A/N: I may have to go into hiding for this chapter ;) It was inspired by "I Can Barely Say" by The Fray.

Enjoy!


bloodymary2: I completely agree with you! I think the reason Mac stayed with Mic is that deep down she's very insecure and struggling with her life, and that she's very, very scared of being alone. So scared, in fact, that she'd rather settle with someone she doesn't really love—or not as much as she should have—just to have someone in her life. I get that knowing that Harm has/had feelings for her wasn't enough for her, but she could have handled the situation differently. Then again, so could he… As for Webb (and I cringed every time I saw them on screen together), sometimes I think that she was only with him to prove a point to Harm. And it worked… in a way—their relationship was very strained during seasons 9 and 10.

She is going to have that moment of epiphany eventually—but it'll be a while!

anonymous guest: Don't worry, there's going to be a real hook-up eventually. But for now dreams is all you get ;)

achaon: Thank you!

rlrct: Mac's subconscious seems hell-bent on making her see that marrying Mic is the wrong decision. I almost feel sorry for her :D

alix33: Poor Mac indeed. But it's kind of her own fault. No one is forcing her to marry Mic…

Ciara: No premonitions this time, just a very erotic dream. Not that it didn't do a perfectly good job of disturbing Mac. ;)

Thank you all so much for reviewing! It amazes me that even almost 10 years after the show was cancelled, the fandom is still so active :)

A special thank you to AvaniHeath for her beta skills and general wonderfulness.

Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.


11 I can barely say

By noon their list was down to sixteen names. Four of the men they had interviewed had been able to give alibis, thanks to spouses that could attest that they'd been home the previous night or, in one case, the security footage of a night club—though NCIS still needed to verify that. One had stated that he'd been home alone, asleep, and thus had no alibi, but Harm doubted that he was their guy. The petty officer in question had seemed genuinely shocked at being accused of kidnapping and murder; when Harm asked him where he'd been the night before and whether he'd known Lieutenant Acker, the poor man hadn't been able to produce more than an incoherent stutter for five minutes straight, his face going from red to white and his hands trembling violently. The only reason they didn't cross his name of the list just yet was because they didn't want to take any chances.

While Mac had been her usual self during the interviews—perhaps a little less patient, but Harm doubted that any of the potential suspects they'd interviewed had noticed that; if he didn't know her so well, he wouldn't have either—she ignored him at lunch. This time he didn't think she was doing it on purpose. Her eyes were on her plate as she picked at her food with an uncharacteristic lack of appetite, but Harm could tell that her thoughts were elsewhere.

He couldn't quench the worry that had been growing steadily ever since she walked into the office this morning. Her face was pale, the circles under her eyes so dark they looked like bruises. Had she slept at all last night? Or had her guilt kept her awake? He wanted to ask what was wrong, wanted to offer her comfort, but he didn't know how to go about either of these things. She'd made it clear—and abundantly so—that the subject of their kiss and all that it entailed was off-limits and he had a feeling that if he brought it up again in spite of that, they might get into a fight, and he didn't want to fight with her. He didn't want to make her feel worse.

He bit into his sandwich, chewing absently as he recalled his conversation with the Renée the night before. She had been in a forgiving mood; she'd called to make up just when he was about to go to bed. He had made an effort to listen patiently while she described her day in excruciating detail, knowing he owed her at least that. He felt that he should have been the one apologising, and the list of things to apologise for was endless; for brushing her off when she insisted he had feelings for Mac; for not spending as much time with her as she deserved; for pretending their relationship was going somewhere when he knew that wasn't the case.

Afterwards he'd lain awake for hours, his mind spinning madly. Mac. Renée. Mac. Renée. Mac again. She was a constant presence in his thoughts now, always there, always within reach even when he wasn't thinking about her consciously. As he had drifted off to sleep, she had followed him into his dreams as well, and the image was with him even now, although he rarely remembered what he had dreamt so long after waking—Mac in his arms, her head resting on his chest. It was an innocent dream and it had been more about comfort than anything else, yet he couldn't shake the vague sense of guilt that had settled over him.

He shouldn't be dreaming about her.

But you want to, don't you? the voice in his mind said, not so much a question as an observation.

Yes. Yes, he wanted to. He shouldn't, but he did. He couldn't have her in reality; his dreams were the only thing he had left, were the only way to be with her. Part of him knew that it would only make things harder in the end, and more painful, but he couldn't help himself.

