Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Thanks to doc and JAGJunkie for spotting the typo in this part.
--
Squatter - Part 3
Gold
Mac's Apartment
Saturday
0730 Local
Mac stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around her. There was nothing quite like a hot shower after a long jog on a cold morning. She stared at her reflection in the slightly steamed mirror. The dark circles under her eyes gave her a hollowed look. Her cheekbones were more prominent, or rather her cheeks had sunk in, since she hadn't been eating much, or regularly, of late. At least her complexion wasn't suffering. The extra morning runs had her sporting a light tan on her face. Mac studiously avoided looking at her eyes. She knew what she'd find there: nothing. They'd be empty and sad, and she couldn't bear to see that. She turned away.
Mac walked into her bedroom and removed her towel. She dug around her drawers for underwear and a t-shirt, which she then slipped into. She threw a pair of jeans and a sweater onto her bed. She needed to do her laundry. And clean her apartment. At least the grocery shopping was mostly done. Had she thanked Harm? She couldn't remember. She'd thank him once she was done getting ready.
Mac sat on the edge of her bed, and squeezed some moisturizer on her hands. She looked at her room with an appraising eye as she massaged the lotion onto her legs. Today was as good a day as any to redecorate her room. It would also be a good way to channel her restlessness. It was something to do on a Saturday, something that'd most likely have her exhausted enough by the end of the day to sleep a couple of hours uninterrupted. Maybe even more if redecorating would dispel the disquiet that Sadiq had left in his wake.
Today, she would redecorate. What colour scheme should she go with? Something lighter. Although, she did have to admit that she quite liked the current look of her room, it was a nice colour scheme. Damn Sadiq. Maybe something dramatic. Burgundy. No, too dark. Orange? Maybe gold and orange. Bronze. Copper. Some kind of brown. That could give a nice, cozy feel to the room. Hell, she might be better off waiting until she got to the paint store. Or maybe she should go to the bookstore and browse through those home decoration magazines. She was so much better at stripping guns than stripping paint –
The click of her doorknob turning pulled Mac from her thoughts. She looked up to see Harm standing in her doorway, frozen in place, and staring at her.
There was something in his eyes. It was a look she had never quite seen him direct at her – dark and intense, heavy with – oh god. She tried to ignore the dull tug low in her belly. Why was he looking at her like that. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she struggled to find a breath.
He wasn't looking at her face, but at her clothes. Mac followed his gaze and stopped short. She'd forgotten that she was only wearing a t-shirt and her underwear. She had one foot drawn up on the bed, the other rested on the floor while she moisturized her thigh, giving him a pretty decent – or rather indecent – view. She looked at her state of undress and remembered the look in his eyes. She felt the heat rise to her face.
Mac hastily planted both feet on the floor and reached for her jeans, which were lying beside her. She was unsettled by the part of her that wanted to continue slowly massaging the lotion onto her thigh so that she could keep seeing that look in his eyes. What threw her off the most, though, was the part of her that wanted to feel his hands on her leg.
"I thought you were still out on your run." His voice was low and deep. It sounded how she thought his hands might feel trailing up her thigh. She shook her head briskly to chase away that image. Dammit, now she was imagining things.
"It's okay," she pulled her jeans on with more force than was necessary. Stupid libido. That was all it was. That was it. Her hands were shaking. She struggled to button her jeans – stupid button flies, what had she been thinking buying button fly jeans. She could feel his eyes on her fingers as she fumbled for some decorum. Mac gave up. "You've seen me in less."
She grabbed her sweater, figuring that haste trumped propriety in this situation. Besides, he'd already seen her underwear. She'd have to remember to lock her door in future. Mac slipped by Harm, making sure not to touch him. He moved aside as he watched her pass.
"The bathroom's all yours." She pulled the door shut behind her, but not before catching sight of his face and of his eyes as they darted to the undone fly of her jeans, then quickly away. Once the door was shut, Mac leaned back heavily against it and shut her eyes. She took deep, steadying breaths to quell the sudden desire that bubbled deep in her belly and spurted through her veins, leaving her shaken.
What the hell.
--
Mac's Apartment
Saturday
0802 Local
Mac sat on the couch, using her laptop to scour the internet for decorating tips. She was fully clothed, and all her buttons were done up. She was sure because she'd checked. Three times. She'd also felt silly each time she re-checked, but what had happened in the bedroom had thrown her for a loop. That fleeting look she'd seen in his eyes off and on since his return to JAG had been directed fully at her (and her underwear), at 100 times the usual intensity.
