Disclaimer: Don't own'em
A/N: Finally got this down on 'paper'
Personally, I hated the whole Mic-Renee thing: I thought it was contrived. This is one of those attempts to make lemonade out of lemons. But, I don't know, the story didn't turn out quite like I'd planned; however, short of scrapping the entire thing I can't think of what to do. Consider it a fair warning.
If some things fall out of the 'official' timeline, pretend they don't.
On with it...
--
Truths
--
Acquainted with the Night
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain --and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Robert Frost
--
Harm sat on his couch, head tilted back, and stared at the ceiling.
Today was it. The day he'd really thought would never come. She put the ring on her left hand. Mac was officially engaged. To Mic Brumby.
He really, sincerely thought the day would never come. What could she possibly see in him? Brumby was all kinds of wrong for her.
But the ring was now on her left hand. He'd seen it there, and something inside of him had snapped. No, not snapped: broken. Something inside of him had broken...
He shook his head briskly, chasing away the thought. What the hell was wrong with him. He'd told her on the ferry he couldn't let go, and that was true. He was definitely not ready for a commitment, not when his fingers still itched to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield, especially not to yield to a picket fence and all the responsibility that entailed. He knew that a relationship with Mac would be it for him. And he couldn't do it. Not then on the ferry, and not now, not yet. Being with Mac would mean getting married, settling down. Where else would it go? There was a finality to all of it that he just didn't want.
But seeing that ring on her finger, the wrong ring on the right finger ... No, he berated himself. He refused to feel any hurt over her decision. Her stupid, stupid, stupid decision. For god's sake, she couldn't marry Brumby. She'd be miserable, absolutely miserable. Bugme was arrogant and cocky and so full of himself. And he was pushy and overbearing. And relentless. He'd just smother her. Mac had one of those rare fiery personalities that needed space to breathe, one that had miraculously survived despite all of life's hard blows ... Brumby would just end up snuffing her out. She could never be truly happy with him. Once the euphoric blindness of rings and engagements and newlywed bliss faded she'd see that too, and she'd be miserable, absolutely miserable.
He was her friend, if nothing else – and there was a whole lot else, who were they trying to kid. Who was he trying to kid. But, he was her friend, her best friend. And as her best friend, it was his sworn duty to make sure she didn't make really, incredibly, ridiculously, stupendously stupid mistakes. Like marrying Brumby. That right there was the worst kind of mistake.
She was incredibly independent, and Brumby was controlling. And for all the squared-away cynicism she projected, Harm knew better than anyone that Mac needed someone who would let her be herself, even if she fought that very idea herself. Especially because she fought it. Brumby would never understand her or what she needed. He would never see in her what Harm had seen, had discovered, through years of friendship and partnership and adventure...
The thought gave Harm pause. He looked at his hands. All the years of friendship and adventure he'd shared with Mac. She understood him as well as he understood her. He knew what she needed, and she had to know the same about him. In fact, he knew that she knew. She had followed him to Russia, rather than tried to stop him. She'd offered to water his plants, rather than issued an ultimatum when he went back to flying. She had supported his decisions even when she didn't agree with him, and she always let him know when she didn't agree...
He thought of his parents, and of how happy they always looked in any memory or picture he had of them. He'd wanted that. He still wanted that. At some point. And he'd only met one person who gave him that feeling of happiness, that giddiness that made him smile even when he had no reason to, that comfort which put him at ease regardless of the situation. Only one person.
And she had just agreed to marry Mic freakin' Brumby.
Harm quickly sat up straight on the couch. The one person who made him think he could have what his parents had, the connection his parents had. And – oh, god, he was such a fool – and he'd even told her he always knew where she was. And he knew she always knew where he was, why else did she always just happen to search him out when he walked into the room or was looking in her direction?
Harm stood up, resolved.
She could not marry Mic Brumby. Marriage was a forever kind of thing, and she was his forever, dammit, not Brumby's.
He grabbed his keys and coat and marched out his front door.
She was not going to marry Brumby.
--
Harm knocked loudly on Mac's front door. Adrenaline coursed through him at an alarming rate. He'd made sure of it: He hadn't wanted to lose his resolve on the relatively long drive to Mac's place, so he sped the entire way and replayed the image of Mac kissing Brumby at the airport over and over and over. That had him pumped and primed.
Added to which, he was a trained fighter pilot: he thrived on adrenaline, it honed his senses. His forever was going to start now.
The door opened, and there stood Mac.
"Harm!" She exclaimed as she opened the door. "Is everything okay?