Before he had slipped into sleep, the lines of a poem had come to him. He couldn't remember its name or where he had read it, but the words had stuck with him. Water, water, every where, / And all the boards did shrink; / Water, water, every where, / Nor any drop to drink. It hadn't made much sense to him before and he'd never consciously thought about it before then, but now he thought he understood. Every day he was surrounded by what he wanted most in this world, by what he craved, and yet he was denied it. Close enough to grasp and still out of reach.

Her quiet sigh drew him back into the present and he searched her face for clues that might help him figure out what was going on inside her head. Sensing he was watching her, she looked up from her plate, her brown eyes, which were dull with exhaustion, meeting his. This time she held his gaze, the expression on her face unfathomable. Resignation? Her hand lay on the table and he wanted to reach out and take it into his own. She seemed to guess as much; she quickly dropped it into her lap.

They stopped by the office after lunch. Mac stayed outside, murmuring something about having to make a call. Hand on the door, he paused for a moment, gazing at her. She stood facing the wind, one arm around her waist for warmth, or maybe comfort. Harm went inside before she noticed he was watching her; it seemed to make her uneasy. Once or twice over the course of the morning she had caught him staring, blushing when she did, embarrassed for reasons unknown to him.

He didn't know what to do with her and it was starting to drive him insane. He couldn't bear seeing her suffer, yet nothing he could say or do would make it any better. If anything, his presence seemed to make it worse.

I shouldn't have let her kiss me.

But would that have changed anything? She still would have had to live with the knowledge that she'd wanted to kiss him, regardless of what had actually happened.

He sank into his chair, leaning back, his arms folded in front of his chest. They had to wrap up this investigation soon so that they could go home and he could give her the space she needed. But at the same time he was reluctant to; the days that he had left with her were already numbered and he wanted to make the most of what little time they had left. He knew it was selfish. He shouldn't be thinking about what he wanted; he should be thinking about what was best for her. And being with him wasn't. Not anymore.

Maybe it never had.

He called Chegwidden to give him an update, then checked with base security to see if they had news for him, which they didn't. Rain started pelting against the window, softly at first, then so hard that Harm could barely hear himself think. The weather usually had little influence on his mood, but his current frame of mind was such that he felt a surge of anger when he heard thunder rumble quietly in the distance. "Damn it!" he ground out, slamming his fist on the desk so hard the pencil cup was knocked over, pens and pencils clattering pell-mell to the floor.

"Harm?"

Mac was standing in the open door, staring at him, her hair damp from the rain. He saw confusion in her eyes but was in no mood to explain. How could he when she was part of the reason he was feeling this way? So he just gave an angry shake of his head and crawled under his desk, starting to clean up the mess he had made.

Mac dropped to her knees, reaching for the nearest pen. He caught her wrist before her fingers could close around it. "Don't," he said without looking at her. But he couldn't bring himself to release her and when she didn't try to pull back, he did look up.

Her eyes were wide and her lips slightly parted, her cheeks tinged with red. Suddenly he was acutely aware of how close she was. He could smell her perfume and the flowery scent of her shampoo, somehow intensified by the heavy fragrance of rain that clung to her. So easy, he thought, so tempting.

Leaning forward, closing the distance between them, capturing her mouth with his. Feeling the smooth, soft texture of her full lips. Tasting her.

She snapped out of it first, yanking her hand back. "Let me go," she whispered and he did, shocked at where his thoughts had taken him.

"Mac," he whispered, not knowing what to say. He was grateful she couldn't read his mind, couldn't see what he had just imagined, but something in her eyes made him think that she knew exactly what he'd been thinking.

Then again, perhaps she was merely recalling her own thoughts.

She rose, shaking her head, and stepped to the window, her back to him so that he couldn't see her face, but the way she held herself, her shoulders rigid, her hands curled into tight fists, betrayed her tension.

"I'm sorry," Harm said quietly.

"Am I leading you on?" she asked harshly and he startled, even though he didn't know if it was because of her tone or the bluntness of her question. "Because if I am, then please tell me what it is I'm doing so that I can stop." Thunder rolled across the sky, emphasising her words.

Slowly, Harm got up and shut the door; they didn't need witnesses for this conversation.

It wasn't her—it was him. She might have kissed him, but he couldn't deny that he was attracted to her. It had never presented a problem before, but now it seemed that he was losing control. It was as if by kissing her the part of him that had suppressed his love for her for so long had been irrevocably altered; no matter how hard, how desperately, he tried or wanted to, he could not lock his emotions up again, bury them where they had lain buried all these years.