She didn't know what to do. She wished he wouldn't look at her like that. It multiplied her guilt a hundred-fold. And it aroused her. She didn't know what to do about it.
It was tempting, though, to give in. Tempting and incredibly unfair to him. And to her. Unfair to them both. There'd always been a physical attraction between them. She couldn't deny that. Hell, they'd been good – she'd even say that he'd been phenomenal – at fighting it all these years. It was the rest, the deeper stuff that happiness was made of that eluded her. He seemed to have a better idea these days as to what that deeper stuff was, and she knew she'd fall short.
But enough of that. She was redecorating.
"Hey, Mac." Harm exited the bedroom and offered her a casual greeting. She waited for awkward moment #587 to morph into a giant beast of awkwardness and lay siege on the entire weekend.
"What're your plans for the day?" He sat down beside her, looked right at her, and grinned effortlessly. His easy attitude was a pleasant surprise. She smiled back. Impressive, she thought: he'd slain the beast.
"Redecorating."
"Really? What? The kitchen? You should probably upgrade your appliances. Especially if you keep on cooking the way you do. And those cabinet doors need to go. Some new tiles couldn't hurt either. Have you ever grouted?" He was rambling and she realized he was still nervous. So maybe he'd just rendered the beast unconscious. Still impressive, she decided, given their usual tendency to invite the beast for afternoon tea.
"My bedroom, actually." She grinned as she noted his embarrassment at her reply. "But after that kind of praise, I may have to add the kitchen to the list."
They shared a laugh; the beast was slain.
"So, the bedroom. What'd you have in mind?" He studied the picture on the website she was browsing.
"I thought I'd paint the walls. Get a new bedspread. Accessories – or accents, I haven't figured out what the difference is yet – seem like a good idea."
"Sounds like a plan. Hey, click on that link right there, it looks like it could work in your room." He pointed to an image on her screen.
"That one?" She placed the curser over the image.
"Yeah. You know, if you wanted to put up shelves like that, I could easily do it. I have the tools and," he wiggled his fingers in front of her, "The touch." He turned his attention back to the screen. "You might like cubbies, you could put in candles or some knick knacks. And I know of this great store for beddings. Mom went on and on about it on her last visit..."
He looked at her with an expression of worry, once he realized that she was staring at him. "What?"
She didn't know where to start. Was he assuming she'd ask for his help? At first, she was offended that he would just assume it. She hadn't planned on asking him for anything.
"Mac, I have the tools and the experience," he pointed out patiently.
That was true, she conceded. And he would be a huge help, since she had done very little of this, and none since her last revamp of her apartment. That time, she'd gotten a great deal because she'd served in Bosnia with her contractor's brother.
"Seriously? You seriously want to spend your Saturday picking out bedspreads and paint colours with me, and then painting my bedroom?"
"Sure. Why not? I did it all the time when I was fixing up my place. Remember?"
She nodded, but she wasn't convinced.
"Don't put your plans aside for this," she warned.
"I'm not. I hadn't made any plans for the weekend. Besides, I'll be an asset. I can help you pick the best paint brand. I'm a vault of knowledge, you know." His tone was all self-righteous arrogance. She couldn't help but laugh.
"Paint brands? Well," she batted her eyelashes and twirled the ends of her hair, "Golly gee. I was just going to pick the prettiest colour."
"That'd be your first mistake." His tone was mockingly patronizing.
She rolled her eyes, inwardly surprised at how effortlessly he'd managed to put her at ease. Avoiding him around the office suddenly seemed silly. She was reading too much into everything.
"Come on then, Bob Vila. Let's go." She pushed herself off the couch and went to her room to grab her wallet and keys.
"Great." He jumped off the couch and headed to the front door. "There's a hardware store about 20 minutes from here that has a great selection on paints. Top of the line stuff. Great pricing. We'll take my SUV. I don't think your corvette has enough trunk space." He chattered away as he slipped on his coat, oblivious to her amusement. She knew he'd had a great time of working on his place, but she had no idea how deeply he enjoyed this renovating stuff.
"Hey," he continued, ushering her out her front door. "What colour were you thinking of going with? You have this tan-taupe thing going now. I was thinking something a bit more yellow. Yellow is a good colour for you."
She glanced at him over her shoulder as she locked her door, surprised by his comment. He was buttoning his coat so she couldn't see his face.
"How do you figure?"
