Disclaimer: Don't own'em.

A/N: I really do need to explain myself here. So here goes. Initially, I wasn't such a huge fan of Mic's. Then I re-watched 'Life or Death' (the one where Mic goes back to the RAN – or you may remember it better as the one where Mac and Mic go to dinner, and see Harm join Renee for a repast) and then I re-watched 'Boomerang' and (please don't hate me) I thought Mic was kind of cute and endearing, although still persistent in a 'omg, what was that' kind of way. He really did try hard, and his speech to Mac on the boat about her hooking up with 'a knocker' like him … I felt terrible because he really did love Mac deeply in his own simple 'love-at-first-sight-no-holds-barred' kind of way. And then when Mic gave it all up and moved to DC and ended up as a 'Sue Navy' lawyer I was rather bummed, because it seemed a blatantly tendentious effort at making Brumby unsympathetic. Now, within the JAG framework, with Harm as male lead who secretly (and it seemed he himself wasn't in on the secret for a long while) had the hots – alright fine: conflicting feelings – for Mac, it made perfect sense: can't have viewers wanting Mac to marry Mic, for goodness sakes. But that doesn't mean I didn't feel terribly awful for Mic. You might obviously not agree with me on this and think I'm being too kind. Anyways, this story started with ruminations on Mic.

Fear not, I'm fully aware that Mac was never ready to marry anyone whose name didn't start with H, end with M and have and AR in between.

Also, I've always found the Harm vs. Mic thing hilarious, on many levels.

Now that the rationalization/justification is out of the way: This is set after the Season 10 opener – where Harm walks away on the beach and after Mac says 'let me come to you'. Pretend they're in that mindframe. Oh, and pretend Mattie already left, because otherwise she throws a massive wrench into things (as teenagers are wont to do, haha).

I am so curious to hear what you think of this.

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Three Conversations

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One: Siren Song

JAG HQ

Friday

1425 Local

Harm crossed the bullpen, heading to Bud's office to discuss a possible plea for a case they'd been assigned. His quick stride slowed and then stopped when he heard the soft sound of Mac's laughter drift from her office. That was a rare sound to hear these days. And today … he looked at her office, and saw her and Bud together, smiling and laughing. It was not her most sincere smile, or her most heartfelt laugh, but the sound and the sight nonetheless brought a slow smile to his face.

They were making progress, he told himself, knowing the thought was a more a comfort than a truth. He'd noticed how introspective and quiet she'd been this week, and he hadn't liked it. Worse still, he hadn't known how to pull her out of her funk. There was a time when he could just tease and smile and she'd pretend to be annoyed and tease back and all was right with the world.

This new dynamic in their relationship was frustrating and upsetting and he didn't know what to do.

He would've liked to just shut the blinds, lock her door, pull her out of her chair and hug her so tightly she'd have no room left for the sadness and insecurities that had dug their trenches around her heart and set up camp.

He wished her demons had physical form so he could beat the crap out of them, hold their defeated, conquered forms up for her to see, and say: 'Here, look! This is what I would do for you! Let me in!'

But everyone knew demons had no shape: they wove themselves right into the good parts of a person, and that's why it was so damn hard to pin them in your sights and open fire.

So he quietly worried over her, over what he could do for her, how he could help her; silence steadily nourishing his impatience and frustration. He was not the kind to wait on things, to be the audience, sitting on the sidelines. And she used silence like a shield, a barrier, and there was nothing he could think to do to break it, no way to beat down the damn walls that she'd erected to keep him out. Keep everyone out.

On some days, when she smiled – a dimmed version of her real smile – and laughed – an even more reserved version of her subdued laugh – he could almost convince himself that everything was going to be okay. But today, he couldn't. Not today, when it seemed the only progress they were making was in standing still, doing nothing.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know how this would turn out. He hoped it would turn out well. He couldn't be sure, though, and that terrified him in ways he couldn't even admit to himself. This failure would be another one of those that would define him. That in itself had him craving some form of reassurance. The problem was that the one person who normally tasked herself with offering the kind of perspective he needed wasn't herself anymore.

So it was all her fault. Hers. Over their years knowing each other, being friends, she had always understood him better than most, had comforted him so readily and easily and sometimes without even realizing it, so that now when all he needed was her reassurance – a smile, a nod, a knowing look – she was not herself and he felt the loss more keenly. And it was his fault for letting her become a steadfast presence in his life. Letting her in, without letting her know that he'd done it, so that now they were as far apart as two people in the same room could be, and she wasn't letting him come any closer.

