Title: White Flag

Author: lauraloo

Rating: pg

Genre: Vignette

Summary: This was written during season 8, before the Paraguay mess. Harm finally surrenders...

<i>White Flag</i>

So, she managed to run from me again. And I’m almost positive it has something to do with the fact that I managed to infuriate the life out of her. Again.

It wasn’t fifteen minutes ago that court had adjourned. And it hadn’t been pretty. What gets me is that it was a rather trivial case – we were both surprised it had even warranted the Article 32 hearing. We could’ve argued it in our sleep. But, somehow, it had turned into a mini blood bath. No, it hadn’t been pretty.

But it had been interesting, to say the least. My client had probably thought he’d stumbled upon an extremely zealous advocate, who was simply ruthless by nature. Admiral Morris, on the other hand, probably figured the two of us had some kind of score to settle. We’d kept him on his toes today, for sure.

But, amidst the myriad of questions and objections, of arguments and evidence, another battle was being fought, far beneath the surface. One that had been steadily brewing for years now. And it had nothing to do with the law.

Today, it had just exploded. Today, it had been personal.

Not surprising, it had all started with me. I’d woken up in a sour mood, which I’d conveniently dragged into the courtroom along with my briefcase. But instead of ignoring me, Mac had played right off of it.

Almost at once, she’d turned into some cat-like creature, weaving her body in between chairs and tables, slinking around the podium, creeping up to the bench when summoned, all poised and ready to spring herself right up on top of it if it had struck her fancy. Her eyes had been wicked, taunting, - her voice, colored with crimson and orange, like flames feeding off of the wind.

The strange, frenzied rhythm of our banter filled the courtroom, sullying all that was honorable. She’d matched my arguments word for word, decibel for decibel. I’ll admit now, that I’d struck some low blows, some cheap shots. Hell, yeah it had been personal.

But, damn, she’d been way beyond sexy, the way she’d taken what I’d given, clamping it firmly between her teeth, leaving it at the door for some poor soul to find.

She’d flown out of the courtroom in a swoosh, and I would’ve caught up with her too, if I hadn’t bumped into the Admiral, who’d suddenly decided to ask me about five thousand questions about nothing in particular. And while I talked, she ran.

She wasn’t in her office, or the break room, or the research library. And thanks to Lieutenant Simms, I’d eventually discovered that she wasn’t in the ladies’ room, either.

It took me a few minutes, but I’ve found her now. As a last resort, I’d peered out of my office window to see if her car was still there. Not only is it still there, but she happens to be sitting in the drivers seat, hiding, brooding, seething...doing whatever she’s doing within the confines of $50,000 worth of fire-engine-red, American-made metal.

I’ll bet she’s locked the door, too. That’s a good one, Mackenzie. Rather, it would’ve been had I already returned her spare key from when we’d traded cars two days ago.

I stuff said key into my pocket, but before I do a little swooshing of my own out to the parking lot, I grab a couple of other items from my desk. She’s gonna love this.

She doesn’t see me as I creep up to the passenger side window. She eventually turns when I tap against the glass a couple of times. Ouch. It’s <i>that</i> look; the one that nearly every female spends years perfecting and testing out on unsuspecting members of the male species. On the face of a marine, it’s even more potent.

Just for fun I lift the door handle. It snaps downward. Locked. Brows raise - she’s pleased with herself.

“Go away, Harm.” Her voice is muffled through the glass.

“C’mon, Mac.”

She shakes her head, pointing to the front door of the building.

Now it’s time for props. With a flourish, I produce what used to be a few random items from my desk. Now the half-sheet of standard weight linen letterhead in Baronial Ivory, secured with Scotch tape to a number-two pencil, is my own version of a white flag. I wave it in front of the window as repentance tinkers with my features.

Her mouth parts, her eyes brighten, and she almost laughs. Almost. But still, she doesn’t relent. Props are tossed into the grass and it’s time for my secret weapon.

She watches my every move as I pull her spare key from my pocket. I dangle it in front of the window. Silvery sparks fiddle about as the sunlight catches the metal. Oh, she’s still mad, twisting and contorting her lips, fastening her hands to the steering wheel. But I can’t help but notice the slight glimmer of hope, of curiosity that lies buried beneath the layers of irritation in her eyes.

Perhaps she’s now realized that this time, I came for her. And that I’ve made a grand effort too, showing up here with props and keys, and penitent looks. I’ve showed up with a purpose too – a big one. But she doesn’t know it yet.