He looked up at her, a crease in his brow indicating that he was confused by her question.
"You look yellow to me." He shrugged, as though that were the obvious answer.
"I look yellow?" She raised her eyebrow in scepticism. She looked yellow?
"Well," he cocked his head to the side and studied her for a moment. "More like gold. You should go for a shade of gold." He grinned and pulled her towards the elevator. She hadn't realized that she'd just been standing by her door, staring at him.
"Gold?" She repeated, too intrigued by this conversation to protest at his dragging her along the hallway.
"Is there an echo in here?" He gave her a teasing glance and pressed the button to call the elevator.
"Cut it out." She didn't want to be distracted from her line of inquiry. "What do you mean I look gold?"
"I don't know how to explain it." He shrugged again. "I look at you and I think gold."
"Okaaay." She mulled it over.
They waited in silence for the elevator. After a moment, Harm continued.
"Hey, Mac." He was looking at her from the corner of his eye.
"Yeah?" She turned to face him.
The elevator arrived and they both entered.
"What colour do I look like to you?"
She pretended to study him for a long moment. Finally, she pressed the button for the lobby and answered. "Salmon pink. A definite salmon pink."
"Thanks." He rolled his eyes and grinned.
She studied him again, seriously this time.
"Blue." She didn't realize she'd said it out loud until he turned to look at her.
"Like navy?" He asked. She could see the disappointment in his eyes.
"No, no. Not navy. More like ... that light blue, the kind that's almost more white than blue. Ice blue, I guess."
"Really? Ice blue, huh?" He brightened at her answer, although she couldn't fathom why. This whole conversation felt silly. She felt silly even having it.
"Why?" He asked, looking at her. He was frowning slightly as he did when he was trying to piece together some puzzle.
"I don't know," she said, feeling self-conscious. "You asked me. You just ... do."
He seemed satisfied with the answer, much to her relief.
"You know why I think of gold when I see you, Sarah?"
She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer, not when his tone was so affectionate. So she opted to make a joke, lighten the moment.
"I'm malleable and my price depends on market value."
He laughed outright at that. She grinned; he really did look good when he laughed. She loved seeing laugh lines crinkle the corner of his eyes and his smile brighten the room. Or, in this case, the elevator.
"Hell no." The laugh lines disappeared too quickly for her liking. He was gunning for a meaningful conversation. She did not want a meaningful conversation. Suddenly, she was angry. Why the hell did he get to choose when they had a serious conversation.
"My existence depends on the exploitation of cheap labour and slavery, destroying countless lives." She'd meant it as a joke, but the resentment underscoring her words ruined the intended effect.
"No." his tone was sober now and she cursed herself. So much for lightening the moment. She knew she should stop, now was the time to shut up, but for some inexplicable reason she just couldn't.
"I get looted and plundered and sold to the highest bidder." She heard her voice, but the bitterness in her tone was foreign to her ears. Where the hell was this coming from? Why now? She didn't look at him: as it was, she could picture his look of disapproval.
"No." he responded quietly.
Mac's hands were shaking with suppressed fury. She clenched her jaw and scowled. What was she doing? Her mouth was getting away from her. She fixed her stare on the closed doors. Would they ever reach the lobby. She could not control the anger that was frothing and foaming through her, overpowering her judgment. She needed to get out of this elevator. She focused on her breathing, and ground her teeth. Where. The. Hell. Was. This. Coming. From.
The elevator dinged to announce their arrival, and the doors opened. She needed to get out. She hurried out of the too-stuffy elevator. She needed room to breathe. She needed to stop talking. She needed to stop talking because every time she opened her mouth, she said stupid things. She would not speak. As soon as she made the resolution, it was broken by her irrational, uncontrollable, consuming anger.
"My appeal has led people to leave all they love behind to go on a fool's quest to own me, with no guarantees of success." She spat out the words, but as soon as they fell on her ears, full of bile and vitriol, her anger deflated. Shock was the only thing keeping her standing. Did she actually say that? To him? Did she really believe that. Had she really said that out loud? What was wrong with her, that her tongue was suddenly running amuck. And the things she was saying ... saying when he was standing right next to her...
She realized Harm hadn't exited the elevator. She stopped and turned around, not completely convinced she even wanted to see what he was thinking. He was looking at her, his gaze steady and sharp. She knew this look, too. It was his game face, the one he wore when he had an accused on the witness stand, dead to rights. She was overrun by the urge to crawl back into her bed and stare at her ceiling. Their gazes locked and she crossed her arms in front of her, waiting for whatever was coming.
