A/N: I thought we should have a glimpse into Harm's mind as well. This is just a one shot, but I may write the whole story of Delicate through Harm's point of view. We'll see. I'm not sure I can write as a man!
Testing Never
0232
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown
I slip out of her bed, slowly, carefully, so as not to jostle her awake. I don't want her to see me stealing away like a thief in the night. I resist the urge to touch her one last time. All I really want to do is crawl back in beside her; lying with her just now, feeling her breath on my skin, is the first time I've felt whole in months. We just did what we should have done in Paraguay; hell, it's what we should have done as soon as she pulled me into that helicopter over Red Rock Mesa, awkward as it may have been with her uncle in the pilot's seat.
Yes, I, Harmon Rabb, Jr, have finally discovered the wonder of being wrapped up inside Sarah McKenzie. I think I'm now ruined for anyone else; no other woman will ever make me feel what I felt moving within her. I'm sad, though—I always pictured our first time together in a luxurious hotel room surrounded by candlelight and rose petals. We'd touch and kiss and love until we'd finally come together with all the passion we had denied ourselves for years. I would make love to her. I would be both gentle and good. I would never let her go.
Instead what we had was fast, furious, and rough. It was fueled by anger and lust, and, at least on my part, regret. I was finally letting go with her, but it was about five months too late. I knew she was with Webb now; he always liked to work Sarah into any conversation he and I had. We don't exactly run in the same circles at the CIA, but I see him often enough to warrant the occasional casual conversation. Actually, I think he often seeks me out, wanting to make sure I know that Sarah is his now. Oh, just fuck off, Clay. You know I'm way too honorable to pursue her now. You are apparently what she wants.
But then, how do I explain what happened tonight? Being honorable was the last thing on my mind.
I knew the moment she stepped into Rooster's. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I felt that familiar tug toward her. I meant what I said so many years ago: I always know where she is.
My intent tonight was not to ravish her, but as soon as our eyes met over the crowds, I knew that this night I wouldn't hold back. I knew deep down she wouldn't either.
I know she doesn't love me; she made that pretty clear at that taxi stand in Paraguay, but there is still this "thing" between us. The thing that made me push her up against the wall and plunge inside her. It's never been like that with any other woman for me. To feel her surrounding me, feel her respond to my thrusts—I don't think I've ever come so hard with so little restraint. If I don't leave her now I know I will just climb back into bed and have my way with her once again. She will become my addiction, my new obsession.
But who am I kidding. She's always been my obsession. One I never let myself indulge in, for to do so would either give me everything I've ever wanted or, and this is far more likely, end in burning flames. Sooner or later, nearly everyone I love leaves. If Sarah left, life would be over for me. I'd never recover, so I've never before let go, despite knowing it was what she and I both wanted. Now that it's definitely too late for paradise, I guess I have nothing left to lose, so I'll settle for this stolen moment.
So...here we are.
I retrieve my pants from her living room and pull them on, followed by my shoes. I look for my shirt, then remember that I had flung it off in her bedroom. I go back in there, rummaging around for the damn thing, managing to run my toe into her dresser and bump into the little vanity where she does her makeup. Quiet, you idiot!
I finally locate the T-shirt and pull it over my head. I tuck it in and zip up my pants, then buckle my belt and head for the door.
Except I can't make myself leave her.
I circle back to the bed, standing above her sleeping form. I want to touch her, brush back the hair that has fallen across her brow, but I dare not. My arm, though, doesn't follow my bidding, and it hovers above her body, aching to touch. I stand there a moment and the temptation to run my hand across her naked shoulder is getting almost too strong to resist. I force myself to drop my arm to my side, then, turning swiftly on my heel, I walk out of her bedroom and probably out of her life. I close the door softly behind me and lean against it for a beat. My hands are shaking; frankly, my whole body is shaking.
And I know why…
I'm still in love with Sarah McKenzie.
End