I sigh as I close the file open in front of me.  We've been at this for almost two hours and we're no closer to hammering out a defense angle then we were when we started.  I look over at Mac and find that she has lost interest in the case also.  Instead, she's leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed, her hands rubbing her shoulders and neck. 

I can't help looking at her, safe in the knowledge that she can't see me.  I imagine myself rubbing the tension from her shoulders.  Nothing I haven't done before for real, but in my thoughts it goes farther than that.  My hands slip down her body until they find the lower edge of her sweater, gently tugging it upward until I pull it over her arms and head.  I place my hands on her now bare stomach, enjoying the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingertips before they move higher to cup. . . .

She opens her eyes to find me looking at her.  Can she tell what I am thinking?  I hope not.  I've missed having my best friend around and I want that back.  She can't ever know that I want more.  I always have.  But she's made her choice and I have to live with it.  I'll be happy for her. . . .even if it's slowly killing me inside.

I've got to stop this.  Deciding we need some kind of diversion, I suggest, "Why don't we go out and get something to eat?  There are several places within walking distance."  We need to get out of this apartment, out of this confining space.  Or rather, I do.

She stares at me intently.  It's almost as if she can see right through me.  After an intense moment, she tears her eyes away and answers softly, "Sounds good.  We could use a break."

Why do I have a feeling that she's not just talking about this case?

+++

We ate at a little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria near Union Station and we're now just wandering around, enjoying each other's company.  I can't remember the last time we did anything like this.  We used to run together all the time, have dinner at each other's places even if we weren't working on cases - there are so many things that we used to do that I miss.  But now she has Mic, I have Renee and unfortunately, both have a somewhat possessive and jealous nature.

But none of that matter right now.  Renee has gone to California on a shoot and to be frank, I am happy to put some distance between us.  Lately, she has been dropping a lot of hints about things that I want no part of, at least not with her.  A few weeks ago, when my mother stopped by unexpectedly on her way home from Europe, I had the hardest time forcing myself not to react when Renee suggested that I ask Mom where Frank had gotten her new ring.  Just when did we get that serious?  To be honest, for me she is just a distraction from the pain that is slowly eating away at me inside.  I need to put a stop to it.  As much as I can never love her the way she apparently wants me to, I am too much of a gentleman to let it go on with her expecting things that I just don't have it in me to give.  I just have to figure out a way to let her down gently.

I look over at Mac walking next to me, her gaze fixed on some imaginary point off in the distance and I idly wonder where Mic is.  He must be out of town or otherwise occupied tonight.  I can't imagine that he would approve of Mac spending the evening at my apartment, even if it is for work.  Hell, I don't think he really approves of us remaining friends.  But even if I can never have more, she's the best friend I've ever had and I refuse to let him take that away from me.  Not now that we're finding our way to being the best of friends again.

"Pleasant night tonight," I say idly and I'm not just talking about the weather.

She looks at me, an unreadable expression on her face, as she simply replies, "Yes, it is."  Then she smiles at me, a smile that warms me up inside.  How long has it been since she's smiled at me like that?  I can't remember and I hate that.  Not for the first time, I wonder if we would be at this place right now if I hadn't returned to flying.

No more thinking like this, at least not for the rest of this evening.  I just want to relax and enjoy spending time with Mac.  "Do you want to walk around some more or are you ready to head back and work on the case?" I ask, grinning at her.

She appears to ponder the question for a moment.  She then answers reluctantly, "I suppose we should head back.  We still have a lot of work to do if we have any hope of getting Linson off."

She's right, of course.  Without another word, we turn around and start heading back in the direction we came from.  We walk in companionable silence for a few minutes, but I want to hear her voice.  But what can we talk about?  There are so many things that it is best not to talk about between us if I want the evening to remain pleasant.  Finally, I settle on something that has nothing to do with our significant others or this impossible situation between us.

"Have you talked to your uncle recently?" I ask, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets.  There is a slight chill in the air and it is only getting chillier as the evening wears on.

"I called him a few days ago to wish him a happy birthday," she says, looking straight ahead.  "He sounds good, I guess.  As good as someone sitting in Leavenworth can sound, anyway.  He said to say hello."

"That's good to hear," I respond.  I really like Matt O'Hara and wish there was more that I could have done for him.  As it was, given the gravity of his crime, I was extremely lucky to get him off with as light a sentence as I did.  He's also the only person that Mac's given her respect and love to that actually deserves it as far as I'm concerned. 

"So what about you?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing her arms with her hands to ward off the chill.  I want so much to take her in my arms and warm her all over, but I can't.  "Have you spoken to your parents recently?"

"Actually, Mom stopped by for a quick visit a few weeks ago on her way home from Europe," I tell her.  "She and Frank renewed their wedding vows over there.  She looked very good.  Frank had some business to take care of, so he wasn't with her."

"So did you have a nice visit with her?" she continues, glancing at me.  I smile at her, glad that she has finally relaxed enough that she can look at me.  So much of this evening she has been looking anywhere but. 

"Actually, it was a little awkward," I reply, the smile dropping from my face as I stop walking to lean against a sign post.  She stops also and just looks at me, waiting for me to explain my last statement.  I look down at the ground for a moment, studying the cracks in the sidewalk.  Here's another of those impossible situations.  Finally, I add, "I was going to tell her about Sergei, but I couldn't."

"Why not?" she asks.  I look up to find her brown eyes studying me intently, the compassion evident in their depths.  She probably the only one who could ever truly understand how difficult this all is.  After all, she's the one who was in Russia with me not once, but twice.  She was there with me on the banks of the Taiga when I wept for my father.  She was there right after I found Sergei, the first of my friends to find out about him.

"I don't want to hurt her," I say quietly.  "When I said that I wanted to talk about my trip to Russia, she started going on about our previous trip and how it had brought closure for her and how she had finally been able to lay my father to rest in her mind.  I couldn't open up those wounds again."

She unfolds her arms and puts her hand on my arm, trying to offer what comfort she can.  "I'm sorry," she says softly.  "I wish this could be easier for you.  I know how much you love your mother and how much you're growing to love your brother.  But let me ask you something?  When you asked Sergei to come live with you here, what if he had accepted?  Would you have told your mother then?  If he was living with you, there'd always be the possibility that she would stop by or call and he would be there."

She knows me so well.  I've asked myself those same questions.  Honestly, as much as I want to get to know my brother better, there is a part of me that is glad he didn't take me up on my offer.  This way is just easier right now.  Not by much, but it is easier.  "I don't know," I answer truthfully, looking down at the ground again. 

"Harm, I. . . ." she starts, stopping suddenly.  I look up again and find her looking up at the sky just as I feel the first drops hit my face.  Damn.  When we left, I didn't even look at the sky to determine if there was a chance of rain.  We don't have an umbrella with us. 

I grin at her and say, "I guess we really have to head back now.  Maybe it won't rain too hard and we can get back to my place without getting too wet." 

Famous last words.  As soon as they leave my mouth, the sky opens up, drenching us in a matter of a few minutes as we start walking quickly in the direction of my building.  Then we see a bright flash, followed quickly by the loud rumble of thunder.  Oh, great.  This evening just keeps getting better.  Damn it, it's November and there's a chill in the air.  Since when do we get thunderstorms this time of year?

