It was Harm.

“Mac?” She looked awful to him. She’d lost weight, she was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes that make-up couldn’t hide. And she hadn’t said a word, just stared at him, her mouth forming a perfect “O” of surprise. Something was definitely wrong, very wrong.

Abruptly she shook her head as if to wake up. “Uhhh…Harm. I wasn’t expecting you till tomorrow night.”

“Can I come in?” She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder and he thought for a moment she was going to refuse.

“Um…yeah…of course.” She gave him a ghastly smile and opened the door wide, gesturing for him to enter. Shock made her acquiesce before she thought about it.

Wary now, he made his way to the couch, trying to decide on the best course of action. Obviously she was not doing well, but if he didn’t handle this right he’d just make things worse. Even at the best of times Mac was tricky to deal with, and he needed to tread carefully.

“Would you like something to drink? Err…some tea, I mean?” Guilt made her fumble her offer of refreshment. She really needed to get control of herself; Harm didn’t know about the vodka and wouldn’t assume she was offering him alcohol. Scolding herself, she settled on the couch with him, making sure there was a large space between them.

“No thanks. I just stopped by to see how you’re doing.” He could see how she was doing. Badly. She was doing very badly. His first instinct was to grab her and hug her, then demand to know what was wrong. But he knew better than that. “I managed to get finished early.”

“Umm…I’m okay.” She managed another smile for him, but it was a poor effort.

At his disbelieving glance she flushed and looked down. Damn him.

Picking up the case file the admiral had given her earlier in the day, she tried changing the subject. “Here’s a new case. The admiral gave it to me yesterday, but we’re both working on it. We’re the defense. Flip you for first chair?” She handed him the file with another one of those awful fake smiles.

He took the file and set it down on the coffee table without opening it. “Mac…” He kept his tone gentle, but left her no doubt that he meant to get to the truth. He was not going to just go away.

She laughed nervously, stalling for time. She hadn’t thought up a story for him, she felt guilty over the vodka, and she didn’t want to tell him anything. Couldn’t he see she didn’t want to talk? It wasn’t fair of him to just show up and undermine all her defenses. Damn him.

Still as gently as he knew how, he continued. “I can see you’re not okay. I have eyes, and it didn’t take 30 seconds for me to see it. Talk to me, marine.”

There was a long silence as he waited, trying to be patient and give her time to think.
She drew in a shaky breath and pressed her hands to her face.

He still waited.

Her mind worked frantically, trying to come up with some plausible story to tell him. In her panic, she couldn’t think of a thing and the silence drew out until finally she crumbled into tears. Too much was happening and she couldn’t deal.

The tears astounded him; Mac just didn’t burst into tears like this. Moving quickly, he scooted over to comfort her and place his arm around her.

“NO!” Before he knew what was happening she was up off the couch and away from him.

He knew what had happened from Bud, that the bastard at the convenience store had tried to rape her, but he was still surprised at the strength of her reaction. Then he remembered when he’d tried to comfort her long ago, when a poacher had tried the same thing and she had had to kill him. She’d had the same reaction then, just on a lesser scale.

Carefully, he followed her, making sure he didn’t close in on her, giving her space. “Mac, it’s okay.”

A choked sob was his answer and he ached to hold her. She was standing by the fireplace, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. He stretched out a hand, intending only to touch her arm, but she flinched away. “Please don’t touch me.”

Holding up both hands, he said, “I won’t, not until you tell me to. Come sit down, Mac. It’s okay.”

Still not looking at him, she went back to the couch and sat down, pulling her knees up and clutching a pillow. There was no sobbing now, but the tears still flowed down her face. ‘God’, he thought, ‘What the hell is wrong?’

“Mac, I’m going to make us some tea, okay? I’ll be right back.” It was all he could think of to do. She nodded, and he turned to go to the kitchen.

It was then she remembered and found her voice. “No, wait! Harm!” But it was too late.

Before he even fully entered the kitchen, the bottle with the full glass beside it caught his attention. He just stared at it, horrified, his heart in his throat. ‘Oh God, not this Mac. Please God, not this.’

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