A Dance Perfect for Two by doc
AN: This piece was written for a challenge.
The story takes place after the episode 'Touchdown.' Harm manages to land the C-130 on the USS Seahawk, save multiple lives, and then as a reward, is fired by the CIA when his face shows up on a newscast. Imagine the scenario in this story takes place instead of 'Back in the Saddle,' and Harm finds his way back to JAG and Mac in a slightly different manner.
A fortune I submitted for the Christmas ficathon is the inspiration for this piece, along with a little Winnie-the-Pooh. What does Winnie-the-Pooh have to do with JAG you ask? Well, step inside and find out.
In the meantime, ponder the notion, 'Every man is a volume if you know how to read him.'
xxx
Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf. The 'Poohisms,' which appear in italics, originate from the books written by A. A. Milne, 'Winnie-the-Pooh' and 'The House At Pooh Corner'.
Please excuse the omissions, misspellings and errors. The mistakes are all mine. Mom had no part in the proofing of this tale.
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A Dance Perfect for Two
"I don't see much sense in that," said Rabbit. "No," said Pooh humbly, "there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it. It's just that something happened to it along the way." – A. A. Milne, 'Winnie-the Pooh'
Part 1a
The First Inklings of Dusk
October 2003
The Pacific Northwest
She carefully maneuvered the rental car along the tree-lined gravel roadway searching for the driveway amongst the overgrown vegetation. She'd almost missed the turn-off for the rustic single-lane road from the main highway a mile back. If it hadn't been for Frank's explicit directions, she would've found herself lost long ago. The rental car's GPS system was worthless in this sparsely populated area of civilization. After receiving the call last night, she'd secured emergency leave, no easy feat considering the Admiral's current belligerent mood. The first flight out that morning had landed her in Portland early afternoon, but the small commuter flight to the closest regional airport, resulted in a late car trip into the wilderness of Oregon. The initial leg of the journey had provided her with magnificent scenery allowing her to get lost amongst her tumultuous thoughts and misgivings. As the roadways became narrower, more deserted and treacherous, her entire being converged on the preordained task of arriving safely at her final destination. Just as well, she mused trying to ignore the inevitable confrontation ahead. As quickly as the troublesome thought coalesced, the narrow gravel lane opened into the wide expanse of a spectacular vista.
She rolled the car to a stop in the circular drive and peered up to the impressive house, which lie ahead. "Fishing cabin," she snorted under her breath, removing the keys from the ignition. Most folks would hardly consider the towering log structure jutting out from the mountainside a mere 'cabin'. She retrieved her bag from the trunk and started up the limestone steps to the front door. The house was constructed of huge boulders and rough-hewn logs interconnected in intricate patterns. Large windows flanked the front door providing a panoramic view straight through the house to the sparkling lake beyond.
Pausing to take a deep calming breath, she placed her palm flat against the cool surface of the paneled wood door, and peered through the glass side panels. The great room spread invitingly just past the front foyer. The large-scaled furniture was upholstered in rich brown leather, woven throw rugs adorned the beautifully aged hardwood floors in subtle masculine patterns, and a stuffed deer's head towered high on the stone fireplace. An eight-point buck, she mused, all the while shaking her head. The proffered incentive of a quiet weekend at a 'rustic fishing cabin' proved amusing in light of the elaborate surroundings more befitting of a Ralph Lauren catalog spread.
The unexpected opulence contrasted sharply against the backdrop of nature's rough canvas intensifying her sense of unease. A fine tremor of foreboding skittered down her arms like an electrical impulse from the tense muscles in her neck, weighted down by the oppressive blanket of frosty unwelcomeness. She held no delusions of a jubilant yearned-for reunion. Seventeen unanswered phone calls attested to her lack of significance in his life. But still, she'd promised. And rebuffed or not, she intended to follow through. Despite her inconsequence to him, he still held the lofty position of supreme importance in her life. Even after months of solitude and silence, her heart refused to give up. Steeling her resolve, she straightened her spine one vertebra at a time, and stoically commenced with her task.
