Title: Between Possibility and Promise

Author: lauraloo

Rating: pg13

Category, Humor, Romance

Summary: Another fun and fluffy ATW reaction piece, written before ATW2. What happens when Mac finds out about Harm and Alicia’s fake wedding ceremony?

Between Possibility and Promise

Never in her life had she been so happy to see her desk.

And chairs, paperclips, even rubbery pink erasers. And files – wonderful, glorious case files. Mac picked up a thin stack of manila folders, clutching them to her chest. Senses piqued, she smelled the coffee brewing in the break room, heard the ding of the elevator, the whir of the copy machine shooting out papers in perfect rhythm. Order, normalcy. Uniformed personnel scurried back and forth in front of her doorway. Safety, security. She was home.

But her body attempted to tell her that she was still in the godawful-hellhole of a place more commonly referred to as Paraguay. Two days home had done little to relieve the jet-lag, the throbbing of her left hand, sprained in the plane crash, now wrapped in useless layers of stretchy bandages.

She had a headache that had lingered for days. And her stomach - that was an entirely different matter. It hurt like something fierce, all acidy and burning. It very well could’ve been the result of something evil she’d ingested during her little jungle getaway. Most likely, it would pass. She probably wouldn’t even have to see a doctor. And for now, she knew exactly where to find relief.

She risked a few steps into the bullpen, directing her feet towards Harriet’s desk. Earlier that morning, she’d been ambushed. Everyone had wanted a little piece of her. At first she’d been surprised, due to the highly classified nature of her mission. But she also knew that the very day a certain pilot-turned lawyer had decided to leave his stripes, his wings at the doorstep to find her, rumors had begun to brew. And information had begun to dribble out, slowly, like drops from a leaky faucet.

“Harriet,” she whispered. When she received no response, she repeated the name, louder, tapping the edge of the pregnant officer’s desk with one fingernail.

Startled, Harriet looked up from her paperwork. “Oh, ma’am, I’m sorry. I feel so out of it lately. What can I do for you?” Though the daily sounds and doings of business bustled around them, the look that passed between the two women was not one of lieutenant to colonel. But of friend to friend.

Mac managed to smile through her discomfort, warmed by Harriet’s grin – a familiar mixture of sunlight and lemonade.

But as the wicked burning came again, the smile fell into a scowl. “Harriet, I’m in dire need of some Tums and I figured my best chance of locating some was right here.” Her features rose eagerly.

Harriet nodded, fishing out a small roll from her purse. “Please, take the whole package, ma’am.” She pointed to her drawer. “I’ve got a virtual stockpile in there.”

Mac popped two of the fruity pills into her mouth. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

It was then that she saw the door to the Admiral’s inner office swing open, the real lifesaver emerging outward. Something jumped inside her body - her stomach? Her heart? Anxiety came barreling through her with insightful force. Somehow, it knew that with the trauma and business of country hopping, they’d barely had a chance to talk.

But he was wearing his uniform.

After only a few steps into the bullpen, Harm locked eyes with her instantly, making her face his compass point.

She met him halfway, near her office door. She couldn’t read his expression, but the jagged scar on his right cheek, his own and thankfully only souvenir from the crash, did enough talking, enough reminding.

Her eyes asked the question seconds before her mouth. “Tell me this means what I think it means.” With her good hand, she flicked his shoulder board lightly.

Harm nodded once, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah, thankfully, I managed to get myself back on the payroll.” He tilted his head, grimacing. “But I’ll be doing the JAG attorney’s version of swabbing the deck for a few weeks.”

Mac’s gaze shifted downward, her mind seesawing between guilt and relief.

“Hey,” he said softly. And though he didn’t physically lift her chin, his words seemed to produce the desired effect. “It’s gonna be okay, Mac.”

She nibbled her bottom lip, wishing, in vain, that it would be that easy. That the mere fact that he’d said the words would somehow make them true

They spoke in unison.

“We need to talk.”

“We should talk.”

Seriousness dissolved into a fleeting bout of nervous laughter. A set of equally wry smiles followed, noting their apparent like-mindedness. In the past, it had been a rarity for sure.

Harm began to notice curious eyes, peeking out from various corners of the room. “This obviously isn’t the place and time. Why don’t you come by my apartment, say, 1900?”

“I’ll bring takeout.”

He shook his head. “I’ll cook”

“I’ll let you.”

Harm pointed to a familiar spot, sighing. “Well, it’s time I open that door over there and see if I still have an office. If you can’t find me later, it means I’ll be taking calls in the supply closet from now on.”

***

She found the door cracked open, slithering as best she could into his apartment. She now regretted her wardrobe choice of the raspberry knit top and snug boot cut jeans. Really snug. They didn’t do anything to ease her unruly stomach.