So today was not a good day, even though he could now see her smiling and laughing with Bud in her office.

But what could he do? He had no idea how to set the bar for progress higher than a silent ceasefire, a break in the negotiations.

Harm shook himself out of his thoughts, suddenly rather depressed with the way the day was shaping up. But enough. The middle of the bullpen was hardly the place for taking stock of his relationship with Mac. He had all night to wallow in regret and missed opportunities, and wait for Mac to realize that she could talk to him.

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National Mall

Friday

2039 Local

Harm sat on a bench outside the National Air and Space Museum, wondering if he should've called Mac and asked her if she wanted to tag along. He wasn't sure if she would've agreed, but at least the call would have served her as a reminder of him. On nights like this, when he wanted nothing more than her undemanding, uncomplicated company, he wondered if she was forgetting him.

Uncomplicated. It was hardly a word that defined them, and yet he always thought when the two of them just sat silently, in the same room, doing their own thing, that she was the only uncomplicated, undemanding woman he'd ever met. He laughed quietly, wondering how much of his thoughts were just shaped by the loneliness he couldn't seem to shake himself out of. It didn't matter though, he still missed her company.

Harm sighed. He had to stop depressing himself with these kinds of thoughts. Everything would be fine. Eventually. She would come to him as she always did, and he'd never let her get away again. All he had to do was wait.

"Rabb?" Harm turned at the sound of his name being pronounced in a very surprised and distinctly Australian accent.

"Brumby?" Harm stared incredulously at the man standing beside him. What in hell was this.

Brumby broke out into a grin. "Fancy meeting you here, mate."

"What're you doing in DC?" It wasn't the most polite way to greet a person, but seeing Bugme in DC did not bring back good memories. In fact, Harm thought with dismay, it just reminded him of the price he'd paid by keeping things between him and Mac in neutral. They'd been doing just great until they'd met their first real obstacle – the neck-breaking ravine that began with Singer and Lindsey. They'd completely lost control of everything because they'd only been coasting in the first place. And the one guy who could put the colossal amount of time he and Mac had wasted into proper perspective was standing beside him. Damn it, this day just kept getting worse and worse.

"Duty. Just finished two weeks advising our rep here in DC on some jurisdictional issues." Mic replied easily, oblivious to Harm's thoughts. He put out a hand and Harm shook it, but only because he was a gentleman.

"How are you doing, Rabb? Still at JAG?" Mic took a seat beside him, and Harm did his best not to be annoyed. After all, he couldn't really blame Mic for much. Except proposing to Mac, convincing her to accept, almost marrying her, and then hurting her by leaving abruptly. Come to think of it, he had damn fantastic reasons for being pissed at Brumby. But he still tried to act civil, if only because Mic had left before marrying her.

Harm nodded. "Chegwidden retired. We have a Marine CO."

Mic laughed that same, easy and carefree laugh he laughed all those years ago. Now Harm was trying his best not to be envious of Mic's good mood. How the hell did the guy get over Mac enough to be able to sit, here in DC, on a bench beside the biggest threat to his almost-marriage and laugh?

"I bet Sarah's loving that! Is she still there, too?"

Harm's envy evaporated at the wistful edge to Mic's question. So the man did still think of Mac. Not that he could blame him.

"Yes." To his credit – Harm congratulated himself – he really was trying his best to be civil.

"So the Admiral pulled some strings, did he?" Mic leaned forward on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the ground between his feet.

"What do you mean?" Harm asked, confused.

"To keep you two together." Mic turned his head slightly to look at Harm. "After you got married."

Harm decided that the lows to which this day could sink knew no bounds.

"Uh…" He stumbled over his words, half upset that Mic was again reminding him of all that hadn't yet happened, half embarrassed by having to admit to Mic all that hadn't happened yet. "We … we're, uh, not married." Just fantastic, he berated himself. He was coming across like a moron to a man he really didn't like, despite his best efforts to be friendly. Well, he amended: despite moderate efforts. Okay, he could be honest: despite some minimal effort.

"So," Mic continued casually. "Still dating because of the regulations? How long's it been, mate? JAG isn't that important, you know."

Harm thought of a few expletives he would love to say out loud. This day sucked.

"Ah," He cleared his throat, suddenly wondering why the hell he was answering Mic's questions. "Actually, we're not … ah… involved in that way."