Her breath seized in her throat, as she briskly struck the wrought iron doorknocker, and waited for a chilly response. When no answer was forthcoming, she tried the knocker once more, before jiggling the latched handle of the door. The lock held strong and ghostly silence reigned in the house. The sun continued to dip toward the horizon; its brilliant reflection masked by the towering trees. Turning back toward the drive, she noticed for the first time the absence of any other vehicles, save her own. Frustration and exhaustion warred as victors, and tears momentarily stung her eyes. She knew she should've called before venturing all this way, but opted for the element of surprise. Trish had sworn he'd be here, but the serene surroundings of the remote wilderness held no signs of life, apart from the occasion squawk of a bird or the rustling wind.
Weighing her next move, she knew there was little chance of retracing her journey before nightfall, and the terrain had proved treacherous enough by light. She shifted the leather satchel onto her right shoulder, and slowly made her way to the side of the house. If luck held out, perhaps there was a back way into this 'gentleman's' sporting retreat.
Weaving through shrubbery and willowy pines, she followed a narrow pea-gravel path around the slope, and ducked between the massive posts supporting the cedar deck above. As she passed each window, she gave the casings a gentle shake, but none budged or gave-way. As she rounded the backside of the house, she halted in wide-eyed awe gasping for breath. The view was spectacular, straight out of heaven. And in that moment, she knew why he came: Seclusion…Peace…Healing.
The summit of the hilltop gave way in a languid descent toward the beautiful icy blue water of the private lake. The landscape was dotted with lacy evergreens and soaring trees resplendent in vibrant fall foliage of orange and reds and browns. Gentle waves skimmed the surface of the water as far as the eye could see, before cresting in white foam to lap the rocky shore. And the orange fireball of the sun blazed ahead, reflecting brilliantly off the water like shimmering diamonds, as it began its plunge toward the horizon below. Her hand automatically rose to shield her eyes from the blinding radiance, even as she shivered in the chilly autumn winds dancing off the shore. The skies above moved and morphed in color and clarity, as the clouds coalesced around the sun, leaving an artist's rendition of utopia in shades of coral, purple, and gold. Even as a child camped in the isolated deserts of Arizona, she's couldn't remember a more celestial sight.
When her occasional shivers grew to shaking chills in the cold October night, she roused from her musing to seek out other signs of life. Venturing further into the wooded yard, she peered up toward the window-lined backside of the cabin. A red cedar deck ran the full length of the house along the main level. Comfortable Adirondack chairs surrounded a large table, while two rockers sat side-by-side at the edge of the railing facing the majestic view. Wandering further still, she located the staircase that rose to meet the deck above. Just as she began to ascend the stairs, she felt the emptiness of his heart call out to hers. Drawn with unfailing accuracy, she pivoted on the stair and caught sight of a pier jutting off the shore toward the waterline, almost hidden by a canopy of trees. A fishing boat bobbed off the side moored to its planking. And at the end of the pier, desolate and alone, sat another chair with its occupant slouched and nearly hidden from view.
The wind whipped and tousled his dark hair, now clearly longer and uncharacteristically wild. His slumped position and motionless demeanor screamed isolation and defeat. And her heart lurched in pain at the emotional distance it felt. She stood paralyzed for long minutes, as she quelled her fears and sought divine guidance to cope with his tenuous state. Anger, resentment, loathing, these she could deal with, it would hurt, but she was determined to overcome. But the desolate heart calling to hers, belonged to a man who had surrendered…given up…quit. That Harm she'd never encountered, and wasn't quite sure how to help. It was as if he'd lost everything of value and merit, and with it his soul. He looked like a child who'd lost his only and best friend. That revelation hit her like a ton of bricks, and in that moment she knew exactly what to do. She descended the stairs and was crossing the yard before giving her feet the conscious command.
"You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes," she muttered to herself, quoting from Pooh. All the while shaking her head with amusement, "…Mountain, here comes Mohammad."
She paused before stepping onto the pier and clutched her coat more tightly around her lithe frame. The wind off the lake was frigid and bit into her skin, chilling her to the bone. She wondered how long he'd been sitting on the pier, and fear seized her heart. The worry provided the incentive to propel her forward in her quest.