“Hey there,” Harm called from the kitchen. He unscrewed a bottle of sparkling water for her, setting in on the counter. “How’s pasta sound?”

She wrung her hands together. “Um, perfect.” It was a strange thing, this illness. She ached like the dickens, but she still had an appetite.

The ringing of the phone temporarily shattered the awkwardness. “Mac, will you get that? The noodles are boiling over.”

“Sure.” She picked up the receiver. “Rabb residence.....yes he his, can I tell him who’s calling?”

Slotted spoon in his hand, Harm watched her face grow white with shock. “Mac, what? Who...”

She drew the receiver away from her ear, jiggling it in front of him. “It’s your wife,” she spit out, her tone a strange brew of anger, amusement and all-around bafflement.

Harm swore richly under his breath, bolting over to Mac as if the speed could somehow hit the rewind button on this entire moment. He grabbed the phone, knowing the damage had already been done.

“Catherine,” he slurred into the receiver, forming the word into a rebuke.

Mac sneered, her words lost on ears that were otherwise occupied. “Hmm, so her name is Catherine? How nice....Catherine.”

“Uh-huh...yes, I see now that you meant it as a JOKE,” Harm emphasized, his eyes pleading with Mac to understand.

Mac wasn’t buying it. She began to pace in short strides, planting and pivoting her feet across his floor. Through the turning, one eye followed his every move. The fierce whispering continued. “A joke, huh? Well something must’ve happened for the joke even to apply.”

“Yes, Catherine, we’re both fine. In fact, that was her on the line....no, I’ll explain...it’s all right.” Isn’t it? his face asked desperately. “No, she wasn’t hurt...thanks again for your help...wonderful, I’m so glad she’s doing better...I know, explaining will be hard but...listen, I’ve gotta run.”

If possible, hearing what had seemed like Catherine’ asking about her made this situation even more bizarre. She halted, fixing a firm stare upon Harm, who’d ditched the phone, a sheepish expression on his face.

“I’d better explain.”

“It better be good.”

Mac set down the glass water bottle not so gently on the counter. “Harm, I still don’t understand why you had to marry her.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, I didn’t marry her. It was fake.”

She blinked once, then again. “But you still had a wedding.”

“Yes, but only for her mother. At the time, we thought the woman was dying.”

“Was dying?”

Harm waved his hand in the air. “Apparently, she’s made a bit of a recovery. It’s wonderful news.”

“Yes, of course. But now she still thinks Catherine is Mrs. Harmon Rabb.” The last three words stung as she’d said them.

“Mac, Catherine promised to take care of it.”

“Sure...right.” Mac turned to face the window. Somehow she no longer trusted Catherine Gale.

Tentatively, he crept up behind her. “Look, I know it seems weird, but my intentions were good. I was just trying to help.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. Why did Harmon Rabb Jr. feel the need to be so goddamn honorable all the time? It killed her now to imagine this ‘wedding.’ Though it had all been a farce, Catherine had still gotten the chance to stand in front of this man, looking into his eyes, uttering vows, even...God, no. She shut her eyes, trying to block the image. But it was useless. She was sure they’d kissed.

And instantly, Mac realized the whole problem. It should’ve been her. She was the only one that should’ve been able to experience those things. Even in pretend. Even in dreams.

She spun around, the last tinge of anger zipping aimlessly around her eyes. “Well, Harm, the next time you decide to ‘help’ someone, please try to insure that ‘helping’ doesn’t actually translate into ‘marrying.’”

True to form, Harm spoke before thinking the better of it. “It sounds a little like you’re jealous.”

Her stomach burned as the anger rose again, right along with it. “Jealous?” she erupted. “How dare you...” she stopped as the pain grew to a piercing level she’d not yet experienced.

“Mac?” Harm rushed to her side.

“It’s okay...it’s nothing. Maybe indigestion.”

“This doesn’t look like nothing. How long have you had this?”

She waved him off. “Paraguay...couple of days. It comes and goes.”

“Are you taking anything?”

“Just antacids...oww...burns...” she couldn’t help but double over now.

He caught her, supporting her weight. “Mac, this isn’t indigestion. I have an idea what it may be, though. You need to lie down a minute.” He steered her in the direction of his bedroom.

Cringing as the pain refused to let up, she leaned against him. “What are you, JAG MD or something?”

He sighed in frustration. “No, Mac. Your symptoms are similar to something Frank had a couple of years ago.”

“Well what the heck is it, then?” This terrible, horrible, extremely mean ailment.

Chuckling, he shook his head, easing her onto the bed. “No thanks. I’ll save the real diagnosis for the doctor.”

Her head flailed back and forth madly “Wait...unh-uh.” She struggled to push herself upwards. “What do you mean, ‘doctor?’ I don’t need a doctor.”

With the gentle nudge of his index finger against her forehead, she was again perfectly horizontal. “The hell you don’t, marine.”

