Disclaimer: Don't own'em
A/N: In my defence: three conversations, three corners to a triangle … Have fun with this part, okay?
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Three Conversations
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Two: Amends and Breaks
Mac's Apartment
Saturday
1653 Local
Mac stood in her kitchen, buttering a slice of bread and trying not to think too much, even though she knew that she'd have to start doing some serious thinking soon. Equally well, she knew that once she started doing just a little thinking, it would all come out and she had no idea if she'd be able to put a lid on it enough to get through the workday. If only hearts and minds followed schedules as strictly as the military. Life would be a lot easier to manage.
A knock sounded on Mac's door, causing her to frown. She wasn't expecting anyone.
She put down the butter knife and slice of bread, and made her way to her front door. The sight that welcomed her at the other end of the peephole made her jaw drop in surprise. Mac yanked her door open to confirm her sighting. She was half convinced she'd imagined seeing him—
"Mic! What on earth …" Nope. No imagining. Mic Brumby in the flesh. She had no idea how to react to seeing his familiar form. She grinned, then laughed her disbelief, then frowned, then shook her head. This was unbelievable.
"Hello, Sarah." He paused and let out a deep breath. "Blimey, it's good to see you."
She stared at him, too busy trying to pick her jaw off the floor and tame her facial expressions to formulate a response. What the hell was he doing here? She hadn't seen or heard from him in years, ever since the airport. Her surprise at seeing him was replaced by a lingering sadness as she remembered that night. The look on his face when he was leaving her … it was still etched into a corner of her heart.
"You look even more beautiful." His eyes were on hers, shining with a happiness that had often been there when he was around her. "I like the hair," He reached out and flicked some of the locks resting on her shoulder.
A blush rose to her cheeks and the room suddenly seemed too warm. What the hell? She cleared her throat, wishing she had some kind of armour against the strange feelings that seeing him again was provoking. It was an odd thought, and it caught her off guard.
"Um, come in." She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter, not knowing how else to shake the awkwardness. He didn't seem to notice, or maybe he chose not to – she couldn't tell.
"So, how've you been?" He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. It was an act he had performed countless times all those years ago. Seeing it again threw her for a loop.
"Okay. You?" She couldn't seem to find her mental footing. Well, at least she now knew from personal experience that meeting ex-lovers, almost-husbands after years of silence was more awkward than meeting former-lovers, still-husbands after years of absence.
"I'm doing a lot better now, luv." He gave her a sincerely happy grin.
"Mic," she warned, feeling too off-balance to field his strong personality. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you. I've missed you. I miss you." He sounded wistful; it put her on guard.
"Mic." She did not like where this conversation was going. He had left. He'd made up his mind. She'd learned to live with it. She was not opening up that musty old box.
He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not asking for anything here, Sarah. Just a chance to catch up with an old friend."
She eyed him warily. He'd used the same lines about no demands when they'd first met. And then he'd tried to cop a feel and kiss her on her couch.
"I didn't bring dinner this time, so you know I'm telling the truth." He grinned at her and she raised an eyebrow, amused. His uncomplicated good humour had been one of the qualities that had endeared him to her. And it had been years since they'd last met – she certainly didn't hold a grudge. Apparently, though, she still held a certain fondness. Natural, she supposed, given that they had almost married.
"C'mon, Sarah. Give a bloke a chance."
She shook her head at his persistence. Some things never changed.
"Alright. You're granted a furlough." She pointed her finger at him. "But that's it. Something to drink? Eat?" She headed towards the kitchen.
"You having anything?"
She stopped in her tracks and turned to study him, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"What's wrong?" He took two steps towards her, his arm reached out for her. Another action he'd performed often all those years ago. Except this time, to her relief, he didn't touch her.
"I, ah," she debated not telling him, but then changed her mind. "I was actually making fairy bread …"
He'd been the one to introduce her to the wonders of fairy bread. She loved the stuff, and whenever she used to ask him to make her some, he'd invariably grin like he'd figured out the meaning of life.