"Is that what you think, Sarah?"
She had no answer to that question. She did not know what she thought. Where had that come from, that uncontrollable fury that was gone as soon as it came. It was the damn lack of sleep. It had to be. That, and she really didn't want to know why he thought gold when he saw her. She didn't want to know that he even thought of gold when he saw her.
"Is that what you think?" It almost sounded like a challenge to her.
"I don't know, Harm." She smothered her impatience. She needed to get out of this hallway. "I don't know anymore." She headed for the exit. "I'll be in the car. If you still want to come." She felt for the keys to her corvette in her coat pocket, in case he decided that spending the day with her was about as appealing as a lobotomy.
Mac strode out of the building and welcomed the cold air that slammed into her. She headed for his SUV and waited. Five minutes. She'd wait five minutes. Then she'd leave. No. Then she'd apologize. She couldn't just say things like that to him and leave it at that, for god's sake. As long as he was angry with her, he had a hold over her. He was not allowed to have a hold over her, so she would apologize. To hell with seeming weak. Maybe it was just what she was. She couldn't even control herself, after all.
She was surprised to hear his car doors unlock by remote, and looked over to see him approaching his SUV in long, impatient strides. She turned around and opened the car door to enter, unsure what to make of his presence, and too upset to give it proper thought.
They climbed into the car and she waited for him to start the engine. His movements were brisk and jerky. He roughly steered out of his parking space and accelerated down the street. She could feel the tension pulse through the confined car interior.
They drove in silence. She didn't dare turn on the radio.
Dammit. She'd decided on Friday that they'd never make it through the weekend if she kept saying stupid things to him and he kept giving her the cold treatment. It was Saturday, and she was back to saying stupid things. It had to stop. She had to get a better reign on herself. She would only talk to him about innocent things, like the weather. As a fleeting thought, she wondered why the hell he'd bothered sticking around this time. Last time, he'd taken one word spoken in anger and run away with it. Why the hell was he still here this time.
"Harm." She turned to look at him.
He remained stony-faced, and stared at the road. It weakened her resolve to apologize. She definitely couldn't do it while looking at him, not while he was wearing that expression. She turned away and stared out the window.
"I shouldn't have said ... what I said back there." It was a dismal apology and she knew he'd call her on it.
"Because you don't believe it or because you don't think I should have heard it?" His voice was cutting, his question even more so.
She watched the sidewalk blur as they sped along. "Because it hurt you." I hurt you.
"I'm a big boy," was his terse reply.
She waited, but he didn't venture any more. She didn't know what else to say, so she said nothing, hoping some words would find their own way.
They arrived at the bedding store after 23 minutes of silence. This would not do, she thought. This would not do.
"Harm." She began in a conciliatory tone. She turned to face him. "I understand if you don't want to do this. I can take a cab home."
The glare he directed at her surprised her.
"We are buying you bedding." He said slowly. His glare softened slightly into a stern warning. "Then we are buying you paint. Then we are going to your apartment and we are going to paint your bedroom." She'd only ever heard him speak like that to obstinate witnesses.
His tone affronted her, but she swallowed her ire. She couldn't understand why he was so intent on doing this with her, but if he wanted to, fine. Whatever. It wasn't like she could stop him when he was set on something, and she was not in the mood to bang her head against a wall.
"Fine," she huffed as she unlocked the door. "Are you still set on gold?" She couldn't help herself; he really infuriated her sometimes. At least the comment didn't come out sounding too snide.
"More than ever, Marine," he replied. Then he surprised the hell out of her by breaking out into his full-wattage, no holds barred grin.
What was that about? She stared at him for a full five second before she remembered herself and exited the car. What was he up to. Did she even want to know.
--
Byzantine Bedding
Saturday
0953 Local
"Hey, Mac." Harm waved at Mac from down the aisle. "This is an even better shade for that set you have your eye on. Take a look."
Mac bit back a sigh. This had to be the oddest situation she'd ever found herself in. Following his sudden change of mood in the car, he'd been ridiculously helpful and patient. In fact, he seemed to be in his element. She, on the other hand, was ready to pull her hair out.
She walked over to Harm, who was staring at the racks of sheets in front of him.