We look at each other for a brief second then break out in a run.  Unfortunately, we only make it a few blocks before we have to stop for a traffic light.  Too bad we can take advantage of DC's mass transit system, but there is no subway station or bus stop near my building.  We'd have to get out and walk and we would still get soaked.  Since we are already pretty much soaked, we wouldn't really see any benefit from riding the bus or subway.

I glance over at Mac as we wait for the light and to my surprise, she looks *happy*.  My surprise must be evident in my expression, because she says, "Even you've got to see the humor in this situation – getting stuck out in the rain, having to walk home.  Didn't you ever go outside and play in the rain as a kid?"

"It doesn't rain much in Southern California," I remind her.  The light finally changes and we dart across the street and continue our run.  I'm freezing now and I can't even feel my feet in my soaked shoes and socks any more.  God, am I looking forward to stripping all this off and stepping into a hot shower when I get home.

Oh, shit.  That just reminds me that I have a companion getting just as soaked as I am.  Being the gentleman that I am, there is no question about letting her use the shower first.  But the idea of Mac stripping her soaked clothes and getting into the shower causes thoughts to form in my head that I shouldn’t be thinking.  Well, at least right now I don't have to worry about taking a cold shower to cool myself off.  Mother Nature is taking care of that for me just fine.

We come to another traffic light and we grab onto the traffic light pole as we stop, both of us out of breath.  I see her shivering in the cold rain and I don't even hesitate before taking her into my arms, trying to share some of my body heat with her, even though I'm just as cold and wet as she is.  She settles into my embrace as another flash of lightning streaks across the sky.  I hold her tightly in my arms as we wait for the light to change and she brings her hands up in front of her face, blowing on them and rubbing them together in a vain attempt to warm them.

When the light changes, I release her with reluctance and we are on our way again.  This time, the fates are with us and we make my building without having to stop for any more lights.  Bypassing the elevator – which is still waiting to be fixed – we race up the stairs, leaving puddles of water in our wake.  We finally reach my floor and while I fight to get my hand into the pocket of my jeans to withdraw my keys, she wraps her arms around herself, practically jumping up and down in an effort to warm up.  I manage to pull my keys out and after fumbling for a moment trying to get the key into the lock, I manage with shaking hands to unlock to door.

Opening the door, I pull her inside and drag her towards my bedroom without even stopping to flip on the light.  Stopping by the bathroom, I order, "Get undressed and into the shower.  I'll get some sweats for you to wear."

Leaving her there, I return to the door, fighting to pull the key out of the lock.  My fingers are so cold they don't want to work.  I get the key out finally and push the door closed, locking it from this side.  I return to the bedroom to get some clothes for Mac to wear and am surprised to find her still standing by the bathroom, her fingers fumbling with the button on the waistband of her jeans. 

Quickly, I get a towel from the bathroom and grab her hands, rubbing them briskly with the towel to dry them and to get the circulation going again.  She's shivering, but this time I resist the urge to take her into my arms.  It is just a few steps, both figuratively and literally, to the bed and we can't do that.  I just have to keep telling myself that. 

I stop what I'm doing and look at her hands.  They're dry, at least.  As for warm, I can't really tell since my own hands feel like they're damn near frozen stiff.  I hand her the towel and am about to leave to give her privacy when she stops me.  She returns the favor I just did her, wrapping my hands in the towel and rubbing.  I gasp as I feel the sharp, needle-like sensation that tells me the blood is starting to flow again.

Her hands still, but instead of letting go, she holds onto my hands still wrapped in the towel.  A heavy silence hangs between us as we both look down at our hands, neither of us apparently willing to be the first to break the contact.  I have to force myself to breathe as this moment stretches between us.  It would be so easy. . . .

A flash of lightning illuminates the dark room and reflexively I look up.  She looks up at the same moment and our gazes lock.  It seems like an eternity, the two of just standing here staring at each other.  Even as I remind myself that this can't happen, I am pulling her roughly against me, my mouth descending on hers hungrily as I toss the towel aside.  Her lips part as her fingers thread through my hair, holding my head in place as my tongue slips into her warm mouth, probing and seeking.

She responds eagerly, her tongue dueling with mine as she backs up until she is pressed between me and wall.  Even cold and wet, she feels so good.  My mouth leaves her and I press kisses along her jaw and down her throat as she leans her head back as far as she can.   My groan seems to echo through the whole apartment as she rocks against me.  I want so much to bury myself in her, to finally taste and feel what I've only experienced in my dreams.

I tear my mouth away from her and rest my forehead against the wall, my eyes closed.  I want this so much, but it can't be just a one night stand and then we go back to others as if nothing happened.  I wouldn't do that to anyone, let alone Mac.  And if we go much farther, I won't be able to stop.

"Mac," I say hoarsely, panting for breath.  "If we're. . . . going to stop. . . .have to now."

"Don't stop," she pleads softly, without hesitation, her breath hot and arousing against my ear.  "Please don't stop."

That's all I need to hear as I drag her the last few steps into the bathroom.  As quickly as possible, given the condition of our clothes, we manage to strip them all off, tossing them in a pile a few feet away.  I'm about to pull her into my arms again, but she stops me with a look.  Then she does something that, despite what we are about to do, still manages to shock me.  She yanks that damn ring off her right hand and tosses it on top of the pile.  "I can't go back to him," she explains quietly as I pull her back into my arms, resisting the urge to pick her up and spin her around, "not after this."

"Nor I to Renee," I assure her.  I want her to understand what this means to me.  As my lips find hers again, I blindly reach for the knob, turning the shower on full force.  The hot water stings as it hits my chilled skin, but I barely notice.  I'm already warming up inside and it has nothing to do with the hot water cascading over us.

I pull away from her and step back.  After imagining for so long, I need to see her.  I don't know if it's really possible, but the reality of what is before me is so much better than the fantasies that I've lived with for the last four years.  She is more perfect than I've imagined in my dreams and I tell her so.  To my surprise, she blushes at the compliment.  I can't be the first man to ever tell her how beautiful she is.  But something tells me that none of those others made her blush and I feel a surge of pure male pride. 

"You're beautiful, too," she tells me, her voice a husky whisper as her own gaze travels slowly over my body, "so much more than I imagined."  Even more surprisingly, I find myself blushing at her words.  Maybe it's the knowledge that she's apparently fantasized about me as much as I have about her.  Or maybe it's the fact that, as much as we've dreamed about this moment, building each other up in our minds, we are finding reality so much better than the best fantasies.  Or maybe it's just that nothing's ever meant more to me than this thing that we are about to do.

I get tired of just looking and I place my hands on either side of her waist, letting them slowly travel upward until I feel the weight of her perfect breasts against my palms.  I dimly hear her sharp intake of breath over the rush of blood pounding in my ears and the water beating down on us as I let my fingers lightly travel over her soft skin, my thumbs brushing lightly over her hardened nipples.  I continue my slow feather-light movements, wanting to draw this out as long as possible.  I've waited so long – we both have – that I want this to be perfect.