He stiffened when she got close, but continued to stare straight ahead, never once turning in her direction. "What are you doing here, Mac?" he voice was raspy and hard.
"I, um," she stammered, cleared her voice and tried again, "…I came to check on you."
"Why?"
"I heard you needed a friend," she shrugged her shoulders as she dropped her leather satchel beside his chair.
His gaze remained transfixed on the horizon, as he groused, "Again, I ask why?"
"Harm…"
"Mom called you," he interrupted, "…well, you can turn around and head right back to Webb."
Hackles raised, she glared at the back of his head, "I'm not with…"
She caught herself and inhaled deeply to stem the automatic response. He was lashing out in self-defense and hurt, and her anger would serve no purpose, except to alienate him further.
She cautiously took a few more steps, until she was situated a foot beyond his chair at the end of the pier. A quick glance behind, assured he was watching with guarded eye. The sun was now at half-mast and the sky rapidly darkening. She shivered as the temperature continued to fall, and thrust her hands into her pockets.
"Beautiful sunsets you have here," she uttered softly, "…this place is amazing. I can see why you came."
"Mac, I'm not in the mood for small talk," he scrubbed a hand over his face.
"'kay," she peered back with a disarming smile, "…but I'm gonna have to plead for hospitality. I'll never find my way back into town on those mountain roads in the dark."
He sighed heavily, but didn't respond.
She turned around to face him, smile still in place. "It's good to see ya, Harm. I've missed you…we all have."
"Yeah, I'm sure…" he mumbled with disdain.
"You know, you could've let at least one of know you were alive…"
"MAC!" he bellowed, "…I told you…"
"I'm sorry," she held out her arms in defense, "…I didn't mean… Ah, look…I, ah…"
"Why are you here?"
"Harm, I'm sorry about Beth," she reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked away from her grasp.
"I knew it!" he exploded. "I knew mom called you! Why else would you bother to come after all this time?!"
She tried to mask the hurt of his words and actions, choosing to focus instead on controlling the tremble in her voice. "I would've come sooner, if you'd returned my calls. You've been a difficult man to find."
"What? Webb not giving up info?" he sneered. "I imagined with all that pillow talk…"
"Harm!"
She turned away to study the fleeting sun. Emotions back under control, she spoke softly but with intensity, "I'm only gonna say this once. I'm not with Webb. We shared a harrowing experience, and as a result have established a mutual friendship."
He snorted in disbelief.
"It's nice to have someone to talk to," she shrugged and turned back to face him, "…at one time that used to be you."
He studied the planks at his feet and whispered softly, "Well, that choice was all yours, Mac. I'm not the one that said never."
"I used to believe in forever . . . but forever was too good to be true," the threatening tears quivered in her voice.
"What?" his eyes flew to hers.
"Nothing," she shook her head, "…it's just something from Winnie-the-Pooh. He and I have a lot in common these days."
"We're clearly speaking two different languages, and I'm too tired to keep up," he leaned forward, elbows on knees, and head propped in his hands. "Look, if you need a place to crash tonight, you can take the bedroom on the main floor. The bed's all made up and there's a bathroom attached."
"Harm, I don't wanna displace you…"
"It's okay," he waved her off, "…I can crash on the couch or head up to the loft. Not sleeping much these days, anyways," he muttered into his hand.
She walked past him, and reached down for her satchel, before pausing to stand behind his chair. Cautiously, she rested a gentle hand on his back, "Harm, if you need to talk about Beth, I'm here."
When he didn't respond after several seconds, she almost walked away. Almost. Instead, she slipped her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and caressed the icy cold skin found there. And she waited.
Finally he spoke in haunting voice, "I should've been there to save her."
When he didn't continue, she maintained the light-stroking caress, and softly encouraged. "Your mom said they let you go before her last mission…it wasn't your fault, Harm. The Company needed to protect her…not you."
"But she was my partner," his voice cracked.
"I know you feel the need to rescue us all…even if we don't deserve it, and the price is too high," tears ringed her eyes and dropped down her cheeks.
"It's never too high," his voice grew softer, "…I'm glad you're alive."
"Still…"
He leaned forward out of her reach, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Mac, you should head inside…the door off the deck is unlocked."