Brumby straightened in his seat, and glared at Harm in silence. If he had to guess at what Mic was feeling at this moment, Harm would say two parts angry, one part furious.

"You didn't marry her, Rabb." He ground out the words and Harm was reminded of those tunnel boring machines.

"What?" He asked, unsure as to why Mic was so upset with him for not marrying Mac.

"You know, Rabb, I always knew you were an arrogant, self-serving, immature bastard," Mic ranted, catching Harm off guard with the vitriol behind his tirade. "But I never thought—"

"Watch your mouth, Brumby." Harm warned, cutting him off, his tone hard. Where the hell did Brumby get off. "There's no Admiral here to cover your ass."

Instead of taking the anticipated swing, Harm was surprised when Brumby simply shook his head in disgust.

"Why the hell aren't you two married?" He asked, looking like a man who'd just had the wool pulled back from over his eyes, and didn't like what he was suddenly seeing.

Harm didn't want to answer that question. He didn't like the answer, really.

"Because." He said stubbornly. "It's none of your damned business, Brumby." Harm was about to leave when Mic began to speak, and the soft tone in the other man's voice caught his curiosity. He watched Mic apprehensively.

"You know." Mic said, staring pensively at the people who were walking by. "With Sarah, I always felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall. Every piece of her that she gave to me, I had to earn. Like drawing blood from stone. Every time I saw a piece though, it was damn well worth the effort. And I could have lived with that. Happily ever after, and all that. Except I always felt she was offering those same pieces to you, so easily, so readily. I couldn't live with that. Thought I could. But, hell," Again, he shook his head in disgust, but Harm couldn't tell who it was directed at. "Couldn't do it."

Harm stayed silent. But he shared Brumby's sentiment about drawing blood from stone. He wondered if it meant that Mac saw him as no different from Brumby? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. How often had she come to him, to talk, instead of going anywhere else? That was the truth he'd hold on to. This, what they were going through, was a temporary setback.

Brumby continued, still lost in some distant sight. "I was sure you two'd be married. Have a couple of kids. The all-American picket fence dream Sarah wanted."

Harm shifted uncomfortably, and suddenly Mic turned on the bench and zeroed in his attention on him, studying him intently.

"You do want to marry her, don't you?"

Harm avoided looking at Mic, his annoyance mounting steadily. Where the hell did the man get off being so damn nosy. "Look, Brumby—"

"I knew it!" Brumby exclaimed, vindicated.

Harm glared at Mic, in silence, and tried not to punch the man. For reasons he didn't care to examine too closely, Mic brought out the more physically aggressive instincts in him – and he thought he was a pretty level-headed kind of guy. Usually.

"Come on." Mic stood up and waved an arm towards the nearby street. "I'll buy you a drink."

Harm looked at Mic, startled by the sudden offer. "What the hell for?"

Mic shrugged lightly as his gaze drifted towards the Washington Monument. Harm thought he detected a hint of a smile. "We're both not married to the same woman."

Harm scoffed audibly. Like that reason would get him to go to a bar with Mic. He'd rather have his balls put through a vice.

"I have somewhere I need to be, Brumby." Harm stood up himself and nodded in the general direction of the Metro station.

"You do hold a grudge, Rabb." Mic turned to face Harm and studied him. "Come on. It's been how many years? So, she agreed to marry me. Didn't get me anywhere, mate. You fell out of the sky and Sarah called off our wedding." He paused, grinned. "Hell, come to think of it, you should be the one buying me a drink."

Harm couldn't think of a way to get out of the situation. Ah, what the hell. He resigned himself to the inevitable: his day couldn't possibly get any worse. He might as well get a drink out of it. Hell, maybe a drink would be good, even if the company probably wouldn't. And it'd be a story to tell … someone. Keeter would probably get a great laugh out of this; he'd laughed for a solid five minutes when Harm had told him about their non-judicial punishment Down Under.

"First round's on you, Brumby." Harm stated as he set off for the nearest bar he could think of.

"That's fair. She did agree to marry me before calling it off because of you. Second round's on you, though, mate." Mic replied, falling into step.

They crossed the National Mall and made their way to the bar in silence. The whole situation was just plain weird as far as Harm was concerned. But Mac wasn't married – more importantly she wasn't married to Brumby – and that was a comforting thought. The wedding had been called off. If all Brumby wanted in return was a couple of beers instead of, say, stringing him up by his thumbnails in a cage full of kangaroos, Harm wasn't going to complain.

