THANK YOU to all those who so kindly reviewed my story! :) For those who asked if this is Harm/Mac story... Check out my fanfic Handling and Managing to know who I ship, you shall have your answer :) Anyway, this next bit takes place after the episode "San Diego". Hope you like it and looking forward to your thoughts!

SAN DIEGO

"Thanks for walking me back," she said with a smile which somehow managed to combine both shyness and an invitation for … something more. Vic returned her smile.

"No problem, Catherine. You took care of all the JAG personell and helped with the conference, not to mention the case. Seems like the least I could do is seen you safely home."

They stood silently for a little while in front of her door. The warm ocean breeze gave slight movement to the material of her skirt as well as the heavy blond waves of her hair. She really was sweet and not for the first time he was considering kissing her. He had a feeling she would not object in the least.

"Would you… like to go inside… for a bit?" she finally managed to say, casting her eyes down and fidgeting with a key in her hand. "I could put on some music, and we could… dance some more."

He grinned at her. Once the dinner with the General was over and the partying became the name of the game for the evening he had spent it almost exclusively with her. Her open flirting, even though she apparently thought she was playing it hard to get, was refreshing after all the unfruitful weeks with…. Other people. So why was he not tempted more to accept her late night invitation now?

"Whatever happened to your hiatus from guys? What did you call it? Ah! A guyiatus, right?" he asked, genuinely amused. She pursed her lips.

"There are no set rules on how long a guyiatus needs to last. And how am I supposed to know when to end it if I don't give it a try?"

He said nothing, just watched her for a few more moments. She was gorgeous. And cute. And inviting. And willing. But she was also not a girl for a one night stand. Even his short acquaintance with Lt. Catherine Graves has convinced him that this was a woman who may throw herself head over heels into something new, but would be determined to build something more lasting and solid around it. He was not ready for that right now, and she deserved better.

"I think that you will be able to tell the right moment for sure when it arrives," he suggested and squeezed her hand, which had somehow found its way into his. "For now though I think we both should get into our own beds and sleep it off."

"Sleep what off?" she asked, disappointment audible in her tone.

"Unfulfilled desires," he replied with a cocky smile and made two steps backwards.

"Are you sure?" she asked once again, still not willing to give up completely.

"Goodnight, Catherine."

With that he was gone. With a frown she let herself inside the house. She did not even have the chance to discover whether or not had Lt. Mayfield spoken the truth and Vukovic the Prince would eventually turn into a Vukovic the Frog.

Even though he told Catherine he would go to bed, sleep was the last thing on Vic's mind. Instead, he took off his shoes and set on a walk along the deserted beach. The smell of the sea and of the warm night enveloped him in its embrace. In his mind he replayed the last few days, taking pride in his success as a lawyer once again. So what that Tally hated him as much as ever. If she could throw everything that had ever been between them away like rubbish, dammit, so could he! And seeing her all riled up over his seemingly calm facade gave him a great feeling of satisfaction. To hell with Tally. There were other women in the world. Maybe he should have taken Catherine up on her offer. Then again, he really did not feel like falling into bed with her. For her own sake. Or maybe because his senses were so on overload from a brief nearness of another woman he could barely think straight all night.

She had worn a dark red dress and her hair was down, framing her face in soft waves. And her eyes seemed larger than ever. He was prepared to do anything to get her attention and tried many things which seemed to be working. From uttering a "God, you are so beautiful" to moving confidently into her personal space, he had prayed something would work. And for a moment it did. His remark had caught her unawares and left her speechless, his nearness did not make her step back an inch and the smile that slowly spread on her face reached her eyes. Of course then the call from Rabb broke the spell, and he did not congratulate himself on the rest of the conversation. She got suspicious of him. Again. Why would Rabb be calling her at such an inappropriate hour anyway? It was late in the evening in this part of the US, and he must have known it. Hardly a time to bother anyone with office stuff. For the rest of the night she kept company to the General and as soon as the dinner ended she discreetly disappeared, dashing his hopes on getting his hands on her during a dance. That was how he ended up with Catherine in his arms.

The place was silent except for the waves lazily rolling over each other, reaching for the sandy shore and retreating back in a never-ending pattern. The lights of the city, as pretty as they looked, did nothing to illuminate the beach, but the night sky was cloudless and the Moon large and bright, bathing the scenery in gray tones. Vic noticed the dark lump of a figure sitting in the sand from a distance, but only upon coming closer did her recognize her. She had changed the red velvety dress for running shorts and an oversized old T-shirt, her hair no longer down but pulled back into a ponytail. Her feet were bare. She was watching the ocean absentmindedly, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees. It was yet another Sarah Mackenzie he had never seen before and it threw him off balance. He had gotten used to seeing her in uniform, he had seen her in summer and evening dresses. Never as unremarkably attired as this. The whole scene of her before him now seemed a little unreal. Like she had appeared because he subconsciously wanted her to. Unsure of what to do next, whether to start talking or walk away (first of which he wanted to do very much and the other not at all), he stared at her, not moving. When he finally decided to open his mouth, it was her voice that broke the silence:

"I would think the beach is broad enough to walk around me and be on your way Lieutenant. I would suggest that if I am in your path you could just jump over me but as a Marine I do not trust the training that is given to Squids and you might just end up taking my head off. So please just walk by. It will be safer for everyone involved."

"Maybe I just wanted to sit down and am furious to find out that somebody has already taken the best spot," he managed to find both his voice and bravado. She had slipped away earlier in the evening. Maybe whatever powers there were that moved the world around were giving him a second chance. She just shrugged her shoulders.