He burst into laughter. "You still eat that? You know, my nephew outgrew it just last year. You're something else, luv."
She laughed with him, relieved that he hadn't taken her love of fairy bread as a sign of his place in her life. Maybe he was just here to catch up.
"They're just about the greatest snack food on the face of the earth." She informed him. "Your nephew doesn't know what he's giving up on."
He was still laughing, but his eyes held an intent sadness she'd only ever seen at that airport, by the departures gate. "We rarely do, Sarah. We rarely do."
She turned away towards the kitchen, not ready to think about giving up on things, not when the mess with Clay and Harm and endometriosis was still a fresh wound.
"So, can I interest you in some fairy bread?" She asked. He'd followed her into the kitchen and was leaning against the counter, watching her. She waited for his answer, knife in hand.
"Just try and get me to refuse." He winked at her. His resilient good humour once again back in place. "I'll get the chocolate milk."
She spread the butter along the slice of white bread and tried to think of something to say. Was he back with the RAN? Was he still a civilian? Was he happy? Did he blame her? Had she ruined everything he had worked for?
She couldn't bring herself to ask. What if she couldn't live with the answers.
"So, you're still at JAG?" He was moving around her kitchen seamlessly. Apparently, he still remembered where she kept her glasses and spoons and the chocolate syrup. She wondered if she should re-organize her cupboards.
"Yeah. Still there." She recalled the easy air in the office that he probably remembered. Things had changed. She tried to shake her sudden sadness.
"Is it the same crew?" He asked, engrossed in his task of making chocolate milk.
"Chegwidden retired. We have a Marine CO. It's …different with him."
"What's AJ up to these days?"
She shrugged. "Last I heard he was spending time with his daughter. He hasn't kept in touch. His last year of command was hard – for everyone. I think he took it personally. He'll probably resurface at some point."
She wondered why she even offered so many details of the Admiral's – Chegwidden's – last year at JAG to Mic. Then she remembered how much they shared with each other. One of the perks of the initial long distance aspect of their relationship, she supposed, was that they really had perfected the art of talking. His openness with her had led her try and be open with him, too. She could admit she hadn't been too successful, not about the really important stuff, but she'd tried. Or so she told herself.
She wondered what things would have been like if they had married. Would she have gone to Paraguay? Harm's decision not to share his worries over Singer probably wouldn't have bothered her so much. Would she be a mother, by now? Would she still be at JAG? What if, what if, what if.
Her last couple of years would definitely not have been so harrowing. Of that, she was certain. Mic was so easygoing. She was a worrier, tended to blow things out of proportion, take things personally, but he'd had this incredible knack for saying just the right thing and smiling and suddenly her worries hadn't seemed so big or so worrying. Was that what happiness was? The thought was jarring.
"Everything okay?" His voice cut through her thoughts.
She realized that she was still buttering the same slice of bread.
"Yeah. Fine. Sorry, I drifted for a moment."
Mac picked up the jar of hundreds-and-thousands and sprinkled them onto the slices of buttered bread. She smiled triumphantly when none of the sprinkles spilled onto the plate.
"You must make a lot of this to have such precise aim." He commented as he stood beside her, stirring the chocolate syrup into the milk.
"It's all about practice, Mic." She grinned. "You bring the chocolate milk." She picked up the plate of fairy bread and headed to the couch.
"Mic." She set the plate down on the coffee table, unable to keep the questions to herself any longer.
He looked at her, glasses still in hand, and waited.
"What about you? Really."
"I reactivated my commission." He began slowly. "I'm with the RAN."
She let out a sigh of relief. "And … you're happy? You're okay?"
He put down the glasses of milk and stepped towards her. Tentatively, he took her hands in his. The familiarity of the long-faded gesture comforted her. The fact that she felt comforted unsettled her.
"Sarah-"
A knock sounded at her door.