--

The Confederation Pub

Washington DC

2145 Local

Harm was seated at the bar, next to Mic, their empties lined up in front of them. If he'd thought the situation was weird over an hour ago, then right now it had clearly veered off from bizarre and right into just plain mindboggling.

He'd never thought he'd find himself sitting at a bar on a Friday night with Brumby, of all people, trying to drink the man under the table. The small itty-bitty part of him that was not as inebriated as the rest of him figured it was probably a not-so-subtle game of one-upmanship between the two, even though their original reason for seeking to one-up each other was sitting oblivious in her apartment, probably not even thinking of either of them.

But this had to be the most peculiarly, bizarrely astonishing situation Harm had ever found himself in. He and Brumby had gone from the polite, reserved small-talk of the sober – "How's work," "How's Australia," "Some weather we're having, huh?" "I never understood cricket," "I never understood baseball," – passed right by the slightly less reserved talk that a couple of beers could encourage – "Bud and Harriet have how many kids?" "White shorts are not a dignified uniform for Navy officers" "Imes wasn't a real lawyer?" "Yeah, I tried that same brand of protein shakes. Worked well until the side effects kicked in" – and right into the kind of talk that the tiny itty-bitty part of Harm that was not as inebriated as the rest knew neither of them would ever otherwise divulge. That talk centered around one Marine they both had in common.

"The worst part is," Brumby said forlornly – or maybe it was the alcohol talking, "I'm still not over her. Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever marry." Mic turned to Harm and shook his finger at him in warning. "Don't tell her I told you so. She'd find a way to blame herself."

"You're still not over her?" Harm asked, his tongue feeling rather sluggish.

"You've known her longer than I have." Mic pointed out. "Are you over her?"

Harm knew the answer to that, but couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, sober or not. Instead he scratched at the label on his bottle and remained silent.

"I was hours away from marrying her." Brumby continued. "You come that close?"

"Nowhere near." Harm said despondently.

"So," Mic signalled to the bartender for another bottle. "Why aren't you married?"

The question was surprisingly sobering. Although, as that tiny itty-bitty part of Harm reminded the rest of him, if he was sober he probably wouldn't be sitting here with Mic talking about his relationship with Mac.

"A lot happened the last couple of years." He took a large swig of his beer and shook the empty at the bartender, requesting another.

"That's a new one," The sarcasm in Brumby's voice earned him a frown from Harm.

"It's true," He replied, fully ready to defend himself before pausing in mid-thought. Well, it was true but he could concede that there was more to this particular truth. "I took too long. She doesn't want that with me anymore."

"I find that hard to believe." Brumby mumbled, sounding both sceptical and just a tad resentful.

"Me too," Harm agreed. "Me too."

He took a swig from his new bottle, and tried to count the empties to see just how much he'd drank. Halfway through, his eyes caught on a poster advertising some brand of beer. The poster displayed the image of a large wave cresting in the ocean. Harm's thoughts drifted.

"She's like a siren song. You know?" He said suddenly.

Mic grunted his agreement. "Do I ever … and beautiful, too..." There was a slight pause while he drank his beer. "You two ever, you know."

"I am not answering that." If mobility had been a slightly less daunting prospect, Harm would have swivelled on his stool and glared at Mic. "And if I could see straight, I'd knock your teeth out for asking."

"I'll take that as a no." Mic said, ignoring Harm's threat. He took a long sip of his beer. "You ever seen her tattoo?"

"I plead the fifth." Harm said. He hadn't anticipated that Mic would to fall into that kind of talk. If it continued, he'd have to leave. He didn't think he could bear to hear another man speak of Mac in such a way, sober or not.

"That's an evasive answer, mate."

"That's all you'll get, buddy." Harm warned.

They sat in silence for awhile, Brumby apparently letting the line of inquiry drop.

"I would've arm-wrestled you for her." Brumby offered up, rather randomly in Harm's opinion.

"I would've won." Harm responded.

"Like hell you would've." Brumby turned to look at Harm, his expression challenging.

Harm shrugged. "She'd have killed us both for suggesting it."

Mic clinked his beer bottle to Harm's in acknowledgement of that truism.

"I went easy on you when we stripped blouses." Harm said after a moment, challenging Brumby right back.

"Like hell you did. I'm a trained boxer. I went easy on you." Brumby responded, his words heavy with drink. "I'm not cruel. Apart from your looks, you don't have much else going for you."

"You're lucky everything's blurry." Harm tried to turn and face the upstart Aussie.

