Stormy Weather

by TracyJean

Harm and Mac fall into each other's arms and storm clouds begin gathering in their lives as a consequence

2. Part 2

INTERLUDE

As I carry my bags up to the apartment I use while in Washington, I wonder why I wasn't able to get a hold of that gorgeous lover of mine to get him to pick me up at the airport. I kept calling his apartment and what did I get? His answering machine. No luck on his cell phone either. He knew that I was out of town and that I could be back anytime. I would have thought that he would be waiting for my call, as anxious to see me as I am to see him. Aside from picking me up and helping me carry my luggage to my apartment, we could spend some time getting reacquainted. After all, men have needs and we haven't seen each other in eleven days. He better *not* have gone out of town on another investigation. That man needs to get into a civilian practice where he doesn't have to drop everything and go out of town at the drop of a hat.

Walking down the hall – why the hell does my apartment have to be so far from the elevator? – I see a man standing outside my apartment. He's facing away from me, so I can't tell who it is, but he does look to be well-built. If I wasn't already involved. . . . Oh, well. I am and I don't think my lover would appreciate my fantasizing about another man. He's too much of a Boy Scout for that.

When I am within a few feet of the apartment, the man apparently hears me coming and turns around. I do recognize the man. I've only met him a couple of time, but I've certainly heard him talked about often enough by Harm's friends. Never by Harm though. He can't stand the man and mentions him as little as possible. Burnby, Gumby? Something like that. He's the fiancée of that drab Marine Major that Harm works with. What could he possible want with me? Damn, Harm and the Major better not have gone out of town again.

"Can I help you?" I ask pleasantly as I drop my luggage next to my door and begin digging around my purse for my keys.

"G'day, Ms. Peterson," he says, pleasantly enough although there is something in his voice. Maybe it's just the accent, but his words sound