Disclaimer: Don't own'em
A/N: I am so lame: I really should be working and instead all these stories won't leave me alone. I think this writing thing may be addictive, I can't seem to stop. Anyways. This is in response to the HBX March challenge, and takes place in season 7-8 sometime. Let's pretend things went right at any one of those moments when they could've. And no more writing for one month, starting now.
Morning
Harm walked down the steps from his room and caught sight of Mac, wearing his shirt – the one very he'd worn last night, and that she'd so skillfully removed. She was leaning over his kitchen counter, staring intently at a newspaper page. He stepped up behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Morning, beautiful." He whispered into her ear, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
She turned her face to look at him over her shoulder, a dazzling smile in place.
"Good morning." She replied, and kissed him.
"It definitely is." He grinned at her. She looked great in the mornings. Sure, he'd seen her in the morning plenty of times, but never after she'd spent the night with him. At least, not the way they'd spent last night. What a night.
He watched her as she concentrated on folding the newspaper, her eyes darting from the newspaper spread out in front of her to an unfamiliar cereal box on the counter.
He frowned. "Where did that box of cereal come from?"
"I bought it." She replied absently.
"When?"
"This morning."
His frown deepened; it was just after 0700. "How long have you been up?"
"A few hours. Went to the 24-hour grocery store a few blocks down."
"A few hours!" He repeated, appalled.
"It's no big deal, Harm. You know I have trouble sleeping. I was feeling restless." She shrugged, and he felt her shoulder lift under chin.
"So you went grocery shopping …" He thought that he'd managed to tire her out after last night. She sure as hell had tired him out. Maybe that old joke about female Marines and Energizer Bunnies held some grain of truth. He studied her carefully, she didn't even look tired.
"Well, I tried reading, but all you have here are books about planes, pilots, boats and the law. Damn near bored me to death …" She trailed off hesitantly before seeming to come to a decision. "You don't mind, do you?"
"What? That you went grocery shopping?"
She nodded, her eyes not leaving the newspaper.
"Why would I mind." He watched her, wondering at what she was thinking.
She shrugged, and suddenly seemed to pour every ounce of concentration into folding the newspaper in front of her.
"Mac," He persisted, his curiosity piqued. "Why would I mind."
"Well, this is all new." She waved her hand between them both. "Just last night, really, and I don't want you to think that I'm … taking liberties, or anything."
He could tell she was nervous by how she was avoiding making eye contact with him. He also knew that when she was nervous, she tended to ramble, to try and fill silences. He smiled: he loved it when she rambled. It was so cute.
"It's just that I wanted some breakfast and you have no eggs, in fact all you have is oatmeal and I tried but I really hate the stuff. Granola is okay, but I just can't do oatmeal. I didn't get any meat, though, since you know, you don't eat meat and I didn't want to assume that I'd be, I mean …" She glanced at him and trailed off. Her look of nervousness was replaced by one of embarrassed consternation.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No." He said, even as a chuckle escaped.
She gave him a slightly sheepish, slightly warning smile. He could've sworn she was blushing. "You better not be."
He put his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'll stop, I'll stop." He pulled her back into his arms. "And I don't mind. But why didn't you wake me up?"
She frowned at him. "What?"
"Why didn't you wake me up if you couldn't sleep?" He moved to lean beside her on the counter.
"Why would I?"
They stared at each other for one long moment, wearing identical looks of confusion and curiosity, trying to read the other.
He went first. "Well, I don't know. I mean, you could've woken me up."
"Harm. I've had trouble sleeping for years. Why should you lose sleep because of it. And do you really want me waking you up at 0400 on a Saturday because I can't sleep."
"Well, I may have some very effective tactics to tire you out." He ran a finger up her thigh. "Some very enjoyable lullabies."
She laughed, and shifted her leg slightly to allow him greater access. "Oh, I don't doubt it. I got the full treatment last night."
He couldn't help the arrogant grin that spread over his face, which only made her laugh harder. He put out a hand around her waist and pulled her to him. She still faced the counter, folding the newspaper into halves, then quarters.
"Wake me up next time." He said seriously.
"Harm," She protested. "You'll lose so much sleep. No use in both of us suffering."
"C'mon, Mac."
She studied his face. After a few moments, she relented. "If it means that much to you, fine. But I still don't think it's necessary."
"How long've you had trouble sleeping at night?" He tried to distract her stubbornness.
There was a significant pause before she answered.
"Don't know. Since I was a kid, I guess, but it could've just been the yelling and hitting, or waiting for it, that kept me up. I didn't have much of a problem as a teenager, but that was the alcohol and lack of a regular sleep schedule. It's been pretty regular since I dried out." She didn't look up from the paper. He knew how hard it was for her to offer anyone honesty on personal matters.
He watched her fold the newspaper on the counter in front of her, her fingers running over the folds, sharpening the edges.
"Anything else?" She asked, her tone steady.
He grinned at her defensive bluntness, and tightened his hug. He was absolutely crazy about this woman.
"That's all I have for now. I might recall the witness to the stand." He teased.
"Cute." He saw her try and hide a small grin.
He laughed, and kissed her temple.
"What're you doing?" He watched as she kept folding the newspaper in front of her.
"Well, I bought some Captain Crunch cereal," she nodded towards the gaudy cereal box on the counter, "When I went to the grocery store, and there are these instructions on the side of the box on how to make one of those captain's hats out of newspaper. You were sleeping and I had nothing better to do, so I decided to try and make a hat."
"See, that's why you should've woken me up. You would've definitely had better things to do." He gave her another kiss before letting her go and walking around the counter. "How about those eggs for breakfast?"
