Need

Disclaimer: JAG and its characters belongs to Bellisarius Productions, no monetary gain is made from this endeavor. I'm just borrowing them for my, and hopefully other people's entertainment.

Written in answer to the HBX challenge July 2007, the dialogue used is from the episode "Goodbyes." (Hey doc, and you thought you were late – beat ya, LOL)

The story is set directly after "Lifeline" and written exclusively from Harm's POV. Keep that in mind while reading, as there are bound to be misunderstandings and misconceptions when we enter just one person's mind.

AN: One of these ideas that had been on my mind for quite some time, but finally burst out when I was bored sitting on a plane and then at the airport (bless my wonderful new MacBook with the incredibly long battery life!). Since last time that happened (on a train) so many of you wanted to help with my train tickets so I'd write more, you can now send all donations to my personal Impoverished-Almost-Former-Student-Writer's-Fund! If you like the story, that is. LOL!!

Anyway, many thanks to wonderful Staz – for her enthusiastic willingness to read my stuff over and over again, even at the oddest hours and when she has no time whatsoever. You are the bestestest!

Please enjoy, and feedback and constructive criticism are very much appreciated.

o o o o o o

Need

Harm slammed his front door closed with force and heavily dropped down on his couch. Then bounced right back up; too agitated to sit. Like a caged lion, he circled his apartment. Only the intuitive awareness of its layout kept him from bumping into his furnishings, as he paid not one iota of attention to where he was going.

He was angry. Furious, even. With her. With the whole situation. But most of all with himself. No point in avoiding that harsh bit of reality. He shouldn't have kissed her. She was getting married. He had a girlfriend. He shouldn't have kissed her.

But she had kissed him first, his mind iterated. It was her fault anyway. All of it!

Wasn't it?

He stomped another circle around his couch. Then ripped off his suit jacket and flung it somewhere in the vicinity of the back of his sofa. That used to be his favorite suit. He didn't think he could ever wear it again. Now it would always remind him of the night where he had been closer to her than ever before. Where he had touched her, felt her, smelt her. Tasted her soft sweet lips as they became pliable against his. Where he had everything he had always wanted in his arms. Only to lose it,her, anyway.

He toed off his shoes and found detached satisfaction from chucking them through the air by a shake of each foot. One shoe twirled high, then landed on his coffee table with a dull clank. The other was more satisfying. It zoomed through the room in a straighter line and smashed onto his window sill, toppling over two potted herbs. Basil, shoe and rosemary all landed in the sink, shattering the clay pots as well as a number of dishes and glasses that had been sitting in it, waiting to be rinsed. He liked the accompanying noise. Something was irreversibly broken, never to be whole again. How fitting.

Getting rid of Renée tonight had been surprisingly easy. She had been subdued for the rest of the party, and he was well aware that Renée, actually every guest at that party, had noticed that the bride-to-be had spent at least half the evening outside on the porch with him, instead of inside at her fiancé's side. He knew he should feel guiltier about the whole evening, but he didn't.

Since they had each arrived in separate cars, Renée had her own ride home. He didn't invite her to spend the night and neither did she. Their goodnight kiss had been short and dry. Then she had slid into her car, tightlipped, without a glance back. He guessed it was safe to say that this relationship had run its course. He should be honest with her and break it off, but a part of him was resisting. If Mac had someone, was actually getting married, why should he have to be alone?

God, what kind of a person had he become?!

He wondered how Mac was doing. How would she explain her absence from the party to Bugme? Was she thinking about their kiss? What had it meant to her? Had it meantanything to her? Damn it, why was he thinking about her again? He willed her out of his thoughts, but it was no use. Once again, Mac was on his mind; appeared in front of his inner eye as if she was actually right here, in his apartment. Wearing that same sexy dress. Looking up at him, her incredible eyes shining with a multitude of conflicting emotions that had left his mouth dry and his chest aching.

Suddenly feeling incredibly drained, he heavily fell down on his couch, letting his head slump against the back cushions. He tiredly rubbed his hand across his forehead and closed his eyes, contemplating the twisted triangle that Mac, he and Bugme had turned into over the course of just one short, fateful evening. How did they let it get this far?