It was in this instant that he realised that this was the first time he had ever put a name to his feelings for her. That's what he'd always called it—'feelings', and no more. But it was love and he couldn't deny it anymore. It was ironic as well as tragic that he should realise that only when she was on the verge of getting married.

"You're not doing anything," he said and somehow managed to keep the bitterness in his heart from showing in his voice. "It's me, not you."

She turned then, no longer hiding her emotions. She seemed conflicted; she briefly closed her eyes, her lips tightening, and when she opened them again, they were dark with despair. But there was something else too. Determination. A decision had been reached, and Harm knew, just from the look in her eyes and the way her shoulders sagged a little, all tension suddenly gone and replaced by weariness, that that decision had cost her dearly.

Dread clawed at his mind.

"It would be so easy to blame you," she said. Her voice was calm, but it sounded forced and hollow. "But the truth is that it's me just as much as you." Leaning against her desk, she folded her arms in front of her chest once more, but this time it seemed to Harm as if she was trying to hold herself together, to keep herself from breaking apart. "I kissed you."

"I kissed you back," he said softly. He knew it wouldn't matter to her; her mind was made up. But, afraid of what she had decided, he had to try. Had to take at least part of her guilt so that she wouldn't have to shoulder it all by herself and feel responsible. He had kissed her back, hadn't stopped her when he could have. Had held her close when she started pulling away. Had turned an innocent kiss into something more.

He had been selfish.

And now she had to pay for his selfishness.

A sad, bitter smile curved her lips as she shook her head softly. "I still kissed you first."

"Mac." Frustration born out of helplessness crept into his voice. "It was just a kiss." It was a lie and he knew it even as the words fell from his lips. But he also knew that if he didn't manage to convince her that it hadn't meant anything, things would never be the same again between them, that he might even lose her, and he couldn't. Crushing fear closed around his chest at the thought.

What I want most is to never lose you.

But he could tell it wasn't going to work. "Do you honestly believe that?" The same sad look as before. "Look me in the eye and tell me that it was just a kiss for you."

He could only look at her, the words on the tip of his tongue. It was just a kiss. It didn't mean anything to me. But he couldn't bring himself to say them, couldn't lie. He was done with it. They had danced around the issue for so long, but now the music had stopped and their elaborate steps faltered in the sudden silence.

The truth could not be buried again.

"That's what I thought," Mac whispered. "And what if next time it won't be just a kiss?"

He stared at her. For a moment, he didn't understand what she was saying. When he did, he was unable to hide his surprise. "Mac, you're not that kind of person!" She would never do something like that, would never hurt someone she cared about that way. And she did care about Mic.

"Aren't I?" she demanded, her voice rising in agitation. "I already dream…" She snapped her mouth shut, horror crossing her face; she spun around, gripping the edge of the desk, and he couldn't see her face anymore. Rain battered against the windows in a grey veil that obscured the outside world. He could barely make out her words when she spoke. "I can't trust myself around you."

"They're just dreams."

Just dreams.

Like the kiss was just a kiss.

How many times had he told himself that they didn't mean anything?

He couldn't remember.

"You know that's not true."

"Yes," he whispered. "I know."

"I can't move on as long as you're in my life."

She had said the dreaded words. You won't lose me, she had promised him, but he suddenly realised that it was a promise she wouldn't be able to keep, no matter how much she might want to.

"I don't want to lose you, Mac." A desperate plea. But she had made her choice; he saw that now. She had decided to leave him. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he had no right to think about it this way. She couldn't leave him. She'd never been his to begin with. But he couldn't imagine his life without her in it. Couldn't imagine going to work and not meet her in the elevator, or see her sitting at her desk. Couldn't imagine not arguing with her in court.

Couldn't imagine never seeing her again.

"Do you think that's what I want?" she asked. The despair in her voice matched his. She didn't want this. But she had no choice. "But it can't stay the way it's now. This isn't good for either of us. And I'm getting married in less than two weeks."

Then don't, he wanted to say. But what did he have to offer her? The things that had held him back when she first brought it up over a year ago still did. He hadn't moved on, was still clinging to his lifeline, still holding on to his past. But if he wanted to be with her, he'd have to relinquish control and let go of a part of him he didn't know who he was without. And he was terrified of that, more terrified perhaps than he was by the thought of losing her because it might mean losing himself.

"So what now?" He already knew the answer, but part of him desperately hoped that he was wrong. That there was another way.

She didn't look at him when she answered. "I can't stay in DC."


So? Please review!