"Aren't you coming?" she pleaded.
"Later."
"Harm, you're freezing…you need to come…"
"Leave me alone, Mac!" he snarled.
"'kay," her voice was soft and wounded, no longer able to hide the hurt.
As she turned to leave, he spoke in misery, "I'm not very good at relationships, am I?"
"What?" She stopped mid turn.
"Renee said it…" his voice trailed off.
"Why did she say that?" her voice rose with incredulity. The nerve of that stupid woman. Years later, and they were still paying the price for their miscommunication and mistakes related to Mic Brumby and Renee Peterson.
"Because," he shrugged, "…she said, I don't like to let people in."
She rounded the chair, and knelt before him, seeking out his darting eyes. "You listen to me," she cupped his chin, "…Renee didn't know what she was talking about." He tried to pull away, but she didn't relinquish her hold. "Harm, the problem isn't that you don't let people in…it's that you let them in too much. When you care about someone, they become a part of you. They're embedded so deeply in your heart, that you feel every hurt, every pain, every injustice right along with them. Some people care too much…I think it's called love."
He looked away from the intensity of her gaze, refusing to acknowledge her words. Her thumb stroked gentle circles over his stubble-roughed cheek.
"You can't save the whole world, Sailor…or you'll eventually lose yourself," her words were gentle and endearing, filled with love, "…and I couldn't bear that."
He pulled away at the utterance of the old nickname, closing out the overwhelming emotions, "I'm not a sailor anymore, Mac."
"Well, I might have something to say about that," she stood up and stretched her legs.
"You in charge now?" he groused to escape the heaviness of the previous moment.
"No," she stared out into the night. The sky was nearly black, and the wind was picking up. "But the Admiral is having second thoughts."
"He figure I already learned my lesson wrestling alligators," he reached for the satisfied comfort of his righteous indignation. It was an emotion with which he had intimate experience of late.
"Harm!" she glared at him in warning.
"What?!" he sat back in his chair and cast her a look that vacillated somewhere between wariness and contempt. She bit her tongue to control the automatic retort, and walked past him to head inside.
"Besides, I'm pretty sure Webb wouldn't be too happy about that," he sneered. So much for comfort, he was headed straight for pain.
That comment froze her in her tracks. She clenched and unclenched her fists, breathing deeply. When she turned back around, there was fire in her eyes. He watched her defiantly march back in his direction, stopping beside his chair, nostrils flaring. And then, a bizarre expression crossed her face. He squinted in concentration trying to discern her mood. Her brow was furrowed, mouth tight, but amusement danced in her eyes. The whole situation unsettled and excited him in a way he couldn't quite place. He didn't know whether to laugh or run for his life.
Just as he was about to decide on the later, she reached out her hand and pinched his left earlobe. He jumped from surprise more than pain, and tried to pull away, but she held tight, leaned forward and peered inside. Her breath came out in tiny warm puffs, as she tried to control her laughter. The flustering sensation tickled his cheek and spread goosebumps down his neck. He shivered as her simple touch sent shockwaves to his heart, and warmth all the way to his toes. And still, she stood and examined.
"Mac!" he batted at her arm. "What're you doing?"
She giggled softly, but didn't utter a word. Her silence unnerved him more, and he fought to pull away. Her fingers stuck like glue.
"I promise I have a brain," he sighed in frustration, "…it's not empty in there."
She just continued to study his ear. A gust of cold wind blew past his face, wafting the scent of her perfume and a wayward strand of her hair to tickle his nose. He reached up to grasp her wrist, encircling it with his fingers. She remained completely unfazed and stared straight ahead.
"If you blow in it, music doesn't come out the other side," his fingers flexed and tightened around her skin. Her hands were cold as ice. So, how was it, they made him feel warm?
With one final caress and a short pull, she relinquished her grasp and stood up, a beautiful smile on her face. He reached up and roughly rubbed his earlobe, all the while glaring at her in disbelief.
"Mind telling me what you were doing?" he grumped.
"Looking for fluff," she shrugged lightheartedly, and her smile grew. Who needed the sun, he thought absently. The unbidden notion served to disconcert him more.
