Disclaimer: Don’t own’em.

A/N: Sequel, I suppose, to Missing. This kind of just came out after I read Staz’s and JAG Junkie’s comments about ‘Missing’. So you can thank them. Unless you don’t like it, in which case you can censure them. I’m leaning towards the latter since I’m supposed to be working on assignments, not writing.

<b>Found</b>

Harm sat next to Mac and watched as she read through the menu propped up on the plate in front of her. If he had to describe exactly how he felt at this moment, he would have to say that he was at a loss. A complete and utter loss. It was strange, in a way. He had imagined this moment for quite a while. When he had first met her, it was nothing but a casual daydream he would occasionally indulge in while waiting in line at the grocery store or trying to ignore the finer points of paper work. Then as he got to know her better, as he discovered her strength and steadfastness, her sharp humour and keen intelligence, her warmth and kindness, the casual daydream had started to coalesce into something more substantial, had begun to plant roots until idle thoughts of his future, in whatever regard, were not complete without her in it. And that was when he had realized that he was something beyond in love with her.

At that point, his mind had begun conjuring up all sorts of images of what that one moment would be like, the one moment where everything would fall into place and his future would begin. A future full of her in his life, his space, his bed, his heart.

Usually, whatever mood he was in at the time fed into the imaginary scenarios his mind would create.

A particularly good mood resulted in mutual declarations which inevitably led to a lot of fun, happiness, teasing and, usually, a bed. Sometimes, when she won a case against him in the courtroom, or even an argument outside of it, he would imagine her goading him over her victory and him kissing her just to shut her up. The opposite scenario held true if he was the one revelling in victory. He liked to think that he imagined the latter scenario more often than the former. After all, he was sure he won more often than she did.

Alternatively, in those moments when she would do something particularly endearing, an act that would inexplicably cause his heart to feel like a marshmallow melting over a languid campfire, he was almost drawn into acting out his deepest desire and just telling her point blank: “I love you, Mac.” Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Because for so long, it just was the most normal thing in his world.

That was until Paraguay. He bit back a sigh. He had promised himself and her that the past was the past, not meant to dwell on but to move on from. Hopefully, even, to learn from. But after Paraguay - and whether this was odd or perfectly normal, he could never decide - his opinion on the matter of him and her did not change. In his heart of hearts, the scenarios still formed, took a life of their own and he couldn’t rein them in, couldn’t tame his wish no matter how much he tried. However, the scenarios sometimes took a darker tone. It now caused him no small degree of discomfort and embarrassment that he would sometimes imagine her coming to him, regret in her heart and apologies on her lips, pleading with him to magnanimously forgive. And in these skewed scenarios his angry, hurt counterpart would often to just that. Not always, just often.

That trend had ended, thankfully, when he returned to JAG and – though he had not admitted this to anyone, least of all himself – her. Simply seeing her on an almost daily basis had been surprisingly comforting. Her presence surrounded him like a well-worn, comfortable sweater: aged with wear, faded with time and yet a perfect, irreplaceable fit. Made for him.

At first, her presence had been enough. Then he had wanted more of her, to experience more of her; the soothing sound of her voice, the comforting cadence of her laughter, the bewitching spell of her smile, the mesmerizing sparkle in her eyes. However, as the days and weeks passed at JAG, he realized that he rarely, if ever, heard her laughter or saw her smile. Her voice also no longer held the warm, soothing, honeyed tone he had unwittingly become addicted to. No, it held something more distant, heavier, reminding him, somehow, of scenes from the fantasy books he favoured as a boy: of kingdoms fallen into disrepair, of castles abandoned to nature’s overgrowth, and of empty roads and dark alleys bereft of the movements of life. And he could sometimes not even bring himself to look in her eyes because he did not think he would remember how to breathe if he saw in her eyes what he heard in her voice. He did not think, sometimes, that he would survive it.