Eventually, touching is not enough for either of us and Mac cups my head in her hands, pulling me towards her.  I oblige, my mouth fastening onto one of those perfect globes.  She moans loudly and tightens her fingers in my hair, encouraging me on, as if I needed any encouragement at this point.  I gently tug on her hard nipple with my teeth, my tongue swirling around it.

"Oh. . . .Harm," she cries, rocking her hips against me as my erection grows even harder.  My grip on her tightens when she lifts up a long leg and hooks it over my hip, bringing us into even closer contact.  I force myself to relax my grip and slow the movements of my mouth over her slick skin, wanting to draw this out as long as possible.  Right now, I think I could stay like this forever, wrapped up in her touch, her feel, her taste.

I pull my mouth away from her breast and she whimpers slightly at the loss of contact until I fasten on her other breast.  One hand still on the back of my head, holding me against her, she moves her other hand between our bodies and I inhale sharply as I feel her fingers tighten around my hard-on.  Oh God, I don't ever want her to stop touching me.  She begins teasing me, her fingers rubbing up and down my length in a torturously slow rhythm. 

Still wanting more, I wrap my arms around her, supporting her as I let one hand slip down her back and over her firm hip.  My fingers brush teasingly against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.  "Please," she whispers and I give her what she wants, letting my fingers slide lightly against her swollen, slick folds.  My fingers move over her in the same slow rhythm of her fingers around me. 

She presses down against my hand and I slip a finger inside her, feeling her hot and slick for me.  I slowly slide out and another finger joins the first and I thrust them in and out of her, the blood pounding in my veins as I feel her muscles tighten around my fingers, anticipating the feel of those muscles grasping my cock.

I pull my head away from her breast and look up at her.  She is close, I can tell from the look of glazed passion in her eyes and the increased tempo of her fingers around me.    I am, too.   I slowly my movements and finally pull my fingers out of her.  Another time, I promise myself.  We've got all the time in the world to explore each other and all the different ways to bring each other pleasure.  But right now, I want to feel her climax with her body wrapped around mine, her muscles tightening around me, bringing forth my own peak.

I pull away from her, forcing her hands to fall from my body.  Leaning forward, I brush my lips against hers, promising softly, "I'll be right back."  I don't want to leave the hot pulsing spray of the shower and the paradise that we are creating with each other, but I have to.  As much as I trust her and I'm sure she trusts me, we've both been with other partners recently.  Besides, we still have another three years and six months to go on our promise.

As I rummage through the medicine cabinet, the water dripping from my body to pool at my feet, I close my eyes and imagine Mac, her body wet and lush, waiting for me on the other side of the partition.  My hand closes around the box I'm looking for and, opening my eyes, I pull one packet out, tossing the box back in the cabinet.  I return to the shower, my fingers fumbling as they try to tear open the package.   I don't think I had this hard a time back when I was a teenager with something like this.  I find Mac leaning against the wall, a seductive smile on her face.

"You were gone an awfully long time, Sailor," she teases as she takes the packet from my fingers and tears it open easily.  Tossing the empty packet out of the shower, she gives me a quick glance before rolling the condom over my cock.

"Too long," I agree with a groan as she finishes and pulls me against her, rubbing her body against mine.  Cupping her buttocks in my hands, I lift her up against me and she wraps her legs around my waist as I slowly slide into her waiting sheath.  Her muscles tighten around me and I have to fight the urge to pound into her.

As I slowly begin to move inside her, the movement of her hips matching mine in perfect rhythm, I lock my eyes on hers.  I want to see everything.  I want to watch her writhe and moan as I thrust into her.  I want to see the fire in her eyes as the passion builds inside.  I want to see the glazed look in her eyes as I drive her over the edge.  I want her to see all those things in me as she carries me over the peak with her.

"Harm. . . .please," she manages between gasps for breaths, "more."

Her plea unleashes something primal in me and I oblige her, my thrusts now a rapid staccato as we madly race to the peak.  Soon, her cries fill the air as she climaxes hard against me, the tightening of her muscles around me drawing forth my own intense peak, my own cries mingling with hers as I shudder against her.

Trying to catch my breath and my legs no longer able to support me, I fall to my knees, Mac still wrapped around me.  I sigh sadly as she pulls away from me, sitting on the floor of the shower next to me.  Weakly, I reach up and shut the shower off as she carefully removes the condom and crawls away from me to dispose of it.  I lean back against the wall of the shower, my eyes closed as I try to bring my breathing under control.  After a moment, I feel her next to me and I open my eyes to find her leaning her head back against the wall, too.

As the air cools around us, I realize that we should get up and dry ourselves off.  After that, I don't know.  The need to get some work done on our case is warring with my desire to carry her to my bed and to spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other, exploring all that we've only imagined over the years.

I turn my head to find her studying me intently, her eyes alight with humor and satisfaction.  I lean towards her and brush my lips against hers, a soft warm kiss that holds the promise of things to come.  As I pull back, I smile as I tell her quietly, "I love you, Sarah Mackenzie."

We are still wet from the rain and our shower, so I'm not entirely sure, but I think there are tears in her eyes as she replies, "I love you, too, Harmon Rabb."

+++

I am momentarily disoriented when I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, but then the events of the evening come flooding back with crystal clarity.  I turn my head and study the man lying next to me.  He's one of the most intense people I know, but he looks so peaceful in sleep, like a little boy.  Is he always like this or is it just because he has finally 'let go'?

Quietly, I slip out of bed and begin opening drawers in Harm's closet, searching for something to wear.  My clothes, along with his, are still lying in a wet heap in the bathroom.  Finally, I find a USNA sweatshirt that I find falls to mid-thigh when I put it on.
Glancing back at Harm, who is still lost in the land of dreams, I silently leave the bedroom and head for the kitchen.

I search his refridgerator for something edible, smiling as I remember that this is Mr. Health Nut.  I'm not going to find Beltway Burgers in his kitchen.  I finally settle on some leftover pasta salad and sit on one of the bar stools to eat and to think about what Harm and I have unleashed tonight.

Unfortunately, his letting go has opened up a rather nasty can of worms.  Not as far as my feelings are concerned.  I have never been in doubt about my feelings about Harm.  To be completely honest, my accepting Mic's ring had less to do with any feelings I may have for Mic and more to do with Harm's rejection of me on the ferry.  I hate myself for leading Mic on for all these months, for letting him believe there was the possibility of a future for us.  I even hate myself to a degree for falling in Harm's embrace before finalizing things with Mic.  As much as I've unintentionally hurt Mic all these months by keeping him in limbo and as much as I am about to hurt him by finally ending it, I should have owed him the courtesy of finishing things with him before falling into another man's arms and bed.

But as much as I know that it was wrong for Harm and I to fall into bed with each other while things were unresolved with our significant others, I also know that, from my end at least, I could not deny what I have wanted for four long years.  As we stood in his bedroom, cold and wet from the rain, a torrent of feelings was unleashed between us and I couldn't *not* act on them. 

I feel the burden of that lies entirely on me.  He did offer me an out.  If I had just said the word, he would have backed away from me no matter how much he wanted me.   But I was the one who asked – begged is probably more like it – him not to stop.  And, being completely honest, if I had it to do all over again, I would do the exact same thing.  There are just some things – some feelings – that are too powerful to ignore or contain.