She tightened her robe as she stood aside to let him in. Her hair was slightly mussed, and the remnants of sleep still lined her eyes. He stood still for a moment, drinking in the sight of her in her nightwear. The sight shored his resolve to set things straight, the way they ought to be. Adrenaline went up a notch.
"I am giving you a choice." He declared, striding into her apartment. He turned to face her, one long finger pointed at her nose. He noticed that she was wearing a silk robe that reached mid-thigh. Her legs looked really smooth. He lost his train of thought.
"What?" She was looking at him, bewilderment clear on her features. She frowned. "Is this about the MacLean case?"
"The what?" He dropped his hand, thrown off by her question and how her legs shimmered in the muted living room light. She looked so soft. Where the hell was his adrenaline.
"It's a bit late to be plea bargaining, Harm." She put her hands on her hips, frown in place.
Her response registered, and his jaw dropped. His attention drifted from her legs to her words.
"What?" He exclaimed loudly, annoyed. "I'm not plea bargaining!"
"Harm!" She hissed, shooting a quick glance at her bedroom door. "Keep it down. You'll wake Mic up."
That stopped him cold. He eyed Mac's bedroom door with distaste. Bugme was in Mac's bed. He was torn between disgust and a jealousy so potent he had to clench his fists. Deep breath. Harm thought he was going to be sick.
"Mic's in there?" He couldn't look away from that damn door. He hadn't thought this plan out at all.
"Where else would he be?" she was clearly exasperated with him.
He scowled at her response. That did it. All he could see was red. He crossed his arms over his chest.
"He's all wrong for you, Mac. Either you take the ring off now or..." He faltered; he hadn't thought this plan through at all. Then the thought of Brumby in Mac's bed assailed him. And the words rushed out in a steady torrent. "Or I'll have no choice but to stand up at your wedding when the priest asks if anyone has reason to object. I won't hold my peace, Mac. I'll object, Mac, because it's the right thing to do." With his declaration of intent finally out, he ran out of steam.
Her jaw dropped, her eyebrows shot up.
They stood that way, in absolute silence, while time held its breath. Her expression was frozen in shock. As was his, if he really paused to give it thought. Had he really just said that? Ballsy. Hopefully not stupid. All he could hear was his heart hammering in his ears.
Their connection broke only when Mac's bedroom door clicked open. Harm turned to see Mic walk out.
"Sarah, love, is everything alright..." Mic said, clad only in sweatpants that he was still knotting up. He stopped short at the sight that greeted him.
"Harm." He eyed Harm cautiously, yet with a clear warning. "Everything okay?" He took a protective step in Mac's direction.
Mac looked at Harm in silent plea before turning her attention to Mic.
"Harm's here to discuss a plea on a case." Mac replied.
Brumby looked to Harm in amused confusion.
"C'mon, Harm. It's 1130 on a Thursday night. You shouldn't be working so late, mate." He put an arm around Mac, his hand coming to rest on her waist. The gesture was deliberate and casual, but in it Harm saw Brumby go from protective to possessive.
But it was the smug, wide, annoyingly happy smile on Brumby's face that was the last straw. Harm knew, somewhere deep down and rational, that Brumby always looked smug, and his smile was always annoying. But right now, all Harm could think was that Brumby was trying to intentionally gaud him. And what angered him most was that Bugme actually thought he had a right to act as though he deserved her.
"Actually," Harm forcibly tamed his anger, and directed his words at Mac. "Pleading my case is my top priority right now."
Mac's eyes widened slightly, her mouth fell open in disbelief. Brumby's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed with displeasure.
Harm looked straight at Mac, trying to tell her in a look what he couldn't say just yet, not yet.
"Harm..." She started, her voice soft and full of what Harm thought sounded like regret, before trailing off.
The conflict in her eyes held him rapt. He took a step closer to her, trying to sway the fight in his favour.
His vision was suddenly obscured when Brumby stepped in front of Mac.
Harm had forgotten about him.
However, if the twitch in Brumby's jaw was anything to go by, he'd read into their silent conversation and wasn't pleased with what he found.
"Look here, you tosser," Brumby threatened, "I don't—"
"Mic," Mac interrupted him, placing a restraining hand on his arm.
Brumby stilled, his jaw set and his fists clenched. He looked back at Mac, and though he was visibly upset, Harm could see he was trying to be gentle when talking to her.
"Sarah, he cannot come in here..."
Her hand tightened on his arm. "Mic," She repeated in slight warning to Brumby's anger. Harm figured she did not want this to degenerate to violence, as it had in Australia.
Brumby stared at Mac for a long moment, and then jerked his hand out of her grasp. With a sickening lurch, Harm realized what the other man was about to do.