"Tough luck. Go find yourself another beach then."

With a dramatic sigh he dropped into the sand right next to her. Close. So very close. She visibly tensed but refused to give him an inch of space, not moving in the slightest. Her eyes narrowed though as she gave him a disapproving side glance.

"Nah. I actually happen to think you made the perfect spot even better."

He felt a little offended when she all but snorted at that. OK, so it was not his best line, but he found it increasingly difficult to be witty and suave around this woman. He took a breath and gave it another shot:

"I believe earlier this evening you have asked what you were to do with me. We never really finished that conversation."

"Some conversations are not worth finishing. Indeed, some conversations are not even worth starting."

She crossed her arms over her knees, hiding her face. Her voice was muffled now. She sounded bitter more than irritated.

"Are you not curious, even a little, about what is on that list I mentioned then?" he tried again.

"I am curious as to why is it so difficult for you to not invade my personal space."

"Honest answer?"

"Would I care for any other?"

"I want to be in your personal space."

Silence. She did not raise her head.

"How about what I want?" she said finally.

"What would that be?"

"Your arrogant ass off this beach and at least ten miles away from me!" she snapped and in one fluid motion she was on her feet. His hand shot up and without a second thought he grabbed her wrist tightly, not enough to hurt her but firmly enough for her to know she could not make another step without a struggle. And struggle with him, he sensed, was something she would find undignified.

"Would you mind backing off, Lieutenant?" she said. Who knew that dark eyes could be so cold? And was that a GO NAVY T-shirt she was wearing?

"I would."

"Let go."

"Why?"

"Are you always this obnoxious?"

"Only with you."

She visibly flinched at that for some reason.

"Come on, Mac," he said calmly. The arrogance and the Casanova manner vanished at once. He did not want her to leave. He wanted her to stay. For his own peace of mind he needed to get to know her. To lift that strange veil of mystery that surrounded her. She was just too fascinating, and he needed some understanding of her, at least a little. She was too distracting otherwise.

"I admit that we have started on the wrong foot together and I realize it was probably my own mistake, but does it really have to be like this forever? None of us are perfect. That is why we have second chances."

One of her eyebrows went up sarcastically.

"Or in some cases third. Or fourth. Right?" she said.

"Didn't you ever need more than two chances at something?"

No answer.

"Anyway," he continued with a calm he did not really feel. "We have not tried being friends even once so far. This actually seems like a good place to start, no? Come on. Sit down."

Reluctantly, she did, making sure to be further from him than before.

"Do we even have anything to talk about other than your questionable work ethics, friend?" she said.

"Let's find out," he replied and, confident now she would not just take off, laid on his back with his hands under his head. "Tell me what you don't like, so I can eliminate those topics first."

She seemed to consider it, then took a deep breath:

"OK. I don't like pineapple on pizza and people who go from door to tell you about Jesus and how badly you live your life. I don't enjoy parties or clubs and when somebody says they are fine when they are not. I don't like arrogant jerks, control freaks and emotionally stunned men."

He was shocked as her speech turned into an anguished outburst.

"I hate submarines and jets and conspiracy theories and classified information and any countries on the southern hemisphere. I don't care for stories about your happy childhood, army of aunts, uncles and cousins and cute families and could not care less for dissecting dead relationships!"

She went from zero to a hundred by now. Cold and composed facade had crumbled right in front of his eyes. She was shaking now, punching the surrounding sand with every new item on her list. And she was not finished.

"I cannot stand cold weather and people leaving without saying goodbye and making tea on demand. I don't relish reliving my high school years, or any school years and I think proms are stupid. I hate psycho-babble! I hate when people waste their time, cannot make up their mind and most importantly can never, ever take the chance and just take what they want when it's right in front of them!"

The next few seconds were forever blank in his memory. All he recalled afterwards was her body under his in the sand, his lips crushing hers in a bruising kiss, his hands under her over-sized GO NAVY T-shirt, gliding across the soft, soft skin of her belly and waist. It felt like something had exploded in the middle of his chest and it would kill him if he would not touch her. His actions had no reason. Her abandonment of everything rational at the moment had obliterated everything rational in him as well. Just to have her. Just to have her for a while!

It was when he pressed his lips against the pulse point on her neck that the reality returned like a crashing rock slide. She was utterly still under him, he realized. Not resisting but also not returning any of his touches. He leaned on his elbows and looked at her. He expected a cold glare followed inevitably by a painful thrust of her knee against his groin. He had gone too far and he knew it. But instead the darkness of her eyes was filled with utmost confusion, as if she couldn't grasp what had just happened and why. Instead of a sharp kick he only felt her palm firmly pressing against his torso, giving the clear signal for him to move away. Slowly he did just that, his finger longingly brushing against the softness of her skin one last time. She kept lying in the sand, disheveled and silent. He could just feel the waves of her shame and his own embarrassment flooding the moment. How could he have screwed up so bad?

"I don't think we can be friends, Lieutenant," she said after several long minutes. "You ask for something in return that I cannot give you."

He wanted to say he was sorry. But the rush of adrenaline and the humiliation of such a passive rejection were slowly turning into anger. He got up, brushing the sand away from his trousers. He turned around and left her, still lying in the sand, motionless, like a discarded doll.

He should have stayed with Catherine.

Thinking of her also brought up the words he had said earlier that night.

"Unfulfilled desires," he whispered shakily to himself.

The next day on the plane back to DC he chose to sit next to Tally Mayfield instead of Colonel Mackenzie. Their eyes met just once. They did not exchange a single word.