I also have to admit that as much as I regret the way things stand with Mic, the situation with Renee, even the four years lost between Harm and myself, I could never regret finally finding the satisfaction I've always craved with Harm.  I could never regret being in love with Harm.  I just wish all of this could be easier.

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts and self-recriminations that I don't hear Harm approach until I feel his hand on my shoulder.  I jump slightly, startled, then relax when I realize that it is just Harm.  Wordlessly, I gesture to the stool beside me and he sits down and looks at me intently.

I look down at the counter top, not quite ready to meet his eyes.  I can feel his concern, but I don't think he can help me with this one.  No one can.  I've created this mess with my life and I've got to be the one to clean it up.

Another long moment of silence passes before Harm finally says a single word hesitantly.  "Mac?"

"Hmmm?" I murmur.  I still can't bring myself to look up at him.

"Do you regret what happened tonight?" he asks.  I can hear the hesitancy and even a little hurt in his voice and I find yet another reason to hate myself.  The last thing I want to do is hurt him

"No," I quickly reassure him.  "That's the one thing about this entire situation that I don't regret."

"But there are things that you do regret about this situation?" he adds.  The hurt is gone from his voice, but the hesitancy is still there.  I don't want to talk about it any more than he does but it does have to be dealt with.  And I should be honest with him if I want us to have a real chance at making it.

I push the bowl of pasta salad away and look down at my now bare right hand.  "I never should have accepted Mic's ring," I say.  Oh, great.  That's really brilliant.  He already knows that.  He's thought that since I first showed up at the airport wearing the ring, even though he's never said it aloud.  He never would say it.  He loved me enough to step back and let me be with Mic if that was what I really wanted.

I finally look over at him and find him looking at me impassively, merely waiting for me to continue.  That's so Harm.  He would never judge me, even when he knows that I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.  Sighing, I continue, "My accepting Mic's ring was a knee-jerk reaction.  You had rejected me and that hurt me, so when Mic offered me everything that I had wanted from you, I thought 'What the hell?  What do I have to lose?'  I just didn't realize at the time that I was going to lose myself in the process."

"For what it's worth," Harm says quietly, "I never meant to reject or hurt you.  I only meant. . . ."  He trails off and looks at me uncertainly.  "I guess it doesn't matter what I meant.  I'm just sorry that you were hurt by what I said."

I pause, uncertain about whether I should pursue that or not.  Do I really want to deal with the pain of that night again?  Then again, maybe we have to revisit that night and clear the air about it before we can move forward. 

"What did you mean?" I ask.  "That night on the ferry, I mean."

Harm looks away from me and is quiet for a long moment. As I watch him search for the right words, for the first time it occurs to me that what happened on the ferry hurt him as much as it hurt me.  To bad neither of us had the courage to have this conversation nine months ago.

"Everything was very tense when I returned from the Patrick Henry," he finally says, studying the countertop as I was just minutes ago.  "I didn't seem to fit in at JAG the way I had before, Brumby had taken my place. . . .in everything, and even my relationship with my best friend suffered."

"I'm sorry," I tell him.  "I should have been more welcoming when you returned.  I. . . ."

"Mac, it's not your fault," he interrupts.  I hold up my hand to stop him before he can say more.

"Please, I want us to be completely honest here," I say.  "No matter how much it hurts.  Will you let me finish, please?"

He nods towards me and I continue, "I guess – no, I was hurt when you left.  I took that out on you, however unintentionally, when you returned and I'm sorry for that.  Seems kind of funny, doesn't it, that we got along for the most part when I was on the Patrick Henry for Buxton's court-martial, but it all fell apart between us when you came back to JAG.  I could have treated you a lot better.  I saw that you were feeling out of place and instead of being there for you as a friend, I only made things worse."

"I never blamed you for it," Harm says, taking my hand in his and rubbing my now bare ring finger with his thumb.  "I blamed myself.  I never should have left.  I knew deep down that I was past my prime as an aviator, but my ego wouldn't let me accept that.  If I had stayed, I never would have felt out of place, Brumby wouldn't have taken my place at JAG and – and in your life, and I would have still had my best friend."

"And you would have gotten promoted earlier, too," I point out.  My promotion was such a source of discomfort between us and then when his promotion did come, it was hardly under the best of circumstances.

"Mac, believe me, I was happy for you when you got promoted," he says emphatically, sensing the direction of my thoughts.  "The thing that upset me was that you didn't feel the need to share it with me.  I had thought we were best friends and I thought that best friends shared things with each other.  When you didn't share that important news with me, it did hurt me."

This is just great.  Instead of 'he said, she said', we've got 'I thought, you thought'.  In a way, it's hard to believe that as long as we've been friends that we could read each other so wrong for so long.  "Harm, the reason I didn't tell you immediately about my promotion," I explain, "is that I didn't want to hurt you with the fact that I had gotten promoted and you were stuck as a Lieutenant Commander.  I thought you were happy flying and I didn't want you to start thinking about what might have been if you'd stayed."

"We're really something, aren't we?" he muses.  "You didn't tell me about your promotion because you didn't want to hurt me, yet I felt hurt because you didn't tell me about your promotion."

"Yeah, we are," I agree with a bitter laugh.  "I guess that's how we ended up where we are right now, in this situation."

"That's part of it, I guess," he says.  "But aside from everything that was going on and that I was feeling when I returned, there was also that op-ed piece that nearly derailed my promotion and ended my career, and. . . ." he trails off and jumps off his stool, dropping my hand, walking around the counter to the refridgerator.  "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'll just have some water," I reply.  What was he about to say?  Something else is bothering him, something that he is very reluctant to talk about, and for the life of me, I can't figure out what it could be.  He hands me a glass across the counter, an identical one in his own hand.

I reach across the counter and take his free hand in mine, trying to offer him what comfort I can.  "Harm, whatever it is, you can tell me," I tell him.  "I want you to know that.  I don't want us to fall apart again because we can't talk to each other."

Harm takes a deep breath before he continues, "I know.  I don't want that either.  It's just. . . .it's about my father."

His father?  He found out something about his father?  I guess it's just another sign of how far apart we had drifted that this is the first I'm hearing about this.  "What about your father?" I ask gently.

It's another moment before he finally replies, "Last Christmas Eve, when I went to the Wall, I met a woman who told me that she had met my father on the Ticonderoga the day before he was shot down."

"How did he meet a woman on a combat ship?" I ask, confused.  Woman have only been allowed on Navy ships since 1994.  Suddenly, it occurs to me.  "USO?"

"Yes," he replies.  "She was part of Bob Hope's troop, which did a show on the ship on Christmas Eve.  From what she told me, her fiancée had been a Marine aviator who had been killed in action the previous week.  She was very upset and my father comforted her."

"Comforted her?" I echo, trying to process all this in my mind.  "Did they have an affair?"

"Honestly, I don't know," he says quietly.  I can see by the look in his eyes, from his posture, how much this is hurting him.  "She did say they kissed, but I just have this feeling that she left things out of her story.  There were some timeline gaps in what she told me."

"So it bothered you, this idea that your father might have cheated on your mother the night before he was shot down," I conclude.