He snorted in incredulous comprehension. Truth was, it hadn't just been this one short, fateful evening. Something had been building up between he and Mac for a long time, months, years even, something that felt overwhelming and real, somehow larger than life, and yet always seemed to elude his grasp.

And now it was too late. They had missed their chance to figure that elusive 'something' out.

Before tonight, he had never before been as honest with her about his feelings, and the way that her eyes had shone up to him, the images that had clearly been painted across her face told him that the same held true for her. Yet still they had managed to veil their words with half-truths, shroud their emotions in elusive phrases and blanket them with obliviousness and hesitation. Always in fear of revealing too much to the other, worried of being the one showing feelings that were not returned.

That damn ferry ride in Sydney Harbor! What had he been waiting for? Had it really taken him till tonight to figure out he had feelings for Mac that went above and beyond those for a best friend? She had laid her heart out to him on that ferry, he knew now, and he had trampled all over it. She had been waiting for him, and he had thrown this incredible gift right back at her! Obliviousness, thy name is Harmon Rabb Jr.!

Wait a minute, how had he suddenly gone from being mad at her to being furious with himself again? It was much less satisfying and way too painful in its truthfulness. He tried to dispel the harsh notions his self-revelations had invoked on his mind, but it was no use. It was still there, staring him blank into his face – it was he who had let her go, let her slip away and into the arms of another man. Brumby, of all people.

He let himself fall onto his side on the couch, turning his head into the cushions as if to hide from the cutting realities of his love life. Suddenly he could smell her again, the scent immediately conjuring up images of his lovely Marine. The slightly coarse texture under his cheek told him that his head had landed on his suit jacket, and he burrowed it further into the fabric. He had given her his jacket tonight; she had worn it even when they kissed, trapping the heat of her body under it, and her fragrance still clung to the material. Fresh, with a light floral touch, mixed with a special touch that was uniquely her. Like a balmy, soft spring breeze, where the warm wind carried… Ok, now he started sounding like a cheesy poet. Enough already!

Yet she stubbornly, relentlessly remained on his mind. How typical of her. He inhaled deeply, his nose nestled in his jacket, letting her scent wash over him again and feeling his whole body flood with warmth and aching intensity.

He still didn't quite get it. How could she have gone to Brumby so fast? Hell, when had she even had time to be happy? Familiarity scratched the edges of his mind, and he remembered a long-ago conversation with her. Maybe it was like Mac had suggested back then, how life seemed to work out for Harriet and Bud. Maybe the same held true for Mac and Bugme; they didn't have to find time. They just were.

But were they really? He had thought so before tonight, despite hoping that they weren't. Mic was wrong for Mac on so many levels. He found him obnoxious, too possessive of Mac, and generally didn't seem to understand who she really was; just didn't get the subtleties of her character that she kept so carefully hidden. Harm was secretly gleeful, knowing that he was one of the few people whom Mac truly let in. As long as it didn't concern their complicated relationship, of course.

Nevertheless, she had seemed happy, as if this was what she wanted, he would accept her relationship for what it was. Well, more or less. It was only natural to needle or tease her about it occasionally, right? To raise reasonable doubts? She was his closest friend.

But if she were truly happy, would she have kissed him back the way she had? He had deepened the kiss first, but then she had clung to him as desperately as he had felt, her fingers digging into his shirt, her lips soft and yielding. Her taste was addictive, like strawberries and cream…

He growled and balled his fists, drumming them repeatedly against the couch cushions as if this act of physical aggression could dispel the thoughts of her and their kiss from his mind. What good did it do to keep thinking about it anyway? If he didn't know before, he was sure now. Despite what had happened, Bugme was who she wanted. Her goodbye to Harm after their kiss had made that abundantly clear. It had cut into him like a knife to his throat, acknowledging that there was something special between them while simultaneously giving it the valedictory wave.

Well, if she could do it, so could he. She had made her decision. He resolved that he had to try and let go of whatever deeper feelings for her had been surfacing. Push them back down as far as possible and then maybe, eventually, they would dispel.

He'd start tomorrow though. Tonight he was going to wallow, with her taste on his lips and her scent clouding his senses. He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her skin under his fingertips. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

o o o o o o

He awoke a few hours later with a dull ache in his lower back. He groaned and shifted his position, well aware now that it was never a good idea for him to sleep on the couch. He usually paid for it for the next two days. Barely half awake, he started to get up, coming to a sitting position when he realized that he could still smell her. Only more intense than before. He stiffened, waiting for his eyes to adapt to the darkness. Then he saw her. Just a shape by his door, barely visible within the dim shadows of his apartment. Yet he knew it was Mac.

