Disclaimer: Don't own

A/N: Hope you all had a wonderful summer. I think I may be a bit rusty at this, haven't written a word all summer. So I figure starting with something, even if short, could be a good idea.

Sweet Craving

It had been unexpected. He had kissed her. He still couldn't explain what had possessed him. It had been a casual, unassuming dinner. His treat at the end of a long day. Bowls of pasta followed by one dessert, two forks. Who would have guessed it would transpire this way? Over, of all things, a shared slice of chocolate cake. She'd tasted of buttercream icing and everything had irrevocably changed.

He wasn't quite sure what to do about it. What did it mean that he'd kissed her over dessert as though it was the most perfectly normal thing to do, without even giving it any thought? She had stared at him in muted shock, amidst clinking cutlery and the uncaring revelry of fellow diners. Looking as flustered and confused by his actions as he had felt, sitting next to him in the corner booth of an Italian restaurant. So he'd stuck his fork back into the cake, his hand just a little bit unsteady, and served himself another bite. Pretended nothing out of the ordinary had happened, while all he could think was that chocolate cake tasted exactly like Mac. He'd never noticed that before. He'd finished the dessert, savouring the sweet velvet of every bite, while she'd shot him confused, unsure glances and seemed thoroughly disoriented. They'd parted ways outside the restaurant. She'd said nothing. He'd watched her walk to her car, turning around after 20 steps because she was walking in the wrong direction, and then turning around once again because she'd overshot her car. Only when she was safe in her corvette did he set out in search of his own. It had taken him a good five minutes to remember that he'd used the restaurant valet service.

And now, unable to sleep, standing in his apartment staring out the window at a bright, moonlit night, he still wasn't quite sure what to do. He leaned his forehead against the cool windowpane. What must she think of him? Elation swelled in his chest, bloomed in his fingers and toes. He couldn't stop his grin. He shook his head: he couldn't believe he did it. He'd kissed her. And then, he laughed at himself, and then he'd acted as though he'd done something as perfectly normal as asking her for the time. His laughter echoed softly in the otherwise silent apartment. He was certifiably insane, and she was going to kill him.

It had happened so unexpectedly. So so so so unexpectedly. One minute, they'd been laughing, teasing and the next his lips were on hers. Engaging her in one of the most tender, meaningful kisses she'd ever been party to. Tasting like chocolate and espresso. The kiss had ended as unexpectedly as it had begun. It had stunned her, rendered her unable to move or even to think. She'd only been able to register a flash of self-conscious, nervous, terrified exhilaration in his eyes … and then it was gone. She'd blinked and in that time he had gone back to eating cake like it was the most perfectly normal thing in the world to kiss her in the back booth of a raucous, cosily lit Italian restaurant.

She would've been able to convince herself that she'd dreamt it, except for the persistent tingling where his lips had claimed hers. That and her unshakeable, insistent craving for chocolate cake and a strong cup of coffee.

It had all happened so unexpectedly. So, so unexpectedly. And she hadn't seen him since last night. She didn't know what to do when she did see him. Especially not if, as she was quite sure was currently the case, she would long for chocolate cake whenever she looked at him, or heard him speak. Mac shut her eyes and dropped her head to her desk, her forehead landing none too gently on a stapler.

"Ow! Shit." She rubbed her forehead and hoped it didn't leave a mark. Mac moved the stapler and dropped her head back on the table.

She'd be seeing him any minute now. He would walk through the doors to the bullpen and then he would be here. What would she do? What would he do? What did it mean?

She wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten through last night, or this morning. She didn't even remember driving to work. All she knew was that it was 0600 and she was in the office. It was a bit too early to be here. Actually, it was a lot too early. But she'd been on autopilot. It was all his fault. Why had he done it? What did it mean?

"Colonel."

Mac looked up from – she suddenly realized – the rather undignified position of having her head resting on her desk, buried under her arms, and saw the Admiral watching her wearing a concerned expression.

"Sir!" She made to stand up, but the Admiral waved her back down.

"I didn't know you were on duty today."

"Sir?"

"It's Saturday, Mac. I'm sure whatever you have can wait. Hell, I wouldn't be here if I had a choice," He paused, and then added in a sterner tone, "Don't repeat that to anyone."

Mac felt the heat creep up her neck and face, embarrassment setting up camp as her dignity fled. It was Saturday. She wasn't on duty and she was at the office at 0600. She was going to kill Harm: kissing her and then acting as though nothing had happened. She was not equipped to deal with that kind of thing.