So, finally, he had taken matters into his own hands. He had decided that enough was enough. He needed her to come back; back to the world, back to herself, back to him. It seemed to be the only way that would allow him to find his path out of the winding maze she had erected around herself, find his way back to that gilded chamber in his heart that had been her home for so long now. He had formulated a plan to that very end. It had turned out to be a pretty successful plan, with the help of a little outside impetus in the form of an asshole CIA agent who couldn’t tell his foot from his- Harm stopped himself from completing that thought. No matter how satisfying it was to hurl mental insults at an absent target, the past was past; a promise is a promise.

All in all, his plan had worked. In fact, it had worked so well that he was now sitting next to Mac in a cozy booth, waiting for her to decide what side dishes she wanted to order with her no doubt sickeningly massive steak. Sitting cosily next to Mac, waiting to be hit by some sort of inspiration on how exactly he was supposed to act now. They had talked after Webb had left. He had been honest with her. She had been honest with him. It was the most cathartic thing he had ever done in his lifetime. He felt lighter than he had in such a long time, felt as though previously indestructible chains had been ripped apart like cheap paper. And they had confessed their love for each other. Their complicated, immovable, immutable, unfathomable, deeply held, strongly felt love for each other.

And then he had not known what to do, had not known what she wanted from him. So he had stupidly said – and he knew he would remember these exact words until the day he died – “How about that steak?”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He should have kissed her. But was she ready for that?

‘Never forget that you’ve always been all I ever wanted.’

Surely that kind of comment merited a kiss. Surely that kind of comment granted him the freedom to kiss her until both their lips fell off.

Instead, he had offered her steak.

He bit back another sigh. Stupid. Idiot. Moron.

Harm studied her still more closely as she continued her focused study of the side dishes on the menu. But what exactly did she want from him?

‘Never forget that you’ve always been all I ever wanted.’

All she ever wanted…as a friend?

All she ever wanted…as a confidant?

All she ever wanted…in any way?

All she ever wanted…in every way?

All she ever wanted.

Period.

Yet another sigh was firmly kept in check. Was he maybe over thinking this? Damn it, he should have just kissed her. The plan was to pull her out of her funk. To make her happy. Would a kiss make her happy? Was he allowed to ask her if a kiss would make her happy? No, that might be awkward. Not to mention presumptuous. A steak would definitely make her happy. He shook his head at his idiocy. He was comparing himself to a slab of dead cow meat. That definitely never factored in any of the countless scenarios his mind had conjured over the years: “Mac, I love you. How about them steaks.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He needed to focus and stop beating himself over his imbecility. His idiocy. His dumbassedness.

Focus, he needed to focus. A plan had worked really well last time. Maybe he should formulate a new plan.

Objective: Kiss Sarah Mackenzie.

No, wait. His aim was to make her happy.

Objective (revised): Convince Sarah Mackenzie that happiness lies in a kiss. A kiss from him.

But then, wouldn’t that be forcing her into something she may not want?

‘Never forget that you’ve always been all I ever wanted.’

Argh. He put his face in his hands and tried to rub away the confusion. He really really wanted to pull his hair out. This was a true mental Rubik’s cube.

“Harm? Are you alright?”

He peeked at her through parted fingers, his hands still covering his face.

“Umm, yes.” As if she would buy that.

She was looking at him, a curious frown creasing her brow, an amused smiles teasing her lips. Great. Great. He was giving her just the perfect impression for their first post-I-love-you steak dinner. She was going to think he was a total moron – a view he currently happened to agree with. He should have just kissed her.

Suddenly, she laughed. It was that laugh he had so missed: full of light, sparkling with joy. It sounded like wind chimes swaying on a carefree zephyr of affection. Like fairies dancing on the wings of mirth. And it led him right back to the centre of his heart and, just as he had always known, she was right there, waiting for him.

Slowly, without his even noticing, his hands left his face. His fingers traced the smile on her lips and the joy wrinkling the corner of her eyes. His eyes watched hers; he saw amusement give way to surprise. He watched as surprise gave leave to anticipation. Through it all he saw happiness and love and nothing of sadness.

“There you are,” he whispered.

And then he kissed her.

The End.