They both glanced towards origin of the sound.
"I should get that. I'll just be a sec." She gave him an apologetic look and pulled her hands away from him. Gratitude wrestled with annoyance towards whoever was knocking: on the one hand, she wasn't sure she was ready to hear what Mic had to say; on the other, she was curious about what Mic had to say.
She opened the door just a little and stuck her head out.
"Harm!" Aw, shit, she thought, dismayed. Talk about bad timing. This just took the cake.
"Hey, Mac." He looked exhilarated and focussed. She frowned: was it already time for his quals?
"Umm. Am I interrupting?" He mirrored her frown, and she realized that she was still holding the door half open, with just her head sticking out.
"Ah, no. Well, actually, I don't know …" Argh. She turned back to the couch and saw Mic pick up a piece of fairy bread. She should just tell Harm. Hell, she needed to tell someone. It was surreal that Mic, of all people, was sitting on her couch eating fairy bread. How exactly would Harm react to Mic's presence? She couldn't decide. But she did know that just swinging the door open with a 'Tah-dah!' wouldn't be appropriate.
"Just one sec, Harm. One sec." She closed the door and took a few steps towards the couch.
"Mic? I need to just … take care of this." She waved her hand in the direction of the door. "Can you excuse me for a minute? Sorry about the interruption."
"No worries, luv. But I won't promise there'll be any fairy bread left when you come back." He grinned.
"Thanks. I won't be long." Knowing that he was back with the RAN made some of the residual years-long guilt fade. Now, she just needed to hear that he was happy.
But first: Harm.
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Harm watched in surprise as Mac shut the door on his face. What the hell? What was she doing in there? She rarely shut doors to his face, even when she was angry.
The door opened again and Mac stepped out into the hallway. He tried to get a glimpse inside her apartment, but she shut the door behind her before he could make out much of anything.
He looked at her, waiting for an explanation.
"That was …" she trailed off and stared towards the elevator. "It's surreal."
"What? Is everything okay?" He was alarmed by the odd expression on her face. It was as though she couldn't decide what she was feeling.
She shook her head slowly and then looked at him. She glanced at her shut door and shook her head again.
"Harm." She was whispering like she had a secret she wasn't sure anyone would believe if she shared.
"What, Mac?" he was whispering, too. Although he wasn't sure why.
"Mic's in there." She continued with hushed disbelief
WHAT? Harm's eyes widened, his jaw fell open. That son of bitch.
"I can't believe it." She was once again staring at her door, wide-eyed, so she missed his reaction. "Can you believe it? He just stopped by to say hi."
Like hell he did. Harm struggled to find his voice. That bastard.
"He's back with the RAN." Mac continued. "Re-activated his commission. I'm so relieved."
Asshole. Harm's anger was overshadowed by the realization that Mac actually looked pleased. No. No. He tried to quell the sudden panic that squeezed his heart and punched his gut. This could not … She couldn't do this to him. Not again.
He took a step back, ready to leave her hallway, her building, her. He tried to come up with an excuse for leaving, but just as quickly changed his mind. Wait. Why the hell should he be the one to leave? He took a step towards her front door. Why the hell should he leave. And Brumby. Asshole. After last night's conversation … Harm turned to stare at Mac. And Christ, what about her? How could she be pleased to see Brumby? They were supposed to be making progress. Harm decided he'd reached his limit on the 'giving space' and 'being understanding' bullshit. Enough. No more. Last straw.
He grabbed Mac by the shoulders and none-too-gently moved her aside. Then he swung her front door open and marched into her apartment.
"Asshole." He pointed a finger at Brumby, his anger making it hard for him to think straight. Hidden somewhere under his fury, he could hear his more rational side wonder at what the hell he was doing. Mac was going to kill him.
Brumby stood up, confused. "What the—"
"Get. Out." Harm pointed his finger to the front door.
Brumby was just watching him, wide-eyed and unmoving.
