Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I'm new to writing fan fiction. As I've enjoyed reading those that are on this site, I've managed to possibly catch the bug. This has been rattling in my head for a while so I thought I'd give it a try. Most likely, it'll be a two part story but who knows. Please let me know what you think. Please also be kind. All mistakes are mine.
Things to know: This is set shortly after the "Four Percent Solution" episode and Mattie never went back to live with Tom. Italics, if they show properly, denote internal thoughts. I think that's it.
The red corvette makes the familiar turn and parks beside a black SUV. Quickly exiting the vehicle lest it hold her captive, again, Mac turns to stare at the all too familiar building. A breath is released into the frigid air as she once again ponders the intelligence of making this move, but instead of slipping back into the car, as she had in days past, she squares her shoulders, shuts the car door and enters the building. Again. Stepping off the elevator, she walks the necessary steps to his door and brings her knuckles up to knock. However, her hand fails to make contact with the door and her head bows in defeat. Retreating without turning or looking up, her back connects with the cold, concrete block wall and her purse falls to the floor. 'I made it off the elevator today.' She thinks releasing an audible sigh. 'I'm pathetic. I'm a marine and I can't even knock on a door I've knocked on hundreds of times. It's simple. I knock. He opens the door. Well, someone opens the door.' She bites her inner cheek. 'I would hope after Christmas he...' Her inner dialogue is momentarily interrupted as the faint sounds of guitar chords fill the space around her. A half smile forms on her face as she listens before rubbing a hand over her eyes and leaning her head against the wall.
'I'm tired. So very tired. I'm tired of the snow. I'm tired of screwing up. Of choosing a career. Of waking up alone. Of granola bars for breakfast.' She sighs. 'It's as simple as that. Or as complicated as that. Am I the one that makes complicated things simple? Hell, I don't even remember any more.' A shiver runs down her spine. 'And cold. Tired and cold. If I take the necessary three steps and knock on his door only to mutter I'm tired and cold, he'll offer me coffee. I don't want coffee. I want... Wonder if he'd make me hot chocolate. Didn't I have a whole opening statement outlined for this? ... I made an outline of what to say when his door opens? I'm not sure if I should be more concerned that I made an opening statement or that I'm irritated I left the damn thing on my coffee table...' She turns her head to the side and narrows her eyes in thought."At this point, coffee table." She releases a frustrated sigh. 'Damn it, why am I still standing here? I should be inside... on the couch... drinking something warm by now. Telling him what I'm tired of. Or just walking into his bedroom, crawling into his bed, and falling asleep. Wonder how he'd take that. Well... I could find out if the coward in me would knock.'
She shifts her weight back and forth and then tries to press herself into the concrete block wall that's been holding her up for 27 minutes and 32 seconds. Looking down to focus on her fingers as they play with the hem of her jacket, she hears a door open. 'Ummm.' Frantically, her eyes snap to a height of six-foot-four as her back propels her body off the wall and fingers simultaneously release the jacket's hem. "Sorry to..." She utters to no one. Her eyes narrow in momentary confusion. Quickly, it's replaced with a mixture of relief and regret as she falls back against the wall and gives it a kick. 'This would be so much easier if he'd just open the door. C'mon, Harm. I know you know I'm here. Open the door. Don't leave the decision entirely up to me.'
(Jen/Mattie's Apartment)
"Seriously?" Mattie grumbles as she shuts the door.
"Seriously, what?" Jen asks as she rounds the corner of their apartment.
"Mac. Mac is still in the hallway. Still staring at Harm's door. Yesterday, she was in the elevator. The day before that - the parking lot. I mean really?" As the 'really' comes out in the most teenager-ish drawl, she reaches for her cell phone. Before Jen can object again, she hears faint ringing.
"Hello?"
"What the heck, Harm? Let her in already!" Her demand is met with a barely audible sigh.
(Harm's Apartment)
Moving the phone to rest in-between his cheek and shoulder as he continues to strum his guitar, his gaze shifts from the sheet music in front of him to his door. "We've been through this, Mattie," he quietly states.
"It's not hard. Open the door."
"She hasn't knocked yet."
"You know she's in the hallway."
"Yes, I do."
"Then OPEN THE DOOR. Invite her in. Give her some coffee. It's cold outside."
"Mattie," he shifts the phone to his hand pressing his elbow into the curve of his guitar as he reaches for his cup of tea, "we've been having the same conversation for the past two days." He takes a sip of tea and then repositions his phone and guitar after returning the cup to the table. "Mac knows I'm home. More to the point, she's aware that I know she's here and she also knows that unless she knocks I will pretend as though she never was. There's something on her mind. I'm not quite sure what it is, but by her actions, she's fighting with herself about even addressing the issue. That rarely ends well."
"If you open the door and force her to address..." Mattie's statement abruptly stops as he starts to snicker.
"If I force her to address it, it'll either turn into another unnecessary argument or you'll be planning my funeral. Forcing Mac to do anything never... and I do mean never... leads to anything good. I have almost nine years of experience to offer as proof. I'm," he takes a deep breath and returns to strumming his guitar," tired, Mattie. I'm done forcing her to address things only to spend months with her angry. If she wishes to address what's on her mind, she'll knock on the door. If she knocks on the door, I promise I'll open it. But she has to knock. She has to decide she... She just has to decide. Now, quit focusing on the Marine haunting the building and finish studying for your history exam."
"But, Harm. You need to..."
"Good night, Mattie." He takes the phone from his shoulder and closes it before placing it on his coffee table. For a few seconds, he merely stares at the door before raising an eyebrow and sighs. 'I really should open the door. Maybe just unlock it and open it a sliver of the way.' He shakes his head. 'Or maybe just put a cup of coffee and a chocolate bar in the hallway tomorrow if she doesn't... Oh hell. C'mon Marine. Knock on the damn door already.' Rubbing a hand across his furrowed brow, he shakes his head once more before begrudgingly returning to his sheet music.
(Hallway)
'Was that the phone? Surely not...he's still playing.' Eyes still focused on the door, she takes a step forward only to pause and turn toward the elevator only to pause again and return to her spot against the wall. 'This needs to end. The only thing addressing this conversation will get me is a migraine and a desire to transfer to Europe. I should leave. I need to leave. I feel like I'm haunting his building... Haunting him. You know what. I'm done.' Pushing off the wall, she neglects to see her purse lying in front of her right foot. She stumbles and tries to regain her balance to no avail. Ungracefully, her arm and head slam into his door - the door she had finally decided to leave undisturbed. "Damn!" falls from her lips as her consciousness is already in the middle of a silent, fate cursing tirade.
(Harm's Apartment)
Harm's head shoots up and he's already halfway to the door, the guitar discarded, before he hears her "Damn!" His hesitation as to what awaits him on the other side of door fails to give him pause and he flings open the door only to send Mac crashing onto his floor with a string of mutterings he is unable to discern. Taking a quick peek into the hallway looking for something or someone to explain the Marine heap on his floor, he finds nothing and swiftly kneels beside the woman lying on her side. Afraid to jostle her without knowing if or where she's injured and berating himself for not catching her, he gently lays a hand on her bicep and waits with a puzzled expression for her to open her clenched eyes and return his gaze.