“Harm, I’m perfectly capable of...ugh...” a hand went to her stomach again, her fingers trying in vain to inch themselves under the waistband of her jeans. They were just too damn tight.

This particular fact was not lost on Harm. He rose, digging into the back of his closet. He presented an old pair of blue sweats that had shrunk in the wash. “These will do.”

She panted through the pain like a woman in labor. “Yeah...much better...thanks.” She reached for them, but they were yanked from her grasp. “What the...?”

He smiled toothlessly. It was all in the name of duty. Of honor. “Let me help you.”

A sarcastic laugh flew from her mouth. “Um, excuse me? I surely don’t need your helll....ugh....God....hell is right.” The wrenching pain came again, peaking, before tapering off into a dull ache. “Oh, all right. But I’m still mad at you.”

He sat beside her on the edge of the bed, an infuriating grin upon his face. “Mad, irritable, stubborn...you can be anything you want, all the way to the emergency room.” The grin faded as his eyes turned to coal. He gingerly reached for the button on her jeans. “Right now, let’s just concentrate on making you more comfortable.”

Mac lifted her head, her eyes following his slow, but deliberate movements. “Fine. Just try not to enjoy yourself too much there, sailor.”

He stopped, capturing her stare with his own. “Don’t worry, Mac, this is all business.” His lips parted, one eyebrow suspended. His voice dropped half an octave. “If I was undressing you for pleasure, you’d know it.”

The ever-moving hinge that was her mouth opened wide before clamping down tightly. Nothing audible had managed to sneak out during the process. It wasn’t only his words that had incited the shiver that still sprinted up and down her spine. It was the way he’d said them, like it wasn’t only a possibility. But a promise.

***

“An ulcer?” Mac cried incredulously into the face of the young, handsome lieutenant, who happened to be her doctor.

Lieutenant Thomas nodded. “I’m afraid so, ma’am. Have you been under an unusual amount of stress lately?”

All eyes shifted to Harm, as he took the liberty of answering from a side chair. “Uh, you could say that.” He gave a half-smile before sucking in a straw-full of soda from the enormous paper cup in his grasp.

“Is or was it work-related ma’am?”

“Partly.” Mac rearranged her position on the bed. “It’s classified. Let’s just say I recently found myself trapped in a perilous situation.”

The Lieutenant scratched his chin, scribbling notes on the clipboard. “Oh, my. Well, I see, ma’am.” He lifted his eyes, gesturing to Mac’s injured hand with his pen. “And the sprain, that resulted from the same, er, situation?”

Mac shook her head. “Not exactly. That was from the plane crash.”

“Did you say, plane crash, ma’am? The doctor’s eyes grew as he took to scribbling again. His CO would never believe this when he signed off on the paperwork later.

Again, Harm answered. “Yeah. I was actually flying the plane. Luckily, we both walked away virtually unharmed.” He pointed to the scar across his face that still had a lot of healing to do. “Navigating ourselves out of the jungle was another matter.”

It was precisely at the word ‘jungle’ that Lieutenant Thomas had clearly heard enough. He swiftly closed the file, capping his pen. “Well, okay then.” He faced Mac. “Colonel, that pill you took a few minutes ago should kick any time now. It’ll work wonders for you. I’m sending you home with a prescription for a whole bottle of them. In addition, be sure to drink plenty of water, avoid spicy foods, and, uh, further stressful situations for awhile.” After what he’d just heard, he wondered if the latter was even remotely possible.

With her symptoms already waning, Mac smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

It wasn’t until the doctor had reached the door that he’d executed a half- turn. “Ma’am, did I read correctly in your file that you’re actually a JAG officer?”

“Yes. We both are.”

His head rose and fell in a slow nod. “Hmm, that’s very interesting. You know, my cousin is nearly finished at Annapolis. He’s considering a career as a JAG. But, respectfully ma’am, sir, now I’ve plans to talk him out of it. I had no idea the job was so...uh, hazardous.” With a polite smile, he was gone.

Harm scooted his chair up to the bed. “Kind of brings it all home, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does.”

He patted her hand. “Well at least the stomach thing was nothing too serious. And just for the record, I was right about the diagnosis.”

Mac let out a huff, pulling her hand away. She shimmied to the edge of the bed, dangling her legs over the side.

“What?”

Her bottom lip poked out. “For the record, I’m still mad at you.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am, Harm.”

Though her wavering tone had betrayed her, he still acknowledged the words. “Why, Mac? I explained everything. Twice. Can’t we just put it behind....”

“Because it’s just easier,” she interrupted.

His brows lowered. “Now you’ve lost me.”