The shape started moving soundlessly, closer to the couch, its outlines becoming sharper, her features more defined, morphing into the beauty that was she. He must still be dreaming. His mind had conjured up her image earlier tonight (and it wasn't the first time that he'd daydreamed about her either), yet never had she seemed so real. Strange, he had always thought that one didn't feel pain in dreams. But then all thought left his mind when she reached his side and knelt down in front of the couch, looking at him. She looked so sad.

"Do it again," she whispered, almost pleadingly, and he knew exactly what she was asking. He knew then that it must be a dream. She wouldn't ask him in reality. Her circumstances wouldn't let her, and she had decided. Yet in a dream, there was no harm in complying to her every wish. Or his.

So he reached forward, cradled her chin between his thumb and index finger and brought her face closer. Her eyes shone luminously with unshed tears that caught the faint, bluish tint of the streetlights glancing through his windows. She blinked, and one lonely tear started trailing down her cheek. Softly, he pressed his lips on the spot and caught the salty fluid, then followed it by a succession of soft kisses down her cheek, slowly closing in on her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed while her lips gradually opened, allowing rushed, shallow bouts of her breath to escape her rapidly heaving chest.

The tip of her tongue darted out, dashed across her lower lip, and a current of smoldering heat alighted inside of him. He captured her lips with his, at once desperate for her strawberry taste. Sealed his mouth to hers while the tip of his tongue found hers, accompanied by an intense jolt of pleasure that arced between them like electricity. He discovered her with tender, almost teasing strokes until she sighed in frustration and deepened the kiss. A moan escaped, and he was incapable of distinguishing whether it came forth from her or from him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding on tightly as if she feared he was going to pull away. It was almost a reversal of their kiss earlier tonight, with her seeking to come closer and deeper. He met her caresses with an intensity that he had never before experienced in just a kiss.

He reached out, his hands under her arms, and pulled her up. Mac came willingly, and he fell back onto the couch, bringing her with him. Never breaking their kiss, she molded on top of his body like viscous hot chocolate fudge on top of ice cream, with her soft curves fitting his angles and planes with fervent perfection.

Harm knew it wasn't a dream, a hallucination or wishful thinking. None could ever feel so right, so perfect. He didn't know why she had come or how long she would stay, but he was entirely too comfortable to analyze it all now. He had never before experienced a need this intense for another person, a need that went way beyond anything sexual. He had felt the pull the very first time they met, and now it was finally out in the open, waiting to be claimed by them. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her tightly, almost in fear of her disappearing the same magical way she had appeared.

He slowed down their kiss from heated and frenzied to a slow, smoldering, passionate pace, trying to transport the multitude of feelings he held for her right into her soul. The answer he received through her responses filled every part of his body with a tingling, quivery warmth.

When at last they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, almost gulping for air, as the need to be together had momentarily felt more vital than that for oxygen. Mac snuggled her face into his neck, her hands resting on his chest, with her fingers mindlessly doodling circles onto his shirt-covered skin. Even these small caresses shot darts of warmth through his body. He tightened his arms around her once more.

Harm felt as if he should say something, but no words sprang to mind that could transcend what was happening between them. After a while, she felt heavy and limp on top of him, her breathing even, and he figured exhaustion had claimed her. With almost hypnotic quality, her heart beat in syncopation with his, and her warm moist breaths whispered against the skin of his neck every time she exhaled. He thought he was too excited and wound up to fall asleep again, nor did he want to miss a single moment of her being in his arms, and yet he couldn't stop his eyelids from slowly drifting closed.

o o o o o o

The white, almost painfully intense light of the early morning sun illuminated his apartment when Harm woke up. He groaned at the sensation of brightness poking through his eyelids and the twinges and pains that ran through his back and legs. He tried to shift, but was hindered by an unexpected heaviness on top of him. In a flash, the memories of last night rushed through his head, infusing him with heat all over again. He slowly opened his eyes, giving them time to adjust to the vivid daylight, then looked at her. She was snuggled to his body as if she hadn't moved once all night, except for one leg that she had pulled up toward her chest and that was now slung across his hips, her position innocently provocative. Her hair was mussed up and fell over her face, and he reached out to comb it away from her face, then ran his fingers through the soft strands. She sighed, but didn't wake up.