There's another long pause and I briefly wonder if I should just drop the subject.  But we need to hash all of this out, no matter how painful.  If there's nothing else that I have learned this past year, it's how dangerous lack of communication can be.  Finally, he replies, "Yes.  At the time, he had no idea that he would never return home.  By contrast, when Sergei was born, he'd been held prisoner for eleven years and probably had given up hope by that time of ever returning home."

"So all this was going through your mind in Australia?" I ask, bringing the conversation back around to where it began.

"I was. . . ." he begins, looking up at the ceiling as he gathers his thoughts.  He finally looks back at me and I can see the pain so clearly in his eyes.  I squeeze his hand comfortingly.  He gives me a small smile and continues, "I wasn't sure who or what to believe in anymore.  I was so messed up and then you opened up to me on the ferry and I felt I had no choice but to shut down.  I didn't want to hurt you."

"I don't understand," I say, keeping my voice neutral.  That last statement doesn't make any sense to me, but I don't to risk saying anything that might hurt him.  We've come a long way today and I don't want to jeopardize that by ill-thought comments.

"Mac, if I had let myself get involved in a relationship with you at that time," he says, staring at me intently, "it would have self destructed.  I was in no shape emotionally to get involved in a deep, committed relationship, which is what I wanted with you."

"I can see your point," I admit.  "If our positions had been reversed, I probably would have felt the same way, especially given my track record with relationships.  But I do wish you would have told me all this.  Harm, I would have understood."

"We weren't exactly communicating very well, as you'll recall," he points out and I have to admit to myself that he does have a very good point.  Nothing had happened in the previous four months since he had returned to JAG to make him think that he could still talk to me like we used to.  "And, well, I thought. . . ." he trails off again, looking away from me.

"What is it?" I ask gently.  "Please tell me."

"I don't want to hurt you," he says.  I reach up and place my hand on his cheek, turning him back to face me. 

"Harm, just tell me what it is," I insist.  "I promise I won't get mad or upset."

"I was confused," he finally tells me, "by your actions on the ferry.  It seemed to come out of the blue and I wasn't entirely sure what you wanted or where you wanted us to go."

"You thought that I might have been suggesting a casual relationship," I say, again careful to keep my voice neutral.  It does hurt me that he would think that – I thought he knew me better than that – but I can also see, given everything else, why he would think that.  God, how did we get to this place?  "Just a fling and nothing more?"

"Mac. . . .Sarah, I'm sorry. . . ."

I place my fingers over his lips, silencing him.  I shake my head as I tell him, "Harm, I promised that I wouldn't get mad or upset and I'm not.  I can see why you might think that and it does hurt me, but not because you thought it.  It hurts me that things had gotten so bad between us – and that's my fault as much as yours – that you could even think that about me."

"When you said that I couldn't let go and I said 'Not yet'," he explains, "I wanted you to give me some time.  I wanted you to be patient and wait for me to work through my problems so that I could devote myself to building a lasting relationship with you.  When I said that I was only that way with you, I meant it.  I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you, Sarah."

Tears well up in my eyes as I realize that Harm has called me Sarah for the second time in under a minute.  Why couldn't we have had this conversation nine months ago?  If only. . . .

"When you showed up at the airport," he continues as he brushes a stray tear from my cheek, "wearing Brumby's ring, I thought that was your answer.  And I thought that you couldn't have been serious about a relationship with me or else why would you turn around and accept another man's ring?"

"And now here we are," I muse sadly.  "We're finally on the same page as far as our feelings for each other, but we still have Renee and Mic to deal with."  And I'm looking forward to that as much as I would having my teeth pulled.

"I know," he says, just as sadly.  "Although, to be honest, I've been having problems with Renee recently."

Sounds like his love life had been going just as great as mine had been.  We sure know how to pick them.  Maybe that's what makes us so perfect for each other.  "What kind of problems?" I ask.

"She's been dropping a lot of hints," he explains, picking up our now empty glasses and rinsing them in the sink.  "When Mom was here recently, she and Renee were here talking like old friends when I got home.  Renee pointed out this new ring Frank had gotten Mom and suggested that I ask where he got it."

"She's pressuring you about marriage?" I ask, amazed.  Renee has never struck me as military wife material.  God, would she be in for a surprise if Harm were actually that serious about her.

"In a roundabout way," he admits.  "She's also been objecting a lot to my being called away on cases all the time."

"But that's your job," I point out strongly.  His statement has just proved my point.  "Doesn't she understand that?"

"This is the same woman who was upset because I missed three of our first four dates because of cases," he reminds me.  "She was upset when I went to Russia, she was upset when I went to Cuba.  And she's expecting me to marry her.  She has no understanding of what it means to be a military wife."

I can't help it.  A laugh escapes me and I cover my mouth trying to hold it in.  Harm gives me a puzzled look and I struggle to bring myself under control.  Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I explain, "I was just thinking that Renee has never struck me as military wife material."

"I have the feeling that her next step would be to try and talk me into resigning from the Navy," he continues.  I could see her trying to do that.  I can't imagine Renee ever being happy with Harm traveling all the time.

"At the risk of sounding like I'm criticizing," I say, "how did you get involved with this woman?"

"Well, our first date, if you want to call it that, was supposed to be kind of a celebration dinner that the commercial was finished," he explains.  I remember that night.  That was the night Mic and I ran into him.  I wonder.  I had asked Harm to grab some dinner with me that day and he had declined, which is why I had agreed when Mic had asked me out.  But what if Harm had already agreed to this celebration dinner with Renee before I had asked him?  He wouldn't have been in a position to say yes and yet again, I turned to Mic as a knee jerk reaction to what I saw as rejection by Harm.

"That was the night Mic and I saw you," I conclude.  When he nods, I decide to go for broke and clear something up.  "Harm, when I had asked you to dinner that day, had you already accepted Renee's invitation and that was why you turned me down?"

"Yes," he replies.  He thinks for a moment, then adds, "That's why you went out with Mic that night, wasn't it?  I had turned you down, so you turned to him."

"Right after you turned me down," I explain, feeling bad yet again at the mess that is my life, "Mic walked up and asked me to dinner and I jumped at the invitation."

Harm sighs, but doesn't say anything about my bad habit of turning to Mic when I'm conflicted about Harm.  He returns to the subject of his relationship with Renee.  "Our second date," he continues, "I missed because I was on the Suribachi.  At that time, our relationship was completely casual, at least on my part.  At the risk of sounding like a, well, male, I was just looking for companionship."

Meaning he was just in it for the sex.  Typical male.  But we're not here, having this conversation, so that we can blame or condemn each other.  We're trying to work through all our issues.  Or at least put them on the table.  I don't think we can resolve everything between us in one night.  Not with Mic and Renee still hanging over our heads.

"It only became more serious, well, after Australia," he adds.  "When you showed up wearing Mic's ring, I thought that was it.  I was determined to be happy for you if that was what you wanted and to try and move on with my own life."

"That's really something," I point out.  "I thought you rejected me and that pushed me into Mic's arms and when you thought I rejected you, it pushed you to Renee."

"What about you and Mic?" he asks, the reluctance obvious in his voice.  I know he doesn't want to hear about my relationship with Mic, any more than I really wanted to hear about his relationship with Renee.  But it does need to be discussed.