"I think you should go with this one, Mac. It fits your colour pattern. The sheets are 100 combed cotton. Long staple, too. You know," he gave her a knowing glance, "You shouldn't let high thread counts fool you. This here is a single-ply with a high count, so you know you're getting the good stuff. Did I mention that the sheets will last longer if you rotate them regularly? I rotate mine with every wash. It's a good system." He was holding two sets of sheets to the lights, studiously comparing ... something. She had no clue what he was looking for.
She wondered how the hell he knew so much about sheets. She'd seen a really great bedding set when they'd first walked in. But then Sheet Guru Rabb had balked at the thread count. Or weave. Or something. She couldn't remember. So, 40 minutes later, here she stood listening to Harm go on about thread counts. Boredom had fizzled out her anger. Her only entertainment was watching the Guru question the salespeople about import duties and tariffs on cotton.
"Feel this, Mac. What do you think?" He held out the corner of a cream sheet. She obediently put out a hand and rubbed the sheet between her fingers.
"Nice."
He raised an eyebrow. "Just nice?"
"Soft?" She offered, hoping to have landed on the right adjective. She'd learned with that first bedding set she'd liked that 'functional' was not a proper descriptor for bed sheets. That'd been what had launched the Guru into his sermon on weaves and thread counts and stapled cotton and so on and so forth, etc., etc.
"Hmm." He frowned, deep in thought. "Well, how does it feel compared to the yellow-cream one? The one I showed you about two sheets ago."
"Softer. I prefer this one." She couldn't remember which 'yellow-cream' sheet he was talking about.
He nodded thoughtfully. "I agree. What about this one? It's more of a peach-cream, but I think it could still work with the comforter. What do you think?"
"Peach may be pushing it a bit." She couldn't see any kind of difference between the two sheets. What the hell was 'peach-cream' anyways?
"I think you're right. Let's go with this. We can use the colour scheme from your bedding to select paint."
"Sounds great." Thank god. She couldn't wait to leave this store. She'd never spent this much time making any kind of purchase before.
"Do you want to go with an analogous colour scheme or a complimentary one?" He picked up two sets of sheets, pillow cases, and fitted sheets.
"Umm, what?" She had no clue what he was going on about.
"I think analogous would look good. We'll do one wall in a darker shade..." he must've noticed her blank expression, because he trailed off and grinned. "I'll show you what I mean at the paint store," he supplied. There was a twinkle in his eye, which she realized she found very appealing. In fact, his behaviour since they entered the store was overwhelmingly endearing. She watched him as he handed the sheets and bedding set to the cashier. He turned and caught her staring. Something in his eyes changed when they locked with hers. She looked away before she could decipher what that change was.
"Okay." She pulled out her credit card and watched the cashier ring in her purchases. This was shaping up to be a costly weekend.
"Then we can grab lunch. On me." It was a casual offer. She turned to him again, smiling for the first time since they left her apartment. Now he was talking her language.
"I'll buy lunch, Harm. Consider it your commission for helping me out." She dared him to contradict her.
He put up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll bring the car around so we can load this up."
She nodded and he headed out the store.
Mac handed the cashier her credit card once her charges were tallied.
"He's a good-looking guy," the cashier said conversationally.
She looked at the cashier, surprised.
"What?"
"I've never seen a guy so eager to pick out bed sheets." The cashier was busy packing up Mac's purchases.
Mac glanced out the store window, and caught sight of Harm climbing into his SUV. She sighed. "Me neither."
"So when's the big day?" The cashier continued, not looking up from packing.
"What big day?" Mac asked absently, too busy trying to break down the total cost in her head to give the cashier her full attention. How much were those sheets going for?
"The day you two move in together..."
Her head whipped up to the cashier, the mental math forgotten. "WHAT?!"
The cashier, taken aback by Mac's outburst, tried to placate. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I didn't notice any rings ... I do apologize for presuming. Here's your receipt, Ma'am."
Mac kept staring at the cashier as she took the receipt. For some incomprehensible reason, she felt the need to clarify her relationship with Harm to this stranger.
"Look," she started. "Him and I, we—"
"You ready, Mac?"
She turned around to see Harm enter the store.
"Uh, yeah. Let's, ah, go pick out paint." She studiously avoided looking at the cashier as they left the store, bags in hand.