"Right back at ya." Brumby replied. They clinked bottles again.

Again, they lapsed into silence. Harm realized he was done with his bottle and ordered another. Brumby did the same.

"You're just afraid." Brumby said in what Harm thought was a surprisingly clear way for a man who'd just drunk one … two … three …

Harm pulled away from counting the empties when he saw Brumby staring at him.

"What?" He asked, on his guard.

"This whole JAG thing. The Navy." Brumby replied, returning his attention to his beer. "You're afraid that having Sarah would mean giving all that up. It's just a boj … meant job." His words once again a little slurred. "Just a job."

Harm remained silent, trying to grasp a thought that seemed to be just beyond his reach. He also hadn't anticipated Brumby getting all mouthy and talkative over a few beers. He listened with half an ear, busy trying to catch that still-elusive thought.

"You're a fool, Rabb. You put your life into your boj, your job … now you can't even tell yourself apart from your … you know…" he fluttered his fingers in front of him in a gesture Harm didn't understand. "Your wings." Brumby said loudly, looking pleased that he'd remembered the word. "It's no way to live. But then, you are an obsessive bugger." Mic warmed to his subject and, Harm's distantly noted, became more cogent. "That, mate, means she's better off without you. You'd put her second to your thing of the day. She'd probably take it, too. Already does, always did. God knows she didn't know how to handle me putting her first. Before work. Before everything." Now, Brumby sounded downright dejected. "She's not used to that. I think that's why you're a safe choice for her. Always just out of reach, always just short of caring enough about her. Gives her room to rent out to her insecurities."

Brumby really did talk a lot, Harm thought absently. When Brumby's words registered, though, Harm's thoughts came into focus, and his resentment sharpened. What the hell give Brumby the right to sermonize about her? To him? Under the slight haze of inebriation, he knew he was angry as hell. But he couldn't muster enough of himself for it to show.

"I already gave it all up. For her." He sniped, trying to defend himself but not quite knowing why he felt the need to.

"What?" Brumby actually looked surprised, and almost fell off his stool.

Harm smirked, gloating. He ignored that tiny itty-bitty part of him that reminded him that for all his gloating, he hadn't really gotten what he'd set out for. "All of it." He said again, this time a little sadly.

"You gave it all up for her, and she turned you down?" Brumby sounded more incredulous than Harm had ever heard him.

"Yup." He nodded. "Resigned my commission and she ran to Webb."

"The spook?" Brumby sounded even more incredulous, Harm noted distantly.

"That's the one." He nodded again.

"Wait, wait." Mic waved his bottle in the air. "I thought you said you were still at JAG? Or have I had too many?"

"Got reinstated." Harm took a swig of his beer. "They were a man – well, woman, actually – short."

"Why'd you agree to go back?" Mic was frowning so intently, Harm thought his face might just freeze in that expression. The thought was amusing, so Harm laughed.

"Didn't expect to lose my job in the first place." He answered Mic's question, again feeling smug and again ignoring that tiny itty-bitty voice in his head.

"I thought you gave it up for her." Mic tapped the lip of his bottle against his forehead. "You're making my head hurt."

"CIA mission she was part of went sour." Harm frowned as he tried to sort out the details in his mind. His brain felt like cotton. "Chegwidden denied me leave. I resigned."

Brumby laughed. "Oh, I get it. So this was a heat of the moment thing?"

"Yeah. It was hot down there." Harm supplied, finding the question odd. What did the weather matter.

"And you didn't tell her about it beforehand? Tell Sarah." Brumby sounded like he was about to break into giggles. Harm looked up at him and frowned.

"Kinda hard to given that she was missing in action."

"And then what?" Now Brumby was facing Harm as he watched him intently – as intently as a guy who'd drank … how much had they drank? Harm couldn't remember. Which probably meant it was time to stop. He never drank like this. Never. He hated that word. He signalled to the bartender for another.

"Then what nothing's what." Harm responded petulantly. "We came back. Admiral booted me—"

"I thought you resigned?" Mic asked the most annoying questions. Harm decided to ignore him.

"And so I flew for the CIA until I got canned there. Did some odds and ends, then JAG needed me back."

"Blimey. Quite a resume you have there." Brumby turned back around to face the counter. Harm dimly noted that Mic was nursing this last bottle, and hadn't ordered another. Ha, Harm thought happily. He won.

"What's that?" He realized Mic had asked him something.