"Sounds great. Thanks."
"Not a problem, Marine." He opened the cupboard next to the stove to take out the oil, and stopped short at the sight of a row of colourful boxes.
"What the…" He pulled out one box at a time. Twinkies. Fruit Roll Ups – he frowned: what the hell was a fruit roll up. Cheerios. Chocolate chip cookies. Once he'd removed the boxes, he saw an assortment of bags at the back of the shelf. He took each bag out, one by one. Nachos. Pretzels. Pita Chips – baked, he noted. Well, that sounded marginally healthy.
He looked at the tiny pile of junk on his counter and didn't know whether to be worried or elated or terrified. How much junk food did Mac eat? She felt comfortable enough to stock his cupboards with it. Oh, god: she felt comfortable enough to stock his cupboards. What did this mean? After just one night? His heart suddenly started hammering in his chest. Was he having
palpitations? A panic attack? He'd read somewhere that scientists had linked carbon dioxide levels with panic attacks. Or was it monoxide? No. That was the poisonous stuff, wasn't it? He couldn't think. Oh, lord. Was he actually having a panic attack. What the hell. He frowned. He was an adult. He took a deep breath. He was a grown man. The sight of Mac in his kitchen cupboards was no reason to break out into a sweat. It was just Mac. Oh, god: It was Mac. Sarah MacKenzie. His best friend. And lover. Since last night … Maybe this was an all out heart attack? It sure as hell felt like one.
He suddenly felt Mac behind him, and place her newspaper hat on his head.
"Turn around, Captain. Let me see my handiwork." And then she actually giggled. He didn't hear that sound often enough. He'd spent a mind-blowing night with Sarah MacKenzie and now she was giggling in his kitchen, teasing him while he wore only his boxers. His anxiety melted away. He grinned and turned around.
"Ahoy, Matey." He intoned in his best pirate's accent.
She broke into laughter. "Aw. You look cute." She adjusted the hat slightly and gave him another dazzling smile.
"I'm supposed to look dangerous, wench." He tried to swagger.
She rolled her eyes, and then caught site of the boxes and bags of junk food on the counter behind him. She looked at him curiously.
He felt just a little guilty for his earlier freak-out session.
"Is this okay, Harm?" She asked, sounding uncertain and insecure, and he figured she meant more than just the junk food.
Now he felt a lot guilty for his earlier freak-out session.
He leaned back against the counter and gave her a reassuring smile. "It's more than okay, Mac." A look of sheer relief spread over her face, and he couldn't help but tease her. "I just don't know about all this junk in my kitchen. It could be a deal-breaker. I mean, why do you need to roll up your fruit?"
She laughed, "You dry your fruit." She looked up at him mischievously. "Our eating habits are rather different. Could constitute an irreconcilable difference."
He pretended to mull it over. "Hm. It could. We'd probably fight about it all the time. I mean, Twinkies?"
"We should just part ways now." She stepped between his legs, and placed her hands on his hips. "I really do hate oatmeal."
"It'd probably be for the best." He pulled her to him until their bodies were in full contact. "But it doesn't mean that one day we can't mend fences." He trailed his hands down her back, over her six.
"Hm. We could have a lot of fun mending those fences. I hear it can get quite physical."
They both looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. Okay, he thought happily, so it might take some practice to have suggestive conversations with your best friend turned lover without cracking up. This would take some adjusting.
She sighed, running her hands over his chest. "I know this changes things," She glanced up at the hat he'd forgotten he was wearing. "Captain."
He grinned. "It does." He touched his fingers to the side of her face, down her cheekbone, along her lips, up her jaw. "But I'm starting to see the merits of rolling up fruit."
She laughed. "You're just not going to let that go, are you?"
"Are you kidding? Who even came up with such an idea."
"You're going to taste some after breakfast, and then you'll see just how good fruit can taste."
"We'll see, Marine." He leaned in for a long kiss. "Now let me make breakfast."
He reached up to remove the newspaper hat, but she caught his hand.
"Leave it on. I spent a whole six minutes and eight seconds making that for you." She grinned up at him. "And one day you'll be a real captain. It can't hurt to practice."
He laughed. "Well, I guess I can't let a whole six minutes and eight seconds go to waste." He went to the fridge and pulled out the carton of eggs. He looked up to see her putting the boxes and bags of junk back into his cupboard.
"Mac," He said casually as he set a mixing bowl on the counter and began cracking eggs.
"Hmm."
"I don't mind if you want to stock this place with meat."
He could feel her looking at him, but didn't want this to seem like it was a big deal, so he continued cracking eggs with as much nonchalance as he could muster. After all, he did want her to feel comfortable in his apartment. And he planned on putting a massive box of oatmeal in her kitchen. And dried fruit.
"Okay." Her voice was suspiciously shaky, but he could hear her smile. He let out a breath, and then grinned.
"Good." He said, as he kept cracking eggs.
"Harm?" She had move to stand next to him, and was watching him work.
"Yeah?"
"How many people are you planning on feeding?"
He looked up at her, confused, and then down at the mixing bowl in front of him. In his nervousness over a conversation about meat, of all things, he hadn't paid attention to what he was doing: he'd broken all dozen eggs into the mixing bowl. He fought the blush that threatened and glanced at Mac, feeling incredibly embarrassed.
He caught her look of amusement as she noticed his embarrassment. They looked at each other for a moment, and then both burst into laughter. This shift in their relationship would definitely take some adjusting, he thought through his laughter, and pulled her in for a kiss.
End.