"Fine, Sarah." Mic ground out, "I'm done trying." He marched across the living room, towards the kitchen.
"Mic, wait." She called urgently after him. "What are you doing?"
She stood, rooted in place, as he walked away from her. Harm was unable to move as he watched the tableau he'd created play out.
"Packing my things." Brumby threw over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen, his decisive, stubborn stride not abating.
She stared at the kitchen doorway, a look of complete shock on her face, and of desperate hurt in her eyes.
Harm felt absolutely helpless. He shouldn't have come here. He should've kept his mouth shut. He should've talked to her when Mic wasn't home. He should've thought his plan through.
Mic re-emerged from the kitchen carrying a large black garbage bag. Mac took an involuntary step towards him.
"Wait." Mac reached out a hand to grab his arm, halting him as he reached the bedroom door. "What? Mic, you're overreacting. I ... you ..." She trailed off, a look of such pleading in her eyes, it was unlike anything Harm had ever seen. And he knew for a fact he never wanted her to have any reason to look at another person that way again.
Mic again jerked away from her.
Harm felt like he was intruding in a private moment. He watched as Mac followed Mic into the bedroom.
He wondered how Brumby could continue in his resolve to leave after receiving that look from her. He didn't think – no, he knew – he knew that he wouldn't have been able to walk away from her if she pleaded with him to stay the way she was pleading with Brumby.
He shouldn't have come, he thought as they disappeared into the bedroom. The door was open, so he could hear them as they moved around, could hear what they were saying.
"Why are you doing this?" The desperation in her voice moved Harm's feet towards her. He had a clear view now, of the two of them in her room. Brumby was stuffing clothes from the closet and drawers into the garbage bag, while Mac just watched, her panic steadily increasing.
Brumby didn't answer, instead kept stuffing his belongings into the black bag.
"Mic! Listen to me! You, but..." She was struggling to find something to say. Harm almost didn't want to hear this conversation.
"Mic..." She trailed off miserably, and Harm couldn't look away as she tried to keep the tears from falling. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as though the pressure could keep her heart from falling apart. "Please..."
With that word, Mic stilled in his almost manic movements. He straightened himself slowly and turned to face her.
"At least listen to me," She was as near begging as he'd ever heard her. He could hear the embarrassment it caused her to ask this of Brumby in such a way.
Brumby gave a half-hearted smile, his hurt evident, his anger barely contained. "I think that's the whole problem. I haven't been listening. It's not me you give your heart to."
His eyes caressed her face, and he just stared at her with a look Harm couldn't begin to describe. He'd never seen Brumby so ... He truly and completely loved Mac, Harm realized, in the irrational, spontaneous, all-in kind of way. It made his stomach turn that someone was looking at her like that.
"I've stopped trying to stop you, Sarah." He whispered so softly, Harm had to strain to hear him.
He watched as Brumby tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. He watched as Mac looked Brumby in the eye, full of questions and silent pleas. And he watched as Brumby's expression changed to one of reluctant resolve. Mic dropped his hand away from her, quickly picked up the black garbage filled with his belongings, flung it over his shoulder, and walked out of the bedroom, and into the living room.
Harm, unmoving, followed Brumby's steady march, garbage bag flung over his shoulder, to the front door where he paused only to throw some shoes and a jacket into his plastic bag.
Mac came out of her room a moment later, defeat making her steps slow and heavy. She stopped a few paces away from Brumby and watched him as he tied the garbage bag, her arms hanging listlessly by her side. She looked so small, so vulnerable.
Brumby gave Mac one last, longing look and then left the apartment without so much as a glance in Harm's direction. She took a step towards her front door, but stopped herself, lost.
Harm wished that Brumby had at least tried to punch him. It would make things seem less ... incomplete, unfinished.
Mac stared at the door for a long time with her shoulders slumped. The resigned disappointment in her posture cut through Harm. He thought maybe he ought to apologize. Except he wasn't really feeling sorry, not about Brumby leaving. He did feel bad that she looked so hurt. Hopefully she wouldn't turn around and yell at him for what had just transpired. Maybe he deserved it just a little. He supposed there were more tactful ways to go about doing what he'd just done.
He didn't quite know what to do with himself. He figured it might be best if Mac forgot he was here for awhile, so he took a seat on her couch and tried to breathe as quietly as possible.
Only moments later, he heard her deep sigh, and watched as she turned around. He braced himself for whatever may come.
She gave him a long look once she was facing him. He couldn't read her expression. He didn't think she knew what exactly she was feeling at this moment either. Deliberately, she broke eye contact, walked towards the couch, and sank down next to him. The cushions gave way with a deep sigh.