"How'd Sarah take you flying for the CIA?" Mic repeated.

Harm shrugged. "Didn't keep in touch."

"What?" Brumby again swivelled his seat to face Harm, who was starting to feel dizzy at having to witness all the movement. "She didn't keep in touch?"

"She wasn't interested." Harm shrugged again.

"What? She didn't call you? That doesn't sound like her … what the hell happened on that mission? Must've—"

"She did." Harm cut Mic off, not wanting to think about what happened on that forsaken mission.

"What?" Brumby frowned again, confused. His eyes were just a little out of focus.

"She did call me." Harm clarified.

"I think I need to cut you off." Mic said slowly, "You aren't making any sense."

"You're the one slurring your words. Maybe you're the one not making sense." Harm threw back. He could hold his drink with the best of them.

They both sat in silence until Brumby suddenly sat straighter in his chair. He turned to face Harm.

"So how'd she take it when you told her you resigned your commission for her?"

"Didn't." Harm said curtly.

"What?"

"I didn't tell her." Harm enunciated more carefully. His tongue felt heavy and slow. "Not exactly. It kinda slipped out in conversation. Sort of."

Brumby laughed out loud, at that. Harm scowled. It wasn't funny.

"We are more alike than you think." Mic shared a conspiratorial look with Harm.

"Shut up." That set Harm's ire up. He and Brumby were as alike as … as night … and … as night and … hell, they were nothing alike.

"We both resigned our commissions for her, without telling her." Mic pointed out proudly. "She didn't appreciate it either time." He paused, then smirked. "Although I did fare better than you."

"How?" Harm looked at Mic, waiting for an answer. God knows he could use some tips on dealing with that puzzle of a woman.

"She practically reamed me a new one that night for resigning. I didn't tell her. Didn't discuss it with her. I think I lost a layer of skin at the chewing out I got. But I just stood there and waited. She vented her anger – she really is something when she's all fired up, isn't she? – then I told her," Brumby turned to Harm and put up a finger to underscore his words. "I loved her and would do about just about anything just to be with her." Brumby sighed, and his gaze went distant and happy as he got lost in the memory.

Harm tried his damndest not to imagine what exactly had happened that night. He could be honest – in fact, given how much he'd had to drink, he wondered if he even had a choice at this point – and say that his attraction to Sarah MacKenzie, well at least the physical part, really spiked when she was all passionate about a case or chewing out the hapless victims who crossed her.

Harm was pulled from his thoughts when he heard Brumby chuckle.

"What did you do, Rabb? Leave with your tail tucked between your legs. And all this time I thought you knew your way around women. This just proves me right…"

"Shut up, Brumby." The accusation had Harm seeing red. He gripped his bottle tightly and tried to count to ten.

"…Besides your looks, you don't have much going for you." Brumby continued, apparently unaware of how close he was to getting the shit beat right out of him.

"I said: shut the hell up, Brumby." Harm stood up unsteadily from his stool.

Brumby turned to Harm, surprised. "Hold it right there, mate. It's nothing pers—"

Harm rammed his shoulder into Mic – not as satisfying as a solid punch, but he wasn't so sure he wouldn't miss his target given his current state – and managed to shove him off his stool. Mic stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. He quickly stood, squared himself as best he could and pulled back to take a swing at Harm.

Before Mic could launch his punch and before Harm could wind up to shove Brumby right back onto his six, both were hauled out of the bar by a very large and very muscled bouncer, and thrust out onto the sidewalk. They staggered a bit as they tried to find their footing, all the while exchanging angry glares.

Once each had found their land legs, they stood still a couple of meters apart and glared at each other.

Suddenly, the absurdity of the entire situation hit Harm full force: he began to laugh. After a silent moment of looking nothing short of stunned, Mic joined in. They shared a slightly amused, slightly embarrassed laugh for a few moments, before Harm took a step towards Mic, one hand outstretched. Mic took Harm's hand in his own and shook it.

"You need to figure out what it is you want, Rabb, and then go and get it." Mic slurred as his parting words.

Harm nodded, and responded in kind. "You'll find someone, Mic. And you'll make her happy."

Mic nodded his acknowledgment, then turned and left. Harm watched him stagger away, and gave Mic's words some thought.

He knew exactly what he wanted.

He had to go and get it. Harm nodded resolutely, and the vigorous motion almost made him lose his balance.

Tomorrow, he decided. He'd go and get it tomorrow.

Resolution made, Harm began stumbling his way home.

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