For a while, all he could do was stare at her, hoping that from now on, he would get the chance to wake up like this every morning, with her in his arms. Under the outer shell of the stunning, kick-ass Marine lived a multi-faceted woman who was also warm and tender, sweet and loving, incredibly sensuous, shy and insecure, and beautiful from the inside out.

He felt the beginnings of a cramp in his leg, and as much as he didn't want to, he couldn't help but shift his legs and back to avoid the dull, painful aches. The swift movement woke her and he watched her eyes drift open. He could feel the exact moment when she was fully awake and realized where she was, who she was with, and what had transpired. Her whole body went tense and rigid.

"Good Morning," he whispered, in an attempt to infuse a dab of normalcy into the awkward moment.

She mumbled a good morning back, yet didn't look up to meet his eyes. She lifted up off his body, scooted away and sat down at the other end of the couch, wrapping her arms protectively around her knees, looking lost and lonely despite of his being right there.

Harm felt clueless as to how to deal with the situation. She had been the one that had come to him last night without any explanation. He needed to talk to her, hear what she was thinking and feeling. Make her understand what he was feeling. Yet he didn't know where to start. She looked lost and dejected, and the implications of her posture made his heart feel like breaking.

"Mac…," he implored.

"I… I shouldn't have come…" she pressed out, slightly shaking her head and attempting to get up.

"Sarah!" He almost yelled this time, unwilling to let her slip away again, and the desperation in his voice stopped her cold. For the first time that morning, she finally looked up at him. There was such sadness and helplessness in her eyes that he immediately scooted closer to her and wrapped her hand in both of his. It was ice cold.

"We broke up," she confided after a moment of silence, her voice devoid of inflection. "There won't be a wedding."

He couldn't help but feel his heart soar with happiness hearing her confession, but he tried to hide it from his face.

"Why?" He asked, needing to understand. Her eyes flared and she shot off the couch in anger.

"Why?" She started pacing and gesticulating with her arms. "What do you mean why? How could I…" As fast as the bout of anger had seized her, it let off, and she practically deflated. She turned back toward him and folded her arms across her chest, as if to ward off invisible demons.

Quiet ensued for a few seconds and she forlornly stubbed her toe against the floor. Then, still staring down at her toes, she said softly, "How could I marry him after what happened between us on that porch?"

His insides squeezed, both in relief of the night having had as much of an impact on her as it had on him, and the realization of how much pain it had caused her.

"Better now than six months into the marriage."

Her head shot up, and despite their current circumstances, she looked hurt and affronted. Not that he could blame her. It was what he had felt and feared all along, but that didn't mean she could deal with hearing it put so bluntly right now. He reached for her hand and pulled her closer toward him.

"Mic was…" he set off, trying to explain, then switched tracks. "In the long run, he wouldn't have made you happy." Not like I could, his mind added, but he refrained from saying it. It would have been too much too soon. She remained utterly still, and he tried to catch her eyes to read what she might be thinking. She avoided his gaze, but to his surprise she sat down on the couch next to him and folded her hands together, absentmindedly kneading them.

"It's just… I thought it's what I wanted. He offered everything I'd always wanted. What I believed I wouldn't get from…" She cut herself off, and he wondered what she might have wanted to say. "A marriage, a house, maybe a pet or two. Children. My own family, and all the love and warmth and noise and chaos that comes with it." She still didn't look at him, and her voice dipped down to an almost whisper when she continued. "Don't you really want that?"

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to see her beautiful, expressive eyes, needing to see more than her words indicated and knowing he would find it all in their whiskey-colored depths. She looked sad and so forlorn…

It hit him like powerful flashes of lightning – he had seen that look before. When he left for flying and they had said goodbye. On that ferry. Last night. And he finally understood. In that moment, everything clicked into place. All he ever needed to know was written across her face. All he ever wanted was wrapped up in this woman sitting across from him. It was time to let go. So he did.

"Only if I can have it with you."

His quiet words brought a stunned look to her face; her mouth pursed and a barely audible "oh" escaped on a previously held breath.

