Disclaimer: I own nothing and no infringement is intended.
Commentary: In reviewing the show, especially season 10, I find myself wishing Harm would have been provided the ability and/or the opportunity to respond to Mac's "flashbacks" as shown in the episode "The Four Percent Solution". I also find it interesting that the "flashbacks" were set 2 months before the day of her accident; the accident being December 24th (because while I'm iffy on ZULU time, there's no other reason for her to ask about the wall). And that makes the "flashbacks" from Dr. McCool's office taking place October 24th. One day before Harm's birthday.
Assumptions: Harm and Mac celebrate their birthdays together in some form – dinner perhaps. Let's assume that between receiving the devastating news about her inability to conceive, her session with Dr. McCool, and her insomnia that Mac is a little off kilter… Maybe even enough to believe it's October 24th instead of the 25th.
Also... Let's assume that since Harm's return to JAG post Paraguay (and post that awkward dinner with the CIA attorney), he has dealt with every woman who shows interest in him the same way he dealt with Megan Mansford- simply in that he doesn't shove them away if they kiss him but he's doesn't actively return it and manages to convince himself to walk away. (In truth and my opinion, he had to fight with himself a little too much to walk away in that episode. But he walked away so I'm not complaining... too much.)
- Everything is fair game.
- Hang in there. Conversations between these two are frankly rarely pretty.
To Be With You
Part 1
Mac. Every thing he did and every situation he entered was either related to or influenced by her and left his life either lonely, complicated or - as in recent years - both. Sometimes, generally actually, her influence showed in the choices he made regarding his love life, including the apparent lack thereof he'd been existing in for years. Sometimes, his antics or remarks - like the damn hole in the courtroom's ceiling he would never live down – were in direct response to her. Lately, though, his lonely and complicated life was the result of his desperate need to keep her both safe and in his life. It was this last desire that had spurred his action and why he, yet again, stood firmly holding the stock of a 9mm in his hands.
(Earlier)
Harm roamed his dark apartment. Alone. It was October 25th. "Happy birthday to me," he scoffed looking out his apartment window. Truthfully, he possessed no desire to celebrate his birthday. It would have been much easier- preferable even- to drown his sorrows surrounding the last few years in more than a few beers and pass out.
Watching a car pass by, he snorted and turned to his bookcase picking up a picture of him and his dad. "So much for this being the best year of my life… Starting our family. Damn five year plan." Tracing his fingers over the happy faces starring back at him, he returned the picture that as of now would never be replicated and walked the few steps to his couch falling into it.
Closing his eyes as his head feel back into the couch only worsened his mood. Images of his family, time and circumstances were successfully denying him, again fluttered through his mind's eye. The little girl with big brown eyes. The little boy running around in a Marine's uniform – leave it to his subconscious to possess a sense of humor. Mac – his wife – handing him another little pink bundle. The plaguing images were always the same – peaceful perfection – until reality shattered them.
No wife. No daughters. No sons. The grief associated with the losses of the latter two he was told to just accept. He didn't, not that it mattered. And acceptance of the first, well… He'd die first. One day, damn it, he'd bluntly tell her what he meant by "a part of your life".
Outwardly, he thought his day-to-day performance was award worthy. Smile. Joke. A few small descents into Mac's personal space attempting to gauge her mindset – to see if she was ready for all the information he'd gathered on endometriosis. Those instances were met with harsh failure but at least he'd managed to make sure no one else witnessed them. He wasn't permitted to discuss those faucets of their life – neither the avenues in which they could nor their inability to have children. Instead, he was told to ignore. Move on. Forget. Find someone else.
Today, he'd tried his best to smile. Bud had twisted his arm – on Harriet's behalf undoubtedly – and convinced him to agree to a belated Sunday birthday lunch. Mattie, thankfully, was with Tom - leaving only after being reassured that their "family" birthday celebration the day before had lifted his spirits, which had elicited yet another Oscar worthy performance. Trophy please.
Mac had disappeared early yesterday and hadn't returned to the office. No messages on any voicemail or E-mail led him to the conclusion that for the first time in nine years, she'd actually forgotten his birthday. He didn't truly begrudge her momentary lapse. He just missed her, and it was her missing presence that had prompted his semiconscious action and decision.
Shaking his head slowly from side to side, he tried in vain to remember the actual trip here. Truthfully, how it happened was of little consequence because it had undoubtedly happened. He was here, standing before her door, with enough Chinese takeout to feed them for a week, a cake and ice cream from the local grocery, and his favorite and her most loathed movie under his arm to celebrate in close to the same way they'd celebrated 8 out of 9 last years. Time could rob them of their biological children, but he refused to allow it to rob them of their future.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock but before his hand could make contact, her sudden, muted screaming filtered through the door. Sliding his spare key in the lock, he burst into her apartment dropping everything in his wake, reached behind the armoire for her gun, and headed toward her screams. And this is how he found himself suddenly holding her kitchen door open with one hand and her gun firmly in the other watching as Mac screamed and ducked.