I look down at the countertop again, pondering my answer.   If there's nothing else I've learned since Mic moved back to Washington, it's what an idiot I have been getting involved with him for all the wrong reasons.  Even if Harm and I hadn't finally connected tonight, it would have ended with Mic, probably sooner rather than later.  Being in such close quarters, trying to force a relationship to work, only emphasized that. 

"When he moved to Washington," I explain sadly, "I tried so hard to make it work, even though I knew deep down that my heart wasn't really in it.  But the more I tried to make it work, the more it seemed to fall apart."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that," he says.  "I'm sorry that I drove you to it."

"I was the one who made the ill-advised choice to accept his ring because I couldn't have what I really wanted," I remind him, my voice full of self-recrimination.  "I blame myself much more than I blame you for this situation we find ourselves in.  Anyway, I could have walked away at any time after we've had problems, but I kept crawling back to him, apologizing for things that I probably had no reason to apologize for."

"Like what?" he asks.

"When you were in Cuba," I relate, "there was this party given in Mic's honor by his new firm.  He insisted that I had to go to this party with him because it was important to him.  I let that one slide, figuring that if I was considering marrying the man, I could take his wants and needs into consideration."  I pause, remembering the humiliation and anger I felt at the party.

"Did he hurt you?" Harm presses, a hint of anger in his voice.  I know that if Mic really did hurt me, Harm would be the first in line to rake him over the coals for it.

"The people at this party, they reminded me a lot of the kind of people at Dalton's firm," I explain.  "Then Mic's boss pulls him aside and they just leave me standing there, not knowing a person, and I could hear them talking about me like I'm some kind of trophy on display.  And some of the other people, mostly men, were staring as well.  I felt so uncomfortable and Mic didn't seem to even care, so I called him on it as we were leaving."

"And he didn't take it well," Harm guesses and I nod.  I notice his hands clench into fists and I cover them with mine, hoping to calm him down.

"He basically accused me of being childish and irrational because I was letting my past with Dalton color my perceptions," I continue, "and then he pretty much told me to shut up and to get into the car."

"Not to criticize, but the Mac I know would have told him in no uncertain terms where to go," Harm points out.  "Your past with Dalton is a part of you and you can't just ignore that."

"Yeah, but the Mac you know was MIA," I say sadly.  "I did what he wanted and then later I went to his apartment and apologized for being childish.  And then when he told me, instead of apologizing for his own behavior, that he agreed that I had been acting childish, I just accepted it.  But how can I be involved in a relationship with a man who appears to have no consideration for my feelings?"

Harm doesn't say anything, but I can sense his anger at Mic.  Harm has always been very protective of me and even if we weren't now intimately involved, I know he would still be angry for me.  I continue, "Then, when I was trying that case on TV, there was an article in People magazine about me."

"I know," he says quietly.  "I saw it.  It scared me that I had to read in a magazine that you had moved the ring over.  The next time I saw you, I was so relived when I saw that it wasn't true."

"He told them that I was his fiancée when I'm not," I exclaim, my voice rising in anger.  "I called, but he wasn't home, and I left a very angry message on his answering machine to the effect that at the rate things were going, I wasn't going to be his fiancée ever.  When I finally saw him, he didn't understand what I was so angry about.  All he talked about was how we were practically living together and how I was wearing his ring, so that made us engaged.  How could I have been so stupid!?"

By the time I finish my tirade, I'm shaking in anger and Harm quickly comes back around the counter, taking me into his arms.  He runs his hands up and down my back in a soothing manner, whispering words of comfort as I struggle to control my anger.  It keeps playing over in my mind how stupid I've been, getting involved with a man I don't love and letting him begin to control my life.  This is the same man who tried to pin a murder charge on me and I came this close to agreeing to marry him.

I pull away slightly, remaining wrapped in his arms, and look up at him.  "Can we continue this later?" I ask hopefully, a tremor still evident in my voice.  "I just can't talk about this right now."

"I understand," he says softly, kissing my forehead.  "It's getting late anyway.  Do you, um, do you want to stay here tonight?"

I nod, biting my lower lip.  I'm so upset right now that I don't want to be alone.  "Will you hold me?" I plead, tears threatening to fall.  "I just need to be held right now."

"Anytime, Sarah," I whispers as he pulls me tight against him, kissing the top of my head.

I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling so safe and loved in his arms.

+++

THE NEXT MORNING

As I move around the kitchen, making breakfast for Mac and myself while she still sleeps, I ponder some of the things we talked about last night.  It was a really big step for us, opening up like that last night.  I just hope that it was worth it.  I hope that, with all my obsessions and fears, I am not just another bad choice that Sarah Mackenzie has made in men.

I’m not the easiest person in the world to get to know or to be with.  I know that.  All the women I’ve been involved with have known that.  But this time it means so much more.  I am afraid that, even as long as she has known me and understands me, that my obsessions and fears might be too much for even Sarah Mackenzie to deal with on a daily basis.  I don’t want to end up being just as bad for her as Chris Ragle and Dalton Lowne were or as bad as Mic Brumby appears to be.   I want this to work out more than I’ve wanted just about anything else in my entire life.

I turn as I hear a noise and see Mac coming towards me, wearing the same sweatshirt she had put on last night.  I open my arms up to her and she walks right into them, wrapping her arms tight around me.  It’s almost as if she’s clinging to me.

I cup her chin and tilt her head upward so that I can see her eyes and I can see the pain so clearly etched in their depths.  “Mac?” I ask tentatively, hoping that she will open up to me as we did with each other last night.

“It’s nothing, really,” she tries to assure me, but I’m not buying it. 

“Please, tell me,” I beg her.  “I want to help.”

“You can’t,” she replies sadly, lowering her eyes.  “Not with this.  Mic’s due back later this morning and I need to go see him.”

“To tell him that it’s over?” I ask, a note of hope in my voice.  I know we talked about this and she even took off that damn ring, but I have this strange need to hear her say the words.

“Yes,” she says, no trace of doubt evident in her voice.  “I want to be with you so much, but I want our relationship to start off without these dark clouds hanging over our heads.  And as much as I’ve led him on and am going to hurt him, I owe it to Mic to break it off now before you and I go any further.   I want to get on with my life, with our life, and he needs to have the opportunity to get on with his as well.”

"I know what you mean," I reply sadly.  "You want to hear something funny?  Right now, I'm wishing that Renee would get back from California.  Odd, isn't it?  I want her to get back just so I can break up with her."

"No, it isn't odd," she tells me.  "It's. . . .I don't know.  Maybe it's just that we have this need for finality while wanting to not hurt Mic and Renee any more than necessary.  I mean, I know this is going to hurt them, but we do need to do it in person and not over the phone.  I know I'm rambling, but am I making any sense?"

"You're making perfect sense," I say, laughing a little at her ramblings.  I guess I'm not the only one who's nervous about all of this.  I'm not sure if I should be comforted or worried that she is as nervous as I am.

"So when is Renee due back?" she asks as she pulls out of my arms and moves over to the counter to fix herself a plate of the blueberry pancakes I finished making just before she woke up.

"I'm not sure," I respond, moving behind her and putting my hand on her shoulder.  She turned her head to look at me but doesn't say a word.  That worries me a little, but with everything that is weighing down on us, I think I understand.  "When I talked to her a few days ago, she said there were problems with her shoot and she would be delayed but she wasn't sure how long.  Almost makes me wish that I could break up with her over the phone, just to get this over with."