"What?" He frowned at her instead, thinking she'd finally lost her mind.
"Fluff," she giggled and reached down to retrieve her leather satchel. Searching through the tote, she withdrew two objects and extended the first to him. "Here, this is for you."
He eyed the bear suspiciously. She extended it further, "Go ahead…he won't bite."
When he refused to take the stuffed animal, she set it gently in his lap. His fingers stroked over the knobby fur of the golden bear, taking note of areas that were worn and threadbare. He even encountered a roughened spot or two, and some stickiness here and there. The poor thing was even missing an eye.
He looked up at her, eyebrow raised, and regarded her bemused expression. His mouth gaped open and closed, before he found his voice.
"Mac, what's this?" he extended the stuffed animal and gave it a gentle shake to accentuate his point.
"Pooh," she giggled and shrugged, giving nothing a way.
"I can see that," he huffed, "…but why are you giving it to me?" He shook his head in confusion; she was starting to freak him out.
"It's not from me…it's from AJ." She extended a book, "This is from me." He ignored the book and threw her an incredulous look.
"AJ?!" She really was worrying him now. "Why would the Admiral…"
"Not that AJ! Your godson, AJ," she rolled her eyes. He really had been incommunicado for too long.
"Ohhh," he dropped his eyes to the bear, and tapped its snout. Glancing back up in question, "But why?"
"'Cuz, he thought you needed a friend, too." When he furrowed his brow in question, she explained, "AJ gave it to me a few months back. After," her voice dipped along with her head, "…after Paraguay. He knew I was, um…sad," she dug her toe into the planking of the pier. Harm leaned closer to hear her voice over the howling wind.
"AJ and I started spending more time together, after you…" She sighed and hugged the book to her chest, "Anyways, we began reading the Winnie-the-Pooh series. At first, I did it to give Harriet a break, what with the new baby and all, but then…it was just fun to spend time with AJ. Pooh was one of his most prized possessions, kinda like his buddy." Harm glanced down at the stuffed bear and again noted its tattered and threadbare countenance, clearly denoting usage and love. "One night, he gave it to me. He said I needed a friend, and after all," she raised her voice to match little AJ's higher pitch and cadence, "…Pooh says, 'It's so much more friendly with two'. AJ figured he didn't need Pooh so much anymore, since he had Jimmy…but he thought you and I could use a friend."
When she looked up, her smile had dimmed, and her eyes were suspiciously bright. She once again extended the book, and he took it from her hand. The title read 'The Complete TALES of Winnie-the Pooh'.
"I thought you might find it interesting," she smiled, "…for a stuffed bear who spends a lot of time bumping on his head, he's pretty wise." He quirked his brow, and a slight smile played on his lips.
"Um, if you wanna know about the 'fluff'," she tapped the marker buried within the book, "…I think you'll find the reference, just about there."
"Ahhh," his eyes twinkled as he nodded his head.
She winked back, "I'm gonna head inside and try to warm up." She shifted the tote onto her shoulder, "You coming along?"
"Not yet," he stared back out to the water, "…in a bit, I just need to think for a while."
"'kay, see ya inside," she reached out and ran her fingers across his neck, burying them in his hair. When he leaned back slightly into her palm, she tugged on the wayward strands hanging over his collar. "You need a haircut…this is hardly regulation, Sailor."
He shrugged, but didn't pull away, "I'm not in the Navy anymore, Marine."
"We'll see about that," she whispered and traced her fingertips over his ear and onto to his stubbled cheek, "…could use a shave too."
He shrugged again, "Same answer."
Continuing to caress his cheek, she leaned over and kissed the crown of his head. "See ya in the morning, flyboy," she nuzzled her cheek against the soft strands for a moment, before heading inside.
His eyes never left the water to acknowledge her departure, but his palm rose to cup the skin of his cheek, trying to retain her warmth.