Sudden tears formed in his eyes as he bit his lower lip and fell against the door. Acknowledging she was no longer alone, she suddenly spun staying in her crouched position to face him. Her appearance made him bite his lip harder and his shoulders began to shake.
"Harm?!" she exclaimed as a blush raced up her neck. He gestured to her wordlessly. "What in the… what are you doing here?!" Crossing her arms across her chest as best she could, she glared awaiting his answer.
"You're ducking," he said gesturing to her position when words, broken with hearty laughter, finally escaped his mouth.
"Damn it, Harm. Marines take cover." She defensively stood up with her hands on her hips. "We don't du—," her words halted as she took a hit of soupy dough to her back.
Biting his bottom lip again in a feeble attempt to quell his laughter, he quickly sidestepped her, dodged a missile of batter, and lunged for the cord managing to successfully unplug the mixer ending its wrath. After a quick survey of the questionable butter batter and flour mess covering the cabinets, countertops, ceiling and walls, he slowly turned to face her. "Mac," he took a few tentative steps toward her and with his finger, gently removed a blob of batter from her cheek. "You're covered," was all he croaked out between snickers.
"I'm glad you find this funny." He raised both eyebrows remaining silent. "It's not funny." As he looked at her, his eyes grew larger and he pursed his lips trying to keep his laughter at bay.
"Mac, there's flour everywhere."
"Harm."
"And," he leaned and inspected her nose, "What is that butter covered in?" She wiped her nose with her hand.
"Laugh it up, sailor," she muttered rolling her eyes. He grinned.
In an attempt to remain clean, he carefully wrapped his arm around her shoulders and turned with her in a circle surveying the damage. Letting out a low whistle, he tried a serious tone. "I didn't know a mixer was capable of so much…" He stole a glance at her as a blob of buttery flour slid down her forehead from her hairline and dissolved in laughter. She pushed him away and then tried to wipe her face.
"Damn it, Harm." She grabbed a batter covered spoon from the countertop. "Stop laughing before I smack you with this spoon." He smirked.
"Just as you shouldn't bring a knife to a gun fight, neither should you bring a spoon, Jarhead." She squinted at him and he motioned to the gun in his right hand.
"You brought your gun to my apartment?"
"No. This is yours. Lifted it from behind the armoire." She squinted her eyes and tilted her head in confusion. He raised an eyebrow. "Before I could knock, you started screaming. I grabbed your gun and the rest is well..." he looked again at his surroundings, "probably inedible." She shook her head at the smile he shot her.
"Smartass." His smile got bigger.
"Admit it, I'm your hero." She rolled her eyes.
"Uh huh. Every marine's dream – to have a sailor for a hero."
"Not every Marines. Just yours." She raised her eyebrow mockingly.
"Uh huh." Motioning to the gun, she added, "Put it back where you found it."
"I would."
"But?" She questioned.
"I'd feel safer if you'd relinquish the spoon." She tightened her grip instead and smiled.
"It's a spoon, Harm. You act like it's a weapon."
"Anything in your hands is a weapon." She raised an eyebrow.
"Took you long enough to learn that."
"I mean look what you made that poor, innocent mixer do." She took a step toward him. "Mac…"
"Yes, Harm?"
"Don't do it. Hand the spoon over – nice and easy." She made a move to smack him with it but the buttery handle slipped out of her hands and it landed on the floor between them. She groaned; he smile. But his mocking "We don't throw thi-" was cut off when she smeared his cheek with a blob of batter from her shirt. He glared. "This is not how we treat heroes, Jarhead." She picked off another batter blob from her shirt, looked at him, and smiled innocently. "Maaac." She paused long enough for him to quickly side step her. As he headed out of her kitchen, she threw the blob in the trash and the spoon in the sink before following him.
"Is my door still on its hinges?" She inquired cheekily.
"Barely." He stowed the gun, shut the door, and walked back toward her. "What were you doing anyway? And why in the world do you own a mixer?"
"I bought it early this afternoon." She looked down at her the hem of her flour covered shirt with which her hands were playing. "I… I know you probably have plans for your birthday tomorrow with Alicia or Mattie." She sighed and missed his look of confusion. "Or both. But we always do something for our birthdays and I thought… Well, I thought I'd do something different this year," she shrugged and nervously gestured toward her kitchen, "and make your birthday cake. Bring it to the office tomorrow and that I could at least take you to lunch." He stood motionless with his hands on his hips squinting. Finding his scrutinizing gaze and silence unnerving, she re-crossed her arms across her chest. "What?" He tilted his head and his hand reached for her crossed arms.
"Mac?" She blew out a breath and took a step backwards looking away.
"What, Harm?"
"What is today?" She looked at him.
"October 24th." He shook his head at her and then stepped closer.
"Mac, are you okay?" She took another step backward and found herself against the wall.
"I'm fine, Harm. Quit looking at me like I should be committed. Today's the 24th. Why else would I be in there destroying my kitchen trying to make you a birthday cake?" His next step toward her nearly pinned her between him and the wall. Reaching out a hand, he gently cupped her cheek and rubbed his thumb under her eye revealing dark circles beneath layers of batter and foundation.