"But that's not you," she points out, finally turning completely around to face me, placing her hands on my cheeks.  "That's not the Harmon Rabb I fell in love with."

"Yeah, but that same Harmon Rabb is the one who is being unfaithful to the woman he's been seeing for ten months," I point out bitterly, instantly wishing that I could take back those words once I see the hurt look that settles in her eyes.

"Maybe I should ask you the same thing you asked me last night," she says, her voice trembling and eerily quiet.  I can tell that she's fighting back tears.  "Do you regret what happened last night?"

I pull her into my arms, holding her tight against me as my own tears threaten to fall.  God, how did we get ourselves into this situation?  And I don't mean what happened last night.  Like her, I could never regret that.  It's everything else about this situation that I regret.

"God, Sarah, no," I whisper against her hair, holding her as if I'm afraid to let her go.  "No, no, no, no."  I keep whispering as I press kisses against the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice breaking.  "I had to. . . ."

"You had to ask," I finish her sentence quietly.  "I know."  I walk her over to the couch, breakfast the last thing on my mind.  I sit down and pull her down into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.  She leans against me, burying her head against my neck.

After a few quiet moments of just holding each other, Mac pulls back slightly and looks up at me, this incredible look of love in her eyes.  I wonder how I got so lucky, with all my mistakes, that this incredible woman loves me.  "I love you, you know that, don't you?" she says, smiling at me.

I nod, unable to speak for a moment.  Those three words are exactly what I need to hear right now, a reminder that we have something worth fighting for and something that is worth all the pain that we are going through.  "I love you, too," I finally reply, taking one of her hands in mine, entwining our fingers. 

"Then we can get through this," Mac declares confidently, lifting up our connected hands to kiss the back of mine.  "Together, you and I do make a pretty good team."

"Yeah, I guess we do," I reply, managing a small smile for her.  I pause for a moment, considering what I am about to ask.  I want to know, yet I don't want to know.  Finally, I decide to just forge ahead.  "What time is Mic due back?"

"His flight lands at eleven," she replies, looking down at our joined hands.  "I thought I would go over to his apartment about an hour later to see him."

"You don't have to pick him up at the airport?" I ask.  I really don't want her to spend any more time in his presence than necessary, especially given what she told me last night.  I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that he will not take this well at all.  "Would you like me to go with you?"

"No," she says firmly, looking up at me.  "No offense, but I'd rather just leave you out of this.  Mic doesn't need to know that you and I are now together.  All I plan to tell him is that it isn't going to work out.  I definitely don't want a repeat of what happened between you two in Australia.  And the answer to your first question is also no.  He rode to the airport with his boss and is getting a ride home from him."

I know she is trying to protect me, but I am worried about her having to face him alone.  If something happened to her. . . .  I shudder involuntarily at the thought.  "What if I parked a few blocks away?" I ask hopefully.

Mac shakes her head.  Here it comes, the 'I'm a Marine' speech.  "Harm, I can take care of myself," she points out.  "I can handle Mic just fine.  I'll tell him it's over, hand him back his ring and wish him well.  That's the beginning and the end of it." 

"Mac," I say, stopping suddenly.  I consider carefully what I am about to say, not wanting to offend her Marine sensibilities.  After all, this woman could probably take me down with one hand tied behind her.  "Sarah, I want you to promise to carry your cell phone and call me immediately if you need anything, even if it's just a shoulder to lean on."

"I probably will take you up on that shoulder when I'm finished," she tells me softly, kissing my hand again.  "I don't want to hurt him and I know this will.  I know you have never liked him, but I do care for him.  Just not in the way he wants me to."

"I know you do," I concede.  I have never understood it.  Just like I never understood what she saw in Dalton Lowne.  Chris Ragle I kind of understood given the time in her life when that relationship happened.  But I'm not going to tell her all that, given how much she is agonizing over how she is about to hurt Mic.  She has learned from all those past relationships and that is part of what makes her the person she is today.  It's the very thing that Mic Brumby appears to have condemned her for.

We sit here for a few more moments, taking comfort in each others' touch.  Eventually, Mac pulls out of my arms and stands, looking down at me.  "Aren't you going to feed me?" she asks, her hand on her hips.

In spite of my still somewhat dark mood, I can't help but laugh.  There are some things that are absolutes and Mac being hungry is one of them.  In an odd way, it gives me hope that everything will be just fine.  Managing one of my few genuine smiles this morning, I hold my hands out and she pulls me up from the couch. 

Mac pushes me towards the table while she heads for the kitchen.  "You made breakfast," she says, "so the least I can do is serve.  Sit down."

Instead of sitting at the table, I stand at the bar, watching her as she moves around the kitchen preparing two plates of pancakes for us.  She definitely makes a sweatshirt look sexy, although I know it's probably more the idea of what she isn't wearing under it that is holding my attention.

She reaches up to the top shelf in a cabinet for something and I am treated to the sight of the sweatshirt riding up until it is just barely covering her lovely rear.  The direction of my thoughts must be obvious on my face because when she turns around, she gives me a knowing smile.  "Enjoying the show?" she teases.

I just shrug, not trusting myself to speak right now.  If I did, I might tell her to forget about breakfast.  While that prospect might be very enjoyable short term, long term I would have an even hungrier Marine to deal with.   Smiling at the thought, I leave my place at the bar and sit down at the table, trying not to think about the scantily-clad woman behind me in the kitchen.

After a few minutes, Mac brings two plates piled high with pancakes out and sets them on the table.  Instead of sitting down however, she heads for the bedroom.  I hear what sounds like drawers opening and she returns after a moment still wearing my Academy sweatshirt but now with a pair of shorts on also, tied at the waist to hold them up on her slim frame.

"Show's over, Flyboy," she teases as she sits down across from me, digging into her plate of pancakes.  Maybe, but I have to smile as her eyes glance up every so often, her eyes fixed on my bare chest. 

"If the show's over, maybe I should go put on a shirt," I suggest teasingly while she laughs at the thought.

"I've missed that, you know," she muses, pushing a piece of pancake around on her plate with her fork.

"What?" I ask, although I think I know what she is talking about.

"Being able to tease each other like that," she replies.  "Remember the first time I threw you a red light?"

I smile at the memory.  The funny thing is that we had been arguing over a case, the first one we had opposed each other on.  Such a contrast to the last year when it seems like all we did was argue or, even worse, we ignored each other, without the usual teasing to remind ourselves that we were still friends.

"I definitely remember," I say with a grin.  "Let's see – I said you could plea bargain the case, you said 'In your dreams' and I replied that you wouldn't want to be in my dreams.  Then I threw you a red light in return for reading something sexual into what I had said."

"We were fighting," she points out with a trace of sadness in her voice, looking up from her plate at me, "but we were still able to tease each other and in the end, we had dinner together and put it all behind us.  I just. . . ."

"Wish we had been able to do that this past year," I interrupt.  When she nods, a sad smile on her face, I reach across the table and take her hand in mind.  "I wish we could go back and do so much differently, but we can't.  What we can do is try to move forward and not let it happen again."