"Um," Mac stared at the Admiral. She really could think of no excuse to explain her presence. She hoped dignity sent her a postcard from wherever it'd gone to.

"You don't look too well, Mac." His expression was all paternal concern. "Go home."

"Yes, Sir." Mac cleared her throat. "That, ah ... Yes, Sir."

The Admiral nodded once, threw her a final worried look, then left.

Mac collected her things and silently trudged across the bullpen to the elevators.

Now what? Mac leaned against the wall as she waited for the elevator to arrive. She touched her fingers to her lips. She didn't know what to do, and she couldn't think because of the persistent tingling on her lips and craving for chocolate cake. It had happened so unexpectedly. So so so so unexpectedly.

What did it mean? And, more intriguing still, what would he do next?

Harm stopped his corvette at a red light. He was taking an aimless drive around the city, because the alternate included staying at home, staring out the window, and waiting. For what, though, he didn't know. He sighed. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, his entire body atuned only to the fleeting taste he'd indulged in at dinner. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, full of a restless energy. Restless energy, and a silent anxiety that was keeping vigil, counting the moments until he would see her next. He looked out his window at the store-lined sidewalk. The street looked very familiar. It took a moment to register that he was in Georgetown. How did he get here, with neither intent nor conscious action. He let his eyes roam the street, offering him a welcome distraction from his distracting thoughts of cake and desire. One storefront caught his attention, brick faced, with white trimmed, large windows and a minimalist black awning. A bakery. He thought of last night's chocolate cake. He could taste it, could feel it caress his tongue, the smooth texture, the moist richness, the warm centre...

A loud honk sounded from the car behind him, startling Harm out of his revery. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. The light had turned green.

Instead of continuing on the aimless drive that was, regardless of his intentions, taking him in only one direction, Harm made a u-turn and began hunting for a parking spot.

Mac trudged down her hallway. She was being driven to distraction. It had taken her an hour and a half to get home, when it should have taken her a half hour. She'd missed exits and taken wrong turns. This would not do, she knew. As Mac absently dug around in her purse for her key, she caught sight of a white box, wrapped in blue ribbon, sitting on her doorstep.

She frowned: how curious. Mac examined the box before picking it up. There was no note, no card, no name. Still standing in the hallway, her curiosity getting the better of her, Mac opened the box. Inside was one large, absolutely gorgeous, slice of chocolate cake. Oh, Harm, she thought. It took a moment for her to register that she was grinning from ear to ear. She laughed, a slow warmth cocooned her. This was what he would do next. Her mouth watered. God, that looked delicious. There was only one thing missing. Mac opened her door, knowing what it meant, knowing what she would do next.

He was again standing in front of his window, looking out in the direction of Georgetown, no longer the master of his wandering mind or restless heart. Had she found it yet? It was not even near 0900 in the morning. Would she think it was too early for a slice of cake? But then, this was Mac. He'd seen her eat cold pizza for breakfast.

A knock sounded at his door. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. It was her. He knew this without need to check. Harm made his way to the door in long, quick strides. With his hand on the knob, he took a moment to collect himself before swinging open the door.

"Mac," His voice could only produce a whisper. She'd come. He could do nothing beyond stare at her, clad in jeans and a sweater, hair shining smooth. A white bakery box in her hands.

Silently, she came inside his apartment and held out the box towards him in offering. He automatically took it from her, unsure of what this meant. He looked down at the box he was now holding. It's weight told him the slice of chocolate cake had made the journey back to him intact. He looked up at her. Her lips were quirked in a half smile. She reached behind her, into the back pocket of her jeans. With a flourish, she pulled out two forks. She presented one to him with a smile that lit up her eyes and made the air sparkle.

"Cake?" She asked with that captivating grin. "It's chocolate."

He was smitten. He lifted one hand to her face, his fingers slowly tracing a curve from her cheek, along her jaw, to her lips. Her smile faded, her eyes trembled with anticipation. He felt her breath, warm and unsteady on his skin.

He nodded, drawn by the warm brown of her eyes, the temptation of her lips. "Chocolate," He whispered, kissing a slow path along her jaw, "Cake."

She whimpered as his lips caught hers in a kiss. He took his time, slowly, languidly savouring the sweet velvet of her mouth; warm, rich, moist. Her hands slid up his chest, her body loosening, his own attuning to the familiar, long denied alchemy that had drawn them to each other from their first meeting. She tasted of his deepest desires, and it was the most unexpected, the most perfect thing.