"You have nerve, buddy." Harm ground out between clenched teeth.
"Harm? What are you doing?" Distantly, he heard Mac's voice, full of shock and confusion and astonishment. It was enough, though, to draw his attention.
He whipped around to face her, crossing his arms over his chest confrontationally.
"And you," he sneered in accusation.
Her jaw dropped, eyes widened in surprise.
"You," He repeated. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't decide what word to start with. He shut his mouth firmly, then tried again. Nothing came out. He had no idea how to go about expressing just how angry and hurt and disappointed and furious and incensed and livid and enraged and goddamn pissed he was right now. His inability to say anything just served to infuriate him further.
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Mac stared at Harm, thinking that no word existed in English, Farsi, Russian or Japanese to convey just how shocked she was by his behaviour. What the hell was this? Where did this come from?
She counted 53 seconds of silent staring, with Harm's mouth occasionally opening and then closing, before Brumby – bless him for trying to walk right into the line of fire – tried to step in.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding, mate."
Mac's shock only deepened when Harm shot Mic that could've melted glass. "Stay out of this, Brumby. Right where you belong."
Mac was pretty sure that if Harm hadn't been raised with such a strong code of honour, he would have spit at Mic at that moment. She couldn't begin to compute what was happening in front of her.
"And to think, Mic," Harm continued, his words clipped by fury and derision, "That I thought you were a decent guy." Harm turned again to look at Mac. She could feel his anger, but there was something else in his eyes…
"Harm," she ventured, trying to diffuse the situation. She didn't think Mic would be able to control his temper for much longer, and with Harm already too far gone, she didn't want them coming to blows over her coffee table.
"You." Harm repeated, cutting her off, his tone all vitriol.
Mac decided she'd had enough of his inexplicable behaviour. And if he didn't want to listen, she'd just have to talk without letting him interrupt.
"Me what, Harm?" She tried to adopt a reasonable tone. "What about you? What the hell are you doing? He just stopped by to say hi." What was wrong with him … It suddenly occurred to her that he might once again be pulling out his stupid, jealousy-induced 'I'm-interested-in-you' act because he thought she was going to throw herself at Mic. The thought infuriated her. That was what had him breaking out the me-Tarzan, you-Jane act? That? Of all the … Did he think so little of her?
"I can't believe you!" She exploded, before quickly reining it in. She definitely didn't want to give Mic a floor show more than she wanted shred Harm to pieces. "If you want to stay and catch up with Mic," she continued in a more level tone, costing her every ounce of self-control, "You're more than welcome. If you want to badger me or him, you can leave." She crossed her arms and waited for his answer.
Harm's eyes darkened, she watched as he ground his jaw.
"I don't know why I bother." He finally responded. Each word was calm and measured - one part blazing anger, two parts cold fury. "Do whatever the hell you want. It's your life." With that, he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.
Mac stared at the closed door, hands clenched by her side, and tried to keep herself from hunting him down and ripping into him. Insufferable jerk. She needed to hit something, and hard. She should've installed a punching bag in her apartment right after her first case with Rabb. Jerk.
Mac took six, deep, not-so-calming, not-so-cleansing breaths. Jerk. He was damn infuriating. Jumping to conclusions. Assuming the worst of her. Thinking less of her regard for him than either of them deserved. Jerk.
She walked over to her couch and threw herself down, arms crossed, scowling. Irrational, mean idiot of a jerk. He never thought before he spoke. Jerk. Just said whatever the hell came to mind, consequences be damned. Jerk.
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Harm sat in his car, slamming the door behind him. Ass. Brumby was an ass. And Mac. To hell with it.
He angrily turned his key in the ignition. She could have him. She could do whatever she wanted, hell if he cared. He couldn't believe what she doing. Just standing there with Mic in her apartment looking all … he frowned. What had she looked like? Outside her apartment, she'd looked overwhelmed. And relieved. Inside her apartment, she'd looked shocked at his outburst. Then angry at his outburst.