He sat there staring at the twinkling night sky for almost an hour, lost in thought, in regrets…in what ifs. By the time he stood to head back inside, his hands and feet were numb from the cold. He clutched the stuffed bear and the prized book to his chest for fear of dropping them into the water, as he made his way along the pier. His knees creaked and groaned with stiffness as he climbed the stairs to the deck. And when he stepped inside the quiet house, his eyes flickered around the great room hoping to find her still up. Much to his dismay, she was nowhere to be found, but there was a blazing fire in the fireplace, no doubt intended to warm his chilled bones, and maybe if he was lucky his soul. A note rested on the end table beside the couch, alerting him to the fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, and a veggie sandwich and pasta salad in the fridge.
Opting only for coffee, in need of the physical warmth, he disregarded the sandwich and salad. His appetite seemed to be the perpetual victim of life's recent events. He settled into the sofa, wrapping himself in the chenille throw, and eyed the proffered book with suspicion. His fingers skimmed over the smooth jacket, flipped the hardback cover open and closed, and fanned through the pages. Finally, he tucked the stuffed Pooh bear into the crook of his arm and began to read the tale. Tempted to check the dog-eared pages first, he forced himself to start at the beginning.
'Here is EDWARD BEAR, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps…'
It was midnight by the time he came to the purported phrase, and he laughed aloud as he read it the third time through. 'If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.'
Setting the book aside for the night, he wiped his bleary eyes and huddled deeper into the warmth of the blanket. The fire had long since died out, and the room held a definite chill. Resting his head against the back of the couch, he contemplated sleep, and whether it would prove elusive again tonight, in deference to the demons of his dreams. Twisting his body sideways, he reclined against the armrest and attempted to get comfortable. The waistband of his jeans tugged and pulled, and his bulky sweater bunched in all the wrong places. Sighing in annoyance, he rolled off the couch and started toward the bedroom in search of his sweats. He paused at the entrance to the master suite, remembering he'd given the room to Mac.
The door was only partially closed allowing him to peek his head inside. The room was nearly dark, save for the moonlight streaming through the rear windows. Apparently, she'd forgotten to close the shutters when turning in for the night. He listened closely for sounds of stirring, but detected only her light even breathing. He pushed the heavy door aside, and cringed when the hinges creaked in protest. Pausing briefly to scan the bed, he crept on inside. He crossed to the dresser and carefully opened the drawer retrieving his sleep clothes, and quickly changed in the bath. As he turned to exit the room, he froze spellbound at the captivating sight.
She was asleep on her side; moonlight illuminating her lovely features. Tresses of darkened silk spilled over the pillowcase, crowning her head. The blanket slipped down around her waist, left she huddled and shivering in the cold. He tiptoed to the bedside, and reached for the covers, pulling them up higher. His hand caught on something fuzzy and soft wrapped around her arm. He gently tugged on the mysterious object clutched about her hand, and withdrew his plaid flannel shirt. He remembered discarding the garment on the chair earlier that morning. Her hands moved and searched in her sleep, seeking out and locating the soft flannel. She cradled the shirt to her chest, rubbing the collar against her cheek, before settling in quietness once more.
His heart bloomed with contentment for the first time in months, finding comfort and hope in that one simple gesture. He drew the blanket up to her shoulders, then pulled the down comforter up from the foot of the bed. Tucking her in warm and tight, he ran his fingers through her hair, and gently caressed her cheek. He studied her in the moonbeams, and for the first time, noticed the hollowness of her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and the thinning of her face. It seemed she too survived in the shadows of nightmares. He silently leaned forward, arching over her prostrate form, to place a lingering kiss atop her brow. Burying his nose in the hair of her temple, he inhaled deeply and reveled in the long missed, but nary forgotten scent that played a staring role in his dreams.
Stepping away from the bed, he tripped over an errant pillow fallen upon the floor. Lifting the object, he started to cast it aside, when an idea kindled and caught fire burning bright. His smile curled in and grew with impish delight. He scurried from the bedroom in search of the requisite tools. Once gathered, he returned to the master suite to implement his clandestine plan.
Twenty minutes later, his eyes sparkled with approval, and he grinned in unbridled glee. Yes, he decided, this was just what was needed to bridge their lingering divide. Task complete, he backed away, settling into the corner armchair to watch over her sleep. Despite a well-fought battle, his eyes soon drifted shut. And the nightmares never came.
xxxxx
Continued in Part 1b