Her eyes darted all around the room before she forced them to settle on those of the man sitting in front of her. “Anger is something I know how to feel. It makes sense.” The first sign of tears began to show itself, slipping from her control. “You...what you did, what you gave up...I just don’t know what to feel about that. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Harm had witnessed this brand of her vulnerability so few times in the past; he didn’t know quite what to do about it either. He treaded with care, his voice tender. “Are we talking about this now?”

She shrugged, sucking in a deep breath. “I guess.”

“Good, because technically, until the nurse comes in with your release forms, there’s no way you can run.”

Even through the heavy uncertainty, the awkwardness, she smiled mischievously, assessing the distance to the door. To the plaid-curtained window. “Trust me, if I wanted to escape, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

He believed her. “I’d just come after you again.”

“And what if I’d protest – you know, scream, make a big fuss?” she challenged.

“I’d just have to silence you.”

“In what manner?”

Harm drew slightly closer, whispering. “I’m sure I could think of a few ways.” He reached out to push a stray hair back behind her ear.

Her breath hissed out, heated as it mingled with the air surrounding them. She fingered the wings upon his chest. The fact that he hadn’t changed out of his uniform when she’d arrived earlier for dinner hadn’t gone unnoticed. He cherished it and everything that wearing it bestowed. So deeply. And he’d shed it all in a flash.

He covered her hand. “Mac, your feeling guilty shouldn’t be a by-product of this whole thing. Besides, I got it back – everything. In fact, today, I found my office just exactly as I’d left it.”

“But...”

His fingers moved to her lips, silencing her. “No. Don’t even entertain the alternative. It didn’t happen, Mac. And even if it had, it wouldn’t have mattered.” As he said it, he believed it. Completely.

The tears threatened again, from the declaration. From the closeness of him. “Why, Harm?”

“Let me make it easy for you.”

She shook her head. “Nothing is easy. We’ve made a career out of proving that.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. Maybe I should’ve said simple instead.” As he watched her try and fail at understanding, he continued. “Remember, years ago, you told me the three things every women wants?”

His question had instantly sparked her memory of that time they’d stood on the fantail of the carrier. The whole scene replayed in her mind, in perfect detail; the warm amber light that had cut through the miles of darkness, the air, the wind, thick with salt. And the words, the words most of all.

“A great career, a good man and comfortable shoes.” She said them again to him, as she did on that night long ago, when the ocean had eavesdropped. When the stars had understood, wanting, so desperately, to grant wishes.

He nodded slowly, the last bits of his own memory, exchanging past for present. “You know, Mac, I had a list of three things like that. Quite similar to yours.”

Her lips twisted. “Minus the shoes?”

“No doubt.” His eyes twinkled.

“But that night, when you walked out of my apartment wearing that pregnancy suit, one foot already out of the country with that sonofabitch Webb, I finally simplified my list.”

“You did?” she asked. With hope.

He grabbed the pen and pad of paper sitting on a nearly table. “Uh-huh. In fact, I’ll show you.” He jotted down the appropriate words. “You’ll find it a true testament to efficiency.” He smiled warmly, handing over the paper.

And she took it, the tears now falling freely as she read the list. “God, Harm...”

Item number three read, A plane to fly. A single line had been drawn through the center of it.

Item number two read, A successful career. Likewise, it had been crossed out.

Only item number one had escaped his merciless assault with blue ink. It simply read, Sarah Mackenzie.

The paper slipped from her fingers as she fell into his embrace. He rose to sit beside her, the circle of his arms tightening. “Now do you get it, Mac?” he whispered into the narrowing gap between his lips and her ear. “There’s no room for guilt. My list, my life, they just don’t work without you.”

He pulled away, realizing that Mac had been wrong before. This <i>was</i> easy. Perfect, natural. Instinctive, even. Like breathing. “I love you.”

Swearing it had all been a dream, she closed her eyes opening them quickly to find him still there, inches away. “I love you, too.”

His smile became lost within her mouth as he gently closed the distance between them. The kiss deepened, bathing the sterile hospital walls with color, with warmth.

He broke the kiss, keeping her close. “So does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

She trailed a finger around his jaw. “I think you’ve more than paid your penance.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Aren’t you?” Her eyelashes fluttered.

He grinned, his words dabbling in seduction. “Well, now that you’re feeling better, you won’t be needing these anymore.” He rubbed his hand along her thigh, pulling up some of the soft fleece.

“You’re right. And as it turns out, when we get back to your place, I may need some assistance with them.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He grabbed her good hand, kissing her palm, her fingers, the smoothness he’d discovered at the inside of her wrist. “But, you see, this time, it won’t be a matter of business.”

She turned coy. “Why Harmon Rabb, what you’re suggesting is deplorable behavior for a married man.”

The kisses, intertwined with low laughter, moved to her neck “Frankly, it’s gonna be downright adulteress.”

As he seized her mouth hungrily she was absolutely convinced – it wasn’t only a possibility. But a promise.

The End