Saying the Words
By: Ashlee
Disclaimer: Donald Belisario owns them, but if he wants to share or give them to me I won't argue :)
Author's Note: JAG fic number two!!! I hope you like!! By the way this has gone through the spell checker and a beta read by yours truly at 12:48 am, so don't be surprised if there is an error or two :)
Spoilers: Jagathon
==
I keep saying these things, these horrible things. I don't mean them, and it hurts me to even say them, but still I find myself letting these statements past my lips. It's like my brain has this horrible agenda against my heart. Or maybe it's looking out for me, keeping me from taking a risk that could potentially hurt me. The fact is I know that I'm covering up what I feel, the only problem is that I don't want to…I don't want to hurt her to push her away, but I can't seem to stop myself. It's like a sickness. I deep, dark, sadistic, sickness that makes me say things like "Any man she's ever been with is either dead or wishes they were."
I'm telling you it just comes out. I try and stop it. I try and be nice, I try to show her how I feel and WHAM! Like some evil form of Turret's Syndrome, the insults and condescending comments come flinging out and smacking her upside the head. Hence the reason I'm sitting here in my loft drowning myself in a bottle of bourbon. I look at it and see that it's half empty and slouch further into my chair.
It's not even the fact that I insult her, but I also seem to have to compete with her over some sort of standing. I'm not sure what it is, but it's like we're struggling for footing in a relationship that isn't even in existence yet…nor, from the looks of it, will it ever be. Today we had the first annual Jagathon. Harriet did a wonderful job setting it up and I did a wonderful job of fucking it up, for lack of a better term.
It all started yesterday. I kept sticking my foot in my mouth. I said the aforementioned phrase about her exes, I basically told her that she wasn't as capable as me when it came to athletics, and just plane old made a bad situation worse. I even had the admiral tell me to quit pissing her off, what does that say? And then she finds out that Renee and I broke up like a month ago. I think that hurt her even more. It was like I didn't trust her or something. I think it was more me not wanting to make the situation even more awkward, but, then again, maybe Mac would have been more willing to talk had she known that Renee and I were quits. And then when she wanted to talk I said no, what the hell was I thinking?
So, as if yesterday wasn't horrible enough, today came along and took the cake. I had told her that this race wasn't about competing with her, but then, of course, I turn it into one. I take another drink and lean my head against the chair. I really wish sometimes that I could just say the right thing when it came to her, tell her that I love her and get it over with, but every time I conjure up the courage something happens. Either something beyond my control or my own mind stopping me.
Today she said that we were back at the beginning, but I don't know if I can do this again, these little games, evading the truth. Being friends just like that after everything I've done to her, everything we've done to each other. I shake my head. A knock on the door distracts me and I ignore it. The person is sure to know I'm home, I have a light jazz record on, but I'm not in the mood to deal with people. I want to sulk. That is until I hear who it is.
"Harm? Harm, are you there?" Mac. I look at the bottle and realize it's empty. I have consumed a bottle of bourbon. Thinking quickly I stuff it under the chair and stumble to the door. I open it and look at her. I'm sure I reek of alcohol and from the look on her face I know that she knows. "How much have you had?"
"A lot." I say simply as she enters. I stare after her amazed at how little she reacts. "If I had known you were coming I wouldn't have had any." I say, not wanting to offend her somehow with my drinking.
"You've seen me drunk, I might as well see you." I say nothing, in fear that I might say something I'll regret. She sits down at the kitchenette and looks back at me. "So what sorrows are you trying to drown?" She asks.
I stay standing and look at her. "I think you know Mac."
She stares at me, her eyes full of hurt. "I think you'll need to explain it to me Harm. We spend all of this time being vague, beating around the bush. I need you to tell me."
My heart stops in terror and I know that in my somewhat unsober state that the fear is perfectly readable on my face. "Mac…I…" I fight for the words, looking at my bare feet. I look back up and see the fear and hurt and need in her eyes. I look at her, my own emotions shining through. "I want to say the right thing, I don't want to hurt you, but that's all I seem to do anymore. I say things I don't mean to cover…to push you away." I whisper, looking at her.
"Why do you want to push me away Harm?" She stares at me intently and I have to look away.
"Because…because I'm scared." The words are a whisper, and I feel embarrassed admitting it to her. It's hard enough to say to myself, much less her. Maybe it's my inebriated state that allows me to say what I feel, but I'm still embarrassed.
"Of what?" She continues to push, her dark eyes full of intensity, of questions, of raw emotion that both scares me and entices me.