--
Mac's Apartment
Saturday
1708 Local
"How's this?" Mac cocked her head to the side and studied the wall in front of her, paint roller in hand. She looked down at Harm. He was sitting in the middle of the now-empty bedroom, assembling her new light fixture. They'd found a furniture accessories store right near the paint store and she – with a lot of help from Harm – had gone slightly overboard in her purchases. She was now the proud owner of a new light fixture, a new bed frame, new curtains, one bedside lamp and one floor lamp, a full length mirror, enough decorative throw pillows to drown in, and an assortment of picture frames and decorative 'knick knacks' which she thought were excessive, but both Harm and the salesman had insisted were "tasteful". Her credit card was limp with use.
Following lunch, they had cleared her bedroom and Harm had taken her old furniture to a storage locker he was renting. He'd put her in charge of painting her room – only after giving precise instructions and a detailed demonstration.
She looked at the walls of her room once again. She'd just completed applying the first coat of paint on all four walls. It felt incredibly satisfying.
She grinned at Harm. This was a huge victory. Asshole Sadiq. This round was hers.
"You hungry?" She asked Harm. "How about pizza? I could use a break before tackling the second coat of paint." She blew a stray strand of hair away from her eyes, and decided that she liked the way the room was shaping up so far. It was dramatic and yet, calm. The whole scheme reminded her of a vivid sunset. Or sunrise. She hadn't decided yet.
"Sure. I'm almost done with this. I'll install it after we eat, then I can help you finish up painting the walls. After that, we can put together the new bed frame. We could finish tonight."
"I don't doubt it, Navy." She settled down next to him, and watched him work. They made a very efficient team. She sighed. "I can't believe I bought a new bed frame."
"The last one wouldn't have matched, Mac." His head was bent over the fixture he was working on. "Brushed copper is the perfect look," he added.
"It seems excessive. I didn't really need a new bed frame. Or the light fixture..."
"Do you like them, though?" He looked at her when he asked the question.
She shrugged and let her eyes roam the half-finished room. "Yeah." She smiled as her gaze fell on the wall she'd just painted a deep burnt orange. "A lot."
"Then it's not excessive."
She looked at him for one long moment, and thought she saw the stirrings of anticipation in his eyes. He was waiting, she realized. He was still expecting. The queasy sensation returned to her stomach. Her palms began to sweat.
"I'll order that pizza." She tried a grin, but could only manage a tired smile. She stood up and exited her room in search of a phone.
--
Mac's Apartment
Sunday
0203 Local
"I can't believe we're done. That was pretty quick work, Squid."
Harm nodded, grinning. He surveyed the room, standing in his characteristic hands-on-hips pose.
"We'll leave the windows open a smidge and the door closed so that the smell doesn't overpower the apartment." He decided.
"Oh." She hadn't realized that she wouldn't be able to sleep in her room tonight. Damn. She really wanted to see if changing up her room would make it easier for her to get some sleep. She really wanted to know if her bank account had been so severely dented for a good cause, or if it was all a waste. She hoped it wasn't a waste.
Wait. If she couldn't sleep in here ... She glanced out her bedroom door, towards the fold-out couch. She did have a sleeping bag in her storage space in the basement of the building. But she was so sore and tired; the floor did not seem appealing.
"It's a good thing your fold-out couch can fit two adults." He looked at the mess of brushes scattered on the floor as he said this, missing the panicked expression on her face. "I'll clean the brushes now, so you can use the washroom first."
It was stupid, she knew, but she didn't want to sleep on the couch with him. It would be uncomfortable. She still remembered the way he'd looked at her in her bedroom just this morning.
He must have sensed her discomfort, because he glanced at her, placed a hand over his heart and intoned, with exaggerated sincerity, "I offer you all the comforts of a lumpy fold-out couch."
She smiled at his attempt at humour. Again, she was reading too much into everything.
"Thanks, Harm."
"My pleasure, Mac. The brushes need to be cleaned anyways." he shrugged, and bent down to retrieve the brushes and rollers.
She shook her head and frowned. "I mean, for all your help with the room. And ... everything." She meant for his patience, but she was afraid he'd read too much into that kind of thanks. So she settled for being vague.
"My pleasure, Mac." He stood and gently rubbed her shoulder as he walked past her, brushes and rollers in hand. "My pleasure," she heard him repeat when he was halfway out the door.
--
Mac's Apartment
Sunday
0327 Local
She couldn't sleep. Surprise, surprise. It was 0327. This was getting to be ridiculous. Mac turned her head to watch Harm as he slept. She could barely make out his form in the darkness, but she could hear his steady breathing quite clearly. She could see the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. She wished she was also sleeping. She wished she could sleep. Why couldn't she sleep. She blinked back her sudden tears. She was so fed-up.