Her smile grows a little brighter as she replies, "If nothing else, everything that has happened over the last year should have taught us how precious all this is.  I almost lost the most precious person to me and I don't ever want to go through that again."

"I don't either," I agree emphatically.  "I want to know that whenever we have a fight - and we both know that we will still have those occasionally – that I can still count on my best friend, the woman I love, still being there when all is said and done."

"Agreed," Mac says, smiling as she covers our joined hands with her free hand.  I place my other hand on top of hers and she smiles at the gesture.  We sit here for a few moments, just smiling at each other and enjoying the calm.  Finally, Mac nods towards my plate.  "Are you finished or did you want some more?" she asks.

"No, I'm finished," I reply. 

"Good," she says, pulling her hands away from mine and picking up both our plates.  As she carries them into the kitchen, she tosses over her shoulder, "Why don't you turn on the radio?"

"Do you have a specific kind of music in mind?" I ask as I turn the stereo on.

I look over my shoulder at her and she looks like she's pondering the question.  She puts our dishes in the dishwasher then joins me by the stereo, fiddling with the dial, pausing every few seconds to listen to another station.  Finally, she stops as the sound of the Beatles comes out of the speakers.  "How's this?"

"Fine," I reply, "but for what?"

"For dancing," she tells me with a grin as she holds out her hand to me.  "I think we need to relax a little."

"Agreed," I say, "but do you mind if I change first?"

She looks me up and down, her eyes focusing for a seemingly long period of time at the boxers that I'm wearing.  I lift an eyebrow at her, remembering her earlier comment about my enjoying the show before she put on the shorts that she is wearing.  She giggles a little at my expression, then answers with a pout, "I suppose if you must."

Giving her a quick kiss, I retreat to the bedroom, grabbing a sweatshirt and shorts of my own to wear.  As I pull on my clothes, I watch Mac through the partition, smiling as she dances around the living room to the sounds of the Rolling Stones.  I feel better already.  This is definitely one of Mac's more brilliant ideas.  Too bad it's still raining out or I might suggest that we take off for the weekend and go flying.  That's something else that I miss doing with her, something else that I can't remember when the last time we did it was.  Maybe next weekend.  I think we both need a chance to get away from all this, even if only for a few days, and forget about all the outside pressures on both of us.

Smiling I head to the living room, pulling Mac into my arms as the song ends.  She rests her head against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist as we wait for the commercials to end and the next song to begin.  "Hmmm, this is nice," she murmurs.

"I agree," I tell her, holding her tight against me.  "This is definitely a very good idea.  We need to relax.  Anyway, I was thinking.  If the weather's better, how'd you like to go up in 'Sarah' next weekend, get away from here for a few days?"

The look on her face when she looks up at me says it all.  She misses going flying as much as I do.  "Just leave the psychotic poachers at home and you've got a deal," she teases.

"Yes, Ma'am," I say with a grin, giving her a mock salute.  That's okay.  Going flying is about getting away from everything for a few days, not finding more trouble than we already have.

She laughs at my antics and my day brightens just a little bit more.  I guess that's appropriate given the next song that comes over the radio.  Smiling, I sing along as we move around the room.

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day
When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May
I guess you'd say what can make me feel this way?
My girl, my girl, my girl
Talking about my girl

I look down at Mac and see a sight that I haven't seen in I don't know how long.  There's a light in her eyes and a joy in her expression that. . . .I can't remember when was the last time I saw that kind of brightness on her face.  I do have to admit that it thrills me that I'm the one to put that expression back on her face.  I hope that look sticks around for a long time to come.

I've got so much honey, the bees envy me
I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees
I guess you'd say what can make me feel this way?
My girl, my girl, my girl
Talking about my girl

I don't need no money, fortune or fame
I've got all the riches, baby, one man can claim
I guess you'd say what can make me feel this way?
My girl, my girl, my girl
Talking about my girl

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day with my girl
I've even got the month of May with my girl

By the time the song ends, Mac is laughing loudly.  "Thank you for that," she says.  "I think we both needed to be cheered up."

I can't help but laugh, too.  She's right.  We do need this.  "Maybe I should be thanking you," I point out, "for still putting up with me after everything."

"Hey, we've put up with a lot from each other over the years," she points out in return.  The smile on her face takes any sting from her words.  She is right.  She usually is, although I rarely admit that to anyone but myself. 

"Well here's to a lot more years of putting up with each other," I say softly as we begin swaying gently to the next song, Simon and Garfunkel's 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'.

+++

Eventually, reality intrudes into our happy little world and Mac has to leave to go see Mic.  I know why she has to go and, in a way, I want her to go so she can get this over with and so we have one less cloud hanging over our heads.  But I hate the idea of her going to face him alone, even as I know why she doesn't want me to go along.  Not that I really want to go along.  If I were to never see Mic again, it would be too soon.  I just don't want her to have to face this alone.

"I'll be fine, Harm," she tells me for about the hundredth time in the last few minutes as she finishes pulling on her clothes from last night.  I had finally thrown all our clothes in the dryer last night before we went back to bed.  She sits down next to me on the bed as she finishes buttoning her blouse.

"I know," I reply, looking at her with a small smile.  "I just want to be there for you."

She turns and faces me and gives me a warm smile.  "You are going to be there for me," she says, her hand over her heart, "in here.  And I can get through this knowing 
that when it's over, I'll be coming back here to you."

"Just keep remembering that," I said quietly.  I lean forward slightly and kiss her softly, a goodbye until later kiss.  But she wraps her arms around my neck and deepens the kiss, pressing her body closer to mine.  I'd love so much to lose myself in her right now, but it's not the right time.  Reluctantly, I break off the kiss and rest my forehead against hers.

"You need to get going," I tell her, struggling to control the raging emotions inside me.

She nods and replies, "I know, but I will be back."

Without a word, I get up and go to the pegs behind the door where our jackets are hanging.  Mine being leather and hers being some kind of material that's dry clean only, I couldn't just throw them in the dryer.  I start to pull hers off the peg, only to realize that it's still wet.  "Your jacket's still wet," I inform her as she joins me by the door.

She returns to the bedroom and comes back out with the sweatshirt she was wearing earlier.  "I'll just put this on over my clothes," she says, pulling it on.  "The layers should keep me plenty warm."

Alarm bells begin going off in my head.  "What do you think Mic is going to say if you show up wearing a Naval Academy sweatshirt?" I point out, worried for her and for his reaction.

"I was planning to stop at home before I go over to his place anyway," she counters, "to change into some fresh clothes.   I can grab a jacket there and leave the sweatshirt behind."

"Okay," I concede, only slightly less concerned.  I won't feel completely better until she is back here and Mic is gone from her life.

"Harm. . . ." she begins, drawing out my name.

"I know," I interrupt, holding up my hands in surrender.  "You'll be fine.  Just try and hurry back."

"I will," she promises, giving me a brief kiss as I hand her an umbrella.  "Maybe when I get back we can order a pizza and do some more dancing around the living room."

"I look forward to it," I say as I open the door for her.  As she walks through, she turns and looks back at me with a smile.

"I will be back soon," she says before turning and walking to the stairs.  I stand there with the door open, watching until the stairwell door closes behind her.
 

Continue to Part 2