"Of what I feel, of what you feel, of what will happen, of what won't happen, of any number of things that could possibly be or not be as a result of three simple words. I'm afraid of letting go and loosing someone again. I haven't been with anyone that it truly hurt me to loose, no one that I really loved because I knew I couldn't handle loosing them. I push them away so I don't have to risk it." I'm on the other side of the room looking out the window now, watching the rain fall, listening to its gentle rhythm as it hits my balcony.
"Because of what you went through when you lost your dad?" She asks softly from behind me, her hand gently touching my shoulder. I nod as the tears begin to flow. I wipe them away angrily. "You know Harm, it's all right to be scared. I am too." She says softly.
"You're afraid too?" My voice is almost infantile.
"With my experience with men, can you blame me? I've always been afraid of being with a man like my father, and then the fear was realized with my first husband. From then on I distanced myself from my relationships, afraid of getting hurt. But I'm tired of being afraid, of not letting myself be happy. I tried to convince myself I could learn to be happy, or that I wasn't worthy of it."
I look at her shocked. "You, of all people, should be happy."
She nods. "And don't you think that you deserve the same? Sheltering yourself from the pain of loosing someone by avoiding happiness is only making you miserable. Things happen Harm, things we can't control. But it's not the bad things we should focus on, it's the time we get with that person that matters. And not getting to experience the time you have with the person is a double sided sword. It might hurt to loose them, but the time spent is well worth it."
I look down at her wide, pleading, soul filled eyes and can't help but realize she's right. If something were to happen and I knew that I had passed up the chance to tell her how I felt, to get to know her as a lover, to love her, I would never forgive myself. At the very least she would know how I felt from this day forward. There wouldn't be any missed chances, any words that went unspoken, any feelings that went unexplored. The slate would be clean, my heart free, and conscious clear. All that was left was saying the words. I turn to face her, and look down at her, the tears still in my eyes, and the fear gone. I take her hands and look at them, then slowly draw my eyes up to her. "I love you Mac, more than words can say."
She looks back at me, a smile in her eyes, but her face serious. "And I love you Harm, more than I ever thought possible." We both smile and, finally, I think we both feel relieved, like a giant wait has been lifted from us. I hug her closely, my face buried in her hair and her face in my chest, and for the fist time in a long time I feel complete.
By: Ashlee
Disclaimer: Donald Belisario owns them, but if he wants to share or give them to me I won't argue :)
Author's Note: JAG fic number two!!! I hope you like!! By the way this has gone through the spell checker and a beta read by yours truly at 12:48 am, so don't be surprised if there is an error or two :)
Spoilers: Jagathon
==
I keep saying these things, these horrible things. I don't mean them, and it hurts me to even say them, but still I find myself letting these statements past my lips. It's like my brain has this horrible agenda against my heart. Or maybe it's looking out for me, keeping me from taking a risk that could potentially hurt me. The fact is I know that I'm covering up what I feel, the only problem is that I don't want to…I don't want to hurt her to push her away, but I can't seem to stop myself. It's like a sickness. I deep, dark, sadistic, sickness that makes me say things like "Any man she's ever been with is either dead or wishes they were."
I'm telling you it just comes out. I try and stop it. I try and be nice, I try to show her how I feel and WHAM! Like some evil form of Turret's Syndrome, the insults and condescending comments come flinging out and smacking her upside the head. Hence the reason I'm sitting here in my loft drowning myself in a bottle of bourbon. I look at it and see that it's half empty and slouch further into my chair.
It's not even the fact that I insult her, but I also seem to have to compete with her over some sort of standing. I'm not sure what it is, but it's like we're struggling for footing in a relationship that isn't even in existence yet…nor, from the looks of it, will it ever be. Today we had the first annual Jagathon. Harriet did a wonderful job setting it up and I did a wonderful job of fucking it up, for lack of a better term.
It all started yesterday. I kept sticking my foot in my mouth. I said the aforementioned phrase about her exes, I basically told her that she wasn't as capable as me when it came to athletics, and just plane old made a bad situation worse. I even had the admiral tell me to quit pissing her off, what does that say? And then she finds out that Renee and I broke up like a month ago. I think that hurt her even more. It was like I didn't trust her or something. I think it was more me not wanting to make the situation even more awkward, but, then again, maybe Mac would have been more willing to talk had she known that Renee and I were quits. And then when she wanted to talk I said no, what the hell was I thinking?