"Hell with it." He muttered to himself. He looked up at her apartment building through his windshield one last time before gunning it right out of Georgetown.
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"Are you okay?" She heard Mic's voice, soft and gentle. She'd forgotten he was here.
"Jerk." She muttered, arms still crossed. Her scowl deepened.
Mic pulled back, surprised. "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't think…" he trailed off.
Mac suddenly realized Mic was talking to her. "What? No. Him." She jerked her head towards the door. "Jerk." She repeated for good measure.
"He means well." Mic stared at the closed door for a moment before adding, "I think."
She looked at him askance. Was he trying to comfort her? She decided this was the most bizarre situation she'd ever found herself in. She turned her stare back on the unsuspecting coffee table. Jerk.
--
Harm sat in his car, parked right outside Mac's building and with a clear view of the entrance. He'd made it the end of her street before realizing that he'd overreacted just a tad. After everything Mac had been through – with Brumby, specifically, but even since then – did he really think she'd give the man another chance? Hardly, Harm scoffed. Hell, she was barely giving him a chance and he hadn't just upped and left her without a word … Okay, maybe he was a pot. Damn kettle. Well, whatever: It wasn't as bad as what Brumby had done to her. Ass. At least he hadn't promised to spend a life with her and then upped and left her.
The thought gave him pause. He dropped his head onto the steering wheel, and wished he had something heavier – say a mallet – to hit himself upside the head with. If either of them were just able to see beyond their own damned noses, then he would have promised her just that in Paraguay and she would have promised him just that on the stupid beach outside stupid Webb's stupid house in stupid Manderley.
Harm straightened in his seat with renewed resolve. He was a man of action. So he was going to act. He was going to give Mic 25 minutes – he set the alarm on his watch – to get the hell out of that building before he went in there himself to haul Mic the hell out and tell Sarah MacKenzie—
His thoughts screeched to a halt. What the hell was he going to tell her? Well, he had – he glanced at his watch – 24 minutes and 15 seconds to figure that out and rehearse his delivery. Piece of cake.
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Mac simmered in her anger and exasperation for a little while longer, and was ready to do it for a whole lot of while longer, when she suddenly felt Mic pry her hands from where she had them tightly crossed over her arms. He held her hands in his, before resting them on his knee.
"Mic," She warned, unsure of where he was going with this.
"Sarah," He began. "When I left—"
"Mic." She warned again, pretty certain she was not ready to hear this. She tried to pull her hands away, but he held them firmly.
"I need to say this, Sarah, please. And you need to hear it. I don't want you putting me in the same thoughts your mother's in. And after … what just happened. You need to hear this."
She nodded silently, and looked down at her lap while she blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes. She thought she was all done with being all teary over people leaving. She was done getting all teary-eyed over people leaving, she told herself. She was convinced she was done crying over him leaving. And the reasons behind his leaving… She tried not to look at the door through which Harm had just stormed out.
"When I left, I was hurting. I didn't handle it the best way, and I'm sorry for that, Mac." He paused to collect himself, it was another gesture she recognized. "But at the time, everything I'd let myself believe just fell apart. You know, early on, as we got to know each other better, I thought that you were so reserved, holding back, reluctant because of all you'd been through when you were young. I thought you were trying to protect yourself, even though I'd as soon cut off my arm than do anything I thought wasn't good for you. And I thought that when you came to trust me, you'd let me in."
It was the second time in such a short span of time that a man was saying those words to her. She tried not to think of Harm and how it'd felt when it was his hands holding hers.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," Mic continued. "I always thought that if I'd met you before Rabb, and if I'd convinced you to wear my ring, he wouldn't have stood a chance."
"Mic…" She struggled to find some kind of solid ground in his confession.