"Mac, you're exhausted. When did you last sleep?" She met his worried gaze.
"Last night." He raised an eye brow and her chin lifted in faked defiance.
"And before that, Mac?" She stepped to her right and then away from the wall when he dropped his hand. "Marine?"
"Harm, I'm fine. Quit cross-examining me." Again, she crossed her arms. She scanned the floor hoping that her defensive and evasive maneuvers would make his interrogation stop. She may have actually slept since her dealings with McCool yesterday. Was maybe even contemplating her "four percent return" on certain proposed but unlikely T bills. But she was nowhere near Harm battle ready. Spotting a pile of bags, she tried to change the subject. "What's that?" He turned glancing in the direction she pointed and then walked over to the bags haphazardly discarded on the floor. Squatting, he inspected them.
"This bag," he picked it up, "is our dinner. Chinese. This bag," he reseated the lid on the cake, "contains the ice cream and cake I picked up for dessert. And this," he reached for the movie, "is the action movie you loathe the most." He turned toward her with an uneasy half smile and slowly stood. His explanation only served to confuse her more. She wrinkled her brow.
"So we're celebrating your birthday early? I always take you out to a nice restaurant and buy dinner. One where you have to," she waived her hand at his attire, "wear a suit. And generally that blue tie I got you years ago. Did you not want to go this year? You should have said something. Told me we needed to celebrate early. I just assumed that... Nevermind. Alicia - Significant others…" he tried to interject but she kept rambling over him hugging herself, "change things." She clasped her hands in front of herself. "We can change things. No problem. But I will reimburse you." He gave her an appraising look but remained otherwise silent. "I am, Harm. I want the receipt and," she reached for the bags, "let's get this into the kitchen and the poor melted ice cream in the freezer."
Mutely, he followed her back into the kitchen. After she'd stowed the ice cream in the freezer and had arranged the Chinese containers on the only clean portion of the counter, he reached around her and took her hand turning her to face him. His close proximity caught her off guard, "Harm – what's wrong?" His grimaced half smile and sigh were her only immediate responses before he reached out and took her other hand as well.
"Mac," he inhaled deeply taking in her confused expression. "You came by my apartment on Wednesday to talk. You took most of Thursday and all of today off. Today, is Friday, October 25th." She went to break away from him and speak but he slightly tightened his grip on her hands. "Talk to me, Mac. Tell me what's wrong."
"Harm, I just came by to… I mean…" She stopped and squinted, "Today's really your birthday? Damn, how did I lose a day?"
"Dunno. Thought your clock was indestructible." She sighed and let her forehead come to rest on his chest covering his shirt in stickiness.
"Generally, insomnia doesn't short it out. I guess four days of no sleep was too much for it." She looked down briefly only to meet his troubled gaze when she tilted her head and looked up. "I'm fine, honest." Her attempt at reassurance fell on deaf ears.
"No, you aren't." She sighed.
"Harm…I'm..." she blew out a breath, "Just contemplating returns on improbable T bills while leaving the lights on. Definite improvement on a few days ago." Confusion flooded his face and she sighed again. "Honestly, Harm – a little more sleep and I'll be fine." Still holding her in place, he shook his head. He refused to buy it.
"This is not you being fine, Mac," he gently said squeezing her hands. "Not even remotely fine. Rampant insomnia is not fine. Shutting me out is not fine. Not talking to me is not fine. Not eating is not fine. Disappearing on me is not…" She cut him off.
"I get the picture, Harm. But honestly what do you expect? Life hasn't been pleasant. I'm dealing the best…" It was his turn to cut her off.
"No, you aren't. You deal best by getting pissed and yelling at me. Then you calm down. We talk while I feed you. Then you generally take a nap while we watch a movie." Trying to tamp down her anger, she shook her head. His brow furrowed. "It's how things work. Even when we try to deal differently - ignore them, ignore each other - it blows up in our faces one way or another at some point and the routine starts again." She glared.
"I don't want to have this conversation."
"What conversation is that?" She gave him a pointed look.
"You know what conversation, Harm." He sighed.
"Well, not having this conversation isn't getting us anywhere, Mac."
"You said you'd give me time to think. To come to you when I was ready to talk."
"I did. And you did come to me because there's nothing else in my neighborhood that would have brought you by. You were ready to have this conversation. So what's changed, Mac?" He felt her tense.
"Everything."
"Mac -" she cut him off.
"No, Harm. No. I," she pulled her hands away and her finger hit him in the chest, "came to your door when I needed to talk. When I was ready to talk. At my wits end. I came when I needed you more than I needed air to breathe. Know what I found? Alicia. Was I," she glared at him, "supposed to talk to your new girlfriend about my inability to function in my life?"
"Mac-"
"No. Of course not. That might have spoiled your evening. Maybe the chat could have about MY INABILITY TO HAVE OUR CHILD!"