She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands.
"Mac?" He felt terrible. He lifted his hand to her shoulder, but then reconsidered. Helplessly, his hand fell to his side. He hadn't exactly anticipated that she'd be so broken up about it. She cared for Mic, he knew, but he didn't for a minute think she loved him. Not in the way Brumby loved her, and not in the way he was starting to admit he loved her. Not in the truly, madly, deeply kind of way that had men giving up their commission or speeding through the night to state intentions without first formulating a plan, or at least rehearsing a speech.
He watched as she slowly drew in a deep breath, held it, and then released it.
"Hey," He said, not knowing how to comfort her.
She turned to look at him, and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes.
"Hey, it'll work out," He almost added 'for the better', but thought she'd deck him. As it was he was surprised she hadn't yelled at him for Mic's departure. "You'll see."
She took another deep breath, and leaned back on the couch. She looked down at her left hand, where her engagement ring glinted mutely.
She wasn't saying anything. Her silence was increasing his awkward discomfort, and his guilt.
"You wear your ring to sleep?" The question slipped out without his permission.
She looked at him, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. Her eyes flitted away from him, a distinct gesture of discomfort, and then settled on the ring. She considered it thoughtfully.
She pulled the ring off and held it between her fingers, tilting it so that it caught the light.
"Think he'll want it back?" Harm tried not to wince at the words that were coming out of his mouth. Her silence was making it hard for him to say the right thing. He had no idea what she was feeling.
She shook her head. "No." She looked towards her front door, then back at the ring in her hands. "He won't."
She closed her hand around the ring, holding it in a firm grip, then opened her hand again. The ring lay lifeless in her palm. She sighed.
He tried to think of something to say, something to do. He didn't know if she even wanted him around. There was just one thing he needed to know, one thing he needed to hear from her...
"Do you love him?"
She sat absolutely still, staring at the ring.
"I ... I don't think I know what that means..." She trailed off, and shrugged one shoulder. "He made me laugh. He made me feel loved." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He made me happy."
She hadn't answered his question, although he hadn't expected her to say as much as she had. The shock was still setting in, he surmised. He should probably give her space, because shock would surely give way to anger. But he needed to hear her confirm it. Something deep and desperate propelled him to push.
"There's more to happiness than being loved. It has to be a two-way thing, Mac."
"I care for him." She answered slowly. "A lot."
They sat in a silence he was afraid to break.
"You know," She spoke first, her voice subdued and hollow. "I thought for once, just this once, I could be loved. I could be happy. I could..." She stopped, and swallowed heavily. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes briskly. "So much for that." She scoffed. "He wouldn't even hear what I had to say."
Harm glanced to the door. Brumby hadn't listened at all, which just confirmed Harm's assessment of his personality – he would only have hurt Mac. He turned his attention back at her. She looked so alone, even though he was sitting right next to her.
"Mac." He covered her hands with his. She had someone who would always love her, she had to know that. Why else would he have come here tonight? "Mac, you have—"
The shrill ring of his cell phone interrupted a confession that had been simmering for so long.
Harm closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. So close, damn it. So close.
"Who the hell..." He muttered, irritated, as he reached into his pocket for his phone. Who was calling him so damn late? He looked at the caller display. "Renée."
He'd forgotten about her.
He glanced at Mac, eyes wide with guilt. But she was still staring at the ring in her palm.
"I have to..." He saw resignation shutter her eyes, and tried to rephrase. "I should ..."
He trailed off helplessly as Mac slowly stood up from the couch and walked to her room, silence steadily mortaring a wall to separate her from him. The door clicked shut behind her, echoing in the room, until his phone rang again.
Harm shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Damn it.
He flipped open his phone.
"Renée." He greeted, and then forced himself to sound more genial. "Hey."
"Yes, hi." She replied with a slight impatience in her tone. "I came to your apartment right after the shoot ended. Did you get sent out on another case? Are you back to not calling me to tell me that you're going out on assignment? I thought I'd broken you of that habit."
Harm closed his eyes again. This was not what he needed right now. He wondered not for the first time what Renée's definition of a healthy relationship was, and why she was sticking around. He wasn't the most attentive, he could admit, or involved for that matter.
"Renée —"
"No, wait. You're right. I'm sorry." She interrupted, sounding bone-tired. "The shoot just went on for ages and we're so behind schedule the budget is starting to swell like a pregnant woman's ankles. But I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm just so tired and stressed. I was looking forward to being with you."
He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling like an utter jerk.
"Renée."
"Keep saying my name like that, flyboy." She flirted. "Sounds good on you."