I hear a click as I insert and turn the key. I take my time, sinking into the passenger seat, shutting the door, locking it as well. Not as much for safety, as for illustration. I want her to know that I’m not going anywhere either.

“Harm...”

“Drive,” I interrupt.

Exasperated, she tilts her head. “What? Where...”

“Just get us off the grounds. Do it, Mac.”

With a dramatic sigh, she obeys. The engine screams as she throws the car into gear, peeling out like a madwoman getting madder by the second. I clutch the edge of the seat as she races through the gate. The guards probably think we’re on some ultra-sensitive mission that can’t wait another minute. And we are. About seven years too late.

The speed limit becomes a suggestion which she blatantly ignores. Luckily, we travel no more than five blocks before she stops the car on a quiet side street. She meets my gaze head-on.

“Is it even necessary to say that I’m confused here?” Her voice is softer, but the edge is still there.

“That makes two of us. Why the car, Mac?”

Her eyes cut away. “I was just...thinking. I wanted to be alone.”

I grin. I just can’t help it. “No you didn’t.”

She turns back, a powder-keg ready to explode in the middle of her mouth. But my index finger flies to her lips, shushing her.

“What happened back there?” There’s no need for me to clarify where ‘there’ is.

She settles back into her seat, a few drops of tension draining from her muscles. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

I wave my hand in the air. “Look, it was my fault. I started it.”

She nods, smiling a half-smile. “And I guess you could say I finished it.”

“Mac,” I say, in that velvety tone that always garners her full attention. She gives it to me now, dangling upon my every word.

“What?”

I hold up my hands. In surrender. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Harm, we’re on opposing sides more often than not nowadays.” She shakes her head pensively. “And I thought we were making progress. Until today.”

Tentatively, I take her hand, my voice lowering to just above a whisper. “I wasn’t talking about work.” I raise that one up her flagpole and see if it flies.

One eyebrow immediately springs upward. Her hand starts to tremble within my own. “Then what exactly are you talking about?”

“The fact that I give up, Mac. That I can’t go another minute without telling you that I love you.” I lean in closer. “And I really don’t give a damn whether or not you’re ready or if it’s the right ti...”

Without warning, her hands are in my hair and her lips are plastered to mine in a delicious, searing kiss. <i>I’m</i> the one who’s now officially shushed. I respond instantly, hauling as much of her as I can across the console and against my chest. Somewhere amidst this glorious assault, her shoes fling off, her stockings shred, covers go flying and she bumps her knee against the gear shift. Twice.

After much ado, I finally locate the seat lever, tilting us back as far as possible. All five foot ten inches of wonderful are molded against me now in the poor passenger seat. But there’s nothing graceful or elegant about it – arms and legs are flailing, hands are grabbing, mouths are devouring. And hearts are racing.

She pulls away, seizing my collar within her hands. “You love me?”

I stare deep within her eyes. “Like crazy.” And I watch as she takes in all in. This woman, with smeared lipstick and tousled hair, has never been more breathtaking.

She grins, even laughs a little as she voices the words that she’s only imagined the sound of. “I love you, too.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m only getting started here.” I pull her face down to mine again, but she groans, murmuring against my lips.

“Dammit...meeting...twenty three minutes.”

“Cancel it.” I run my hands through her hair.

She samples my bottom lip. “Can’t...Admiral.”

“Postpone it, Mac.” I do a little sampling of my own.

“Impossible.”

I laugh devilishly, leaving a trail of kisses up her neck. “Car trouble...both of us...back first thing tomorrow.”

With a moan in the back of her throat, she closes her eyes. “Harm...I...”

“Mac, you’re not going anywhere. Period. And when we eventually do, we’re sure as hell not driving back to the office.” I’m clueless as to how, but my cell phone miraculously finds its way from my pocket to her hand. “Auto dial.”

She snakes a hand behind my neck, fighting for control. Her kiss is simply mind-numbing.

“Tell me again,” she demands, breathless, her eyes dewy.

“I love you.”

Blissfully defeated, air escapes from her mouth in a slow fizz. She rests her forehead against my shoulder. Though I can barely tell what’s left or right, or even up or down, I do hear the faint sound of numbers dialing and Harriet’s cheerful greeting.

Her free hand toys suspiciously with the top button of my shirt as, at last, she draws the phone to her ear. In surrender.