Harm brought his face close to hers, while his thumb stroked her chin, then softly along her lower lip. Still she sat motionless, yet her eyes fluttered softly with each of his caresses. He rested his forehead against hers and whispered against her lips.

"I love you, Mac." Then he kissed her. Just a gentle, reaffirming touch of his lips to hers, before he pulled back, waiting for, craving, needing her reaction.

She reached out and traced her fingertips across his forehead, along his eyebrows, over his cheekbones down to his chin, following each movement of her fingers with her eyes. Her touch was so soft, gliding over his face like butterfly wings, that his eyes wanted to fall closed. Yet he forced them to stay open, desperate to see her every response. Slowly, a smile broke across her face, the tender, warm, amazingly sweet Sarah-smile that she bestowed so rarely on anybody, the one that always made his legs feel like jelly.

"I love you too, Harm," she sighed. "Only you. Always you."

Relief washed over him with the force of a tidal wave, and he swiftly pulled Mac into his arms. She settled her head against his chest while her arms snaked around his torso. The realization of what they'd almost lost made him shudder, and her arms tightened around him in response. For a long while they sat in silence, breathing the other in, reveling in the simple joy of holding each other close.

Then Mac slowly disentangled herself from his arms. With her hands on his chest, she slightly pushed away, then reached for his hands and entwined his fingers with hers.

"Harm, I'm really happy about this… about us…"

"But…?"

"But I can't go from being Mic's fiancée to your girlfriend in the span of 12 hours. I need a little time to process what has happened, to leave it behind. I really want this, want you…" She squeezed his fingers a little tighter. "…But I don't think it would be good for us to bring all this baggage into a new relationship… And you have to end it with Renee, too… That is, if that's what you want… I mean, I just assumed…"

She was really adorable when she was flustered and rambling.

"Mac." He waited until she lifted her eyes to his and he had her attention. He understood what she was trying to say, and as much as he didn't like being without her, he knew she was right.

"I'll wait."

"For how long?" Her tone was low and unsure, doubtlessly thinking about their fated conversation just a few hours ago. So did he.

"As long as it takes."

It was incredible, he thought while he could observe once more how her face lit up with a tender smile, how the same words spoken could take on an entirely different, infinitely hopeful meaning.

With their fingers still entwined, she kissed him once more. Slowly and indulgently, as if to sear the memory of her taste right into his lips. As if to soak up as much as she could of him, before she pulled away and whispered, "Thank you" across his lips.

And then she left.

Epilogue

JAG Headquarters, Six weeks later

He was thinking about her again, as he did so many times these days, instead of focusing on his work. The stack of files on his desk never seemed to shrink while his thoughts kept wandering. He missed her. So much.

It's been weeks since he'd last seen her. After the morning at his apartment, he had split up with Renee. She had taken it surprisingly well; then again, she had probably been more than suspecting that something was wrong. A few days later, Mac had requested a TAD assignment and been sent to the Guadalcanal.

She had come to his office, had leaned against his desk next to his chair, held his hand and explained to him that she had to go away for a while, that she just couldn't take the scrutiny. He wanted to object, but he couldn't blame her. On more than one occasion he had observed the long glances sent her way, the scrutinizing looks, the inquiring conversations and the veiled whispers behind her back that immediately stopped as soon as she came closer.

So he had brought her to the airport, and in the car, he had told her he would miss her, and she had kissed him – the only kiss they had shared since that morning. Had laid her forehead against his. "I promise you, no matter what, I'll come back to you," she had said, before she slipped out of the car and quickly headed into the terminal.

A knock at his office door brought him out of his reverie, and before he could even look up from his files, her sexy voice floated toward him.

"Hey Sailor." And there she was, framed in his doorway, smiling at him. Despite the TAD and the long trip, she looked good; healthy, well-rested and – happy. His throat constricted and his heart seemed to miss a couple of beats.

"Mac! You're back!" Go Harm, way to state the obvious, how eloquent. He felt like an idiot and he was probably wearing his goofiest smile, but he couldn't help it. God, he had missed her.

She merely nodded and kicked her smile up three notches. Tingly warmth immediately rushed through his whole body in response.

"Harm? Would you like to go out with me tonight? On a date?"

THE END