The suggestiveness in her voice was unmistakable. Well, that could be one reason she hung on for so long.
Harm looked at Mac's bedroom door. He didn't want to leave her right now. Actually, he didn't want her to leave him forever. But he had to straighten things out with Renee. From the sounds of it though, this was probably the last thing Renee wanted to hear. He'd effectively and completely hurt two women, and one guy tonight.
"I'll just be over, Renée. You can let yourself in; you know where the spare key is."
"You're in town?" She asked, ignoring the rest of his statement. "Working late at JAG?"
"I'm at Mac's..." He trailed off guiltily. He probably shouldn't have said that.
"You're telling me you're working on a case at this hour, at Mac's? Her fiancé must be a really understanding guy." There was no suspicion in her tone, only wonder at Mic's supposed acceptance.
"Uh, about that..." He stopped himself. "We'll talk about it when I get there, alright? Give me a half hour."
"Don't take too long, Flyboy. And don't worry; I already let myself in. If you hurry, you could probably catch me in the shower."
"Half an hour," He repeated, refusing to address the rest of her statement. He flipped his phone shut and stared at Mac's closed bedroom door.
He took a deep breath, and walked to her door. Then he stared at it, not knowing what to do.
"Mac?" He opened her bedroom door slowly, but saw no sign of her. The bathroom light was on, though. He mustered his nerve and walked up to the bathroom door. He was about to knock when the door opened and Mac walked out. She looked up, startled.
He took a step back, looking first at his feet and then at her.
She was eyeing him warily. Her eyes were red, as was the tip of her nose. He wanted to wrap her in a hug.
"I, uh, have to go. Renee is waiting." He knew that came out wrong. Mac's face fell, and tears welled in her eyes.
"No," He tried to pre-empt any more hurt. "I mean, I have to talk to her ... tell her in person." She was watching him with such an expression of disappointment and hurt, he felt compelled to fill the silence with his stupid ramblings. "I've been seeing her for what, a year? She deserves better than ... I have to talk with her..." He trailed off at the sudden anger that flashed in her eyes.
"You have to break it to her gently," Her voice trembled with the weight of tears she wasn't shedding. She took a breath and her entire demeanour hardened. Her words cut through the space between them, sharp and unforgiving. "She deserves better than having her heart ripped out and her world turned upside down unexpectedly, in the middle of the night. She should have it broken to her gently, with you in control." She jabbed an accusing finger at him.
He took a step back, realizing where this was going. He tried to defend himself and dispel her anger.
"Mac, I didn't—"
"Go." It was one quietly spoken word, but it hurt more than any number of curses would have. It sounded so final.
"Wait, Mac—" He wanted desperately to salvage what he could, even though he'd known that her anger was coming.
"I said go, Harm." She turned around and he watched as she dug through her closet. She threw a pair of jeans and a sweater on to the bed.
"What are you doing?" He felt panic swelling in the pit of his stomach.
"I have to find Mic." She removed her robe to reveal a slip, not caring that he was there, and thrust the sweater on.
"What?" Panic filled his lungs, invaded his chest.
"I want a choice, dammit." She stuffed on leg into her pants, and then the other, her movements jerky.
"What are you talking about?" He didn't know how to stop her.
"You get to go break Renée's heart on your terms, and break Mic's and break mine." She pulled a coat out of her closet, and struggled to put it on, her movements now erratic. "All on your terms. If Mic's going to leave me, it's not going to be because someone else drove him away..." She stopped suddenly, and deflated in front of him, silent tears now falling freely. "He left me, Harm. I didn't even ... And he'd promised..."
"Mac." He hastened to her side and pulled her into his arms. "Come on, now, Mac." He tried to comfort her.
"Everybody leaves..."
"Not everyone, Mac." His words were strong and confident, a promise in kind.
She pulled away from him, accusation clear in her eyes. "Go to your girlfriend, Harm."
His heart constricted. Why wasn't she understanding? Why couldn't she see?
"Forget about her, she can wait." He reached a hand out to her. She moved away from him.
"Just go." She turned her back to him. "I can't do this."
"Mac." Panic was tempered with realization. He wouldn't be able to get through to Mac tonight. She wouldn't let him.
"Go, Harm. She's waiting."
He knew she wouldn't let him stay, wouldn't listen to him. Reluctantly, he backed out of her room, keeping his eyes on her. She didn't look at him.
"I'm going to tell Renée why I can't see her anymore," He made sure to speak clearly, make his conviction evident to her. "And then I'll see you tomorrow, Mac." He finished as he reached the door. "We'll talk about this."
She didn't respond.
--
tbc