"Thing is, I came into the game late, even if I refused to admit it at the time." He didn't acknowledge her interruption, instead continuing in earnest. "You'd already been through so much with him. He helped you through some important times in your life, and that tied you to him, whether he'd ever admit it or not. It made you care for him in ways you weren't able to care for me, and love him in ways you can't love anyone else."
He paused again and waited until she looked at him. He searched her eyes, her heart. "You're still waiting for him, aren't you?" He asked gently, ruefully.
"What? No." She replied startled. Her response was just this side of too forceful. "No. That ship has sailed, Mic."
"It's permanently docked, luv." He grinned at her, but sobered with his next sentence. "You remember, that night, you went to Rabb first … You've both seen each other through a lot; don't ignore that. Whatever it is that has him thinking you're not interested in him, you have to let that go and let him in."
The third time, now, that she was hearing those words.
"Mic, why are you doing this?" She'd always thought Mic wasn't that complicated a person. Pretty easy to read. But this here completely blew her away. It seemed unlike him, and yet not.
"Years bring wisdom, luv." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Besides, I want to see you happy."
"Mic." She didn't know what to say. She also suspected he wasn't revealing the whole truth.
"And I ran into Rabb yesterday." He added reluctantly. He looked more than mildly concerned about her reaction to the revelation.
"What?!" She exclaimed startled, pulling her hands from his. She stared at Mic before looking at the front door. Harm's behaviour suddenly seemed a lot clearer. "That explains ... that." She indicated the door with a wave of her hand. She sighed and drew her feet onto the couch, hugging her knees.
"It probably does." He confirmed.
The gloating note in his voice earned him a reproachful look from Mac.
"Mic!" She berated, although she would admit that she would have been just a little amused at how irrationally Harm had reacted, if not for the fact that he was genuinely angry with her. God alone knew how much work it would take to placate him. The last time Harm had been that angry had been when he'd revealed Mattie – he'd called her a screw-up. The time before that had been a taxi stand – he'd ignored her for five months. She dropped her head heavily onto her knees, and closed her eyes as a bone-wearying exhaustion claimed her. She couldn't deal with this anymore. The emotional rollercoaster that typified her relationship with Harm. But she knew she wouldn't be able to rest easy until they put this argument to bed. Or shoved it under the bed and out of sight. Either way.
"Sorry, Mac." Mic sounded genuinely repentant. But she knew him better than that.
She sighed again, and her amusement at the absurdity of this situation shone through despite herself. "No you're not." She cracked open one eye to look at him as he sat next to her.
"No, I'm not." He grinned then, his signature Mic smile – self-assured and happy and sincere – the one that made things seem so simple and surmountable. She decided to believe that things could be as they seemed. The alternative was way too unpleasant.
"Rabb and I bumped into each other last night, had a few drinks." He volunteered. "The bloke's all broken up over you."
Mac lifted her head in alarm. She ran her hands through her hair, and then hugged her knees even closer.
"I … I didn't … what?" She couldn't look at Mic.
"No worries, luv." He tried to reassure her. "10 to 1 he'll be back before the weekend's out."
"I wish I could share in your optimism." She again glanced at the door.
Mic laughed at her, and she shook her head in wonder at his reaction. Mr Resilient. It was good to see him, she decided. Although he'd probably just added another truckload to the mountainous pile of things she had to think about. She and Mic, Mac decided, definitely made better friends than almost-spouses. She realized that in all the hullabaloo, she hadn't gotten an answer to her original question.
"Mic. Are you happy?" She turned to face him, watching him carefully, sure that she could still tell when he was being less than completely honest.
He covered her hands with his and let his eyes roam her face. Mac froze as he leaned in towards her, lightly rubbed his nose against hers, and then kissed the corner of her mouth. Another familiar gesture: it was how he used to kiss her goodbye in the mornings.
"I am now." He whispered as he pulled away. He broke out into a wide smile that reached deep into his eyes.
"Goodbye, Beautiful." He winked.
"Goodbye, Mic." She grinned.