So, as if yesterday wasn't horrible enough, today came along and took the cake. I had told her that this race wasn't about competing with her, but then, of course, I turn it into one. I take another drink and lean my head against the chair. I really wish sometimes that I could just say the right thing when it came to her, tell her that I love her and get it over with, but every time I conjure up the courage something happens. Either something beyond my control or my own mind stopping me.
Today she said that we were back at the beginning, but I don't know if I can do this again, these little games, evading the truth. Being friends just like that after everything I've done to her, everything we've done to each other. I shake my head. A knock on the door distracts me and I ignore it. The person is sure to know I'm home, I have a light jazz record on, but I'm not in the mood to deal with people. I want to sulk. That is until I hear who it is.
"Harm? Harm, are you there?" Mac. I look at the bottle and realize it's empty. I have consumed a bottle of bourbon. Thinking quickly I stuff it under the chair and stumble to the door. I open it and look at her. I'm sure I reek of alcohol and from the look on her face I know that she knows. "How much have you had?"
"A lot." I say simply as she enters. I stare after her amazed at how little she reacts. "If I had known you were coming I wouldn't have had any." I say, not wanting to offend her somehow with my drinking.
"You've seen me drunk, I might as well see you." I say nothing, in fear that I might say something I'll regret. She sits down at the kitchenette and looks back at me. "So what sorrows are you trying to drown?" She asks.
I stay standing and look at her. "I think you know Mac."
She stares at me, her eyes full of hurt. "I think you'll need to explain it to me Harm. We spend all of this time being vague, beating around the bush. I need you to tell me."
My heart stops in terror and I know that in my somewhat unsober state that the fear is perfectly readable on my face. "Mac…I…" I fight for the words, looking at my bare feet. I look back up and see the fear and hurt and need in her eyes. I look at her, my own emotions shining through. "I want to say the right thing, I don't want to hurt you, but that's all I seem to do anymore. I say things I don't mean to cover…to push you away." I whisper, looking at her.
"Why do you want to push me away Harm?" She stares at me intently and I have to look away.
"Because…because I'm scared." The words are a whisper, and I feel embarrassed admitting it to her. It's hard enough to say to myself, much less her. Maybe it's my inebriated state that allows me to say what I feel, but I'm still embarrassed.
"Of what?" She continues to push, her dark eyes full of intensity, of questions, of raw emotion that both scares me and entices me.
"Of what I feel, of what you feel, of what will happen, of what won't happen, of any number of things that could possibly be or not be as a result of three simple words. I'm afraid of letting go and loosing someone again. I haven't been with anyone that it truly hurt me to loose, no one that I really loved because I knew I couldn't handle loosing them. I push them away so I don't have to risk it." I'm on the other side of the room looking out the window now, watching the rain fall, listening to its gentle rhythm as it hits my balcony.
"Because of what you went through when you lost your dad?" She asks softly from behind me, her hand gently touching my shoulder. I nod as the tears begin to flow. I wipe them away angrily. "You know Harm, it's all right to be scared. I am too." She says softly.
"You're afraid too?" My voice is almost infantile.
"With my experience with men, can you blame me? I've always been afraid of being with a man like my father, and then the fear was realized with my first husband. From then on I distanced myself from my relationships, afraid of getting hurt. But I'm tired of being afraid, of not letting myself be happy. I tried to convince myself I could learn to be happy, or that I wasn't worthy of it."
I look at her shocked. "You, of all people, should be happy."
She nods. "And don't you think that you deserve the same? Sheltering yourself from the pain of loosing someone by avoiding happiness is only making you miserable. Things happen Harm, things we can't control. But it's not the bad things we should focus on, it's the time we get with that person that matters. And not getting to experience the time you have with the person is a double sided sword. It might hurt to loose them, but the time spent is well worth it."
I look down at her wide, pleading, soul filled eyes and can't help but realize she's right. If something were to happen and I knew that I had passed up the chance to tell her how I felt, to get to know her as a lover, to love her, I would never forgive myself. At the very least she would know how I felt from this day forward. There wouldn't be any missed chances, any words that went unspoken, any feelings that went unexplored. The slate would be clean, my heart free, and conscious clear. All that was left was saying the words. I turn to face her, and look down at her, the tears still in my eyes, and the fear gone. I take her hands and look at them, then slowly draw my eyes up to her. "I love you Mac, more than words can say."
She looks back at me, a smile in her eyes, but her face serious. "And I love you Harm, more than I ever thought possible." We both smile and, finally, I think we both feel relieved, like a giant wait has been lifted from us. I hug her closely, my face buried in her hair and her face in my chest, and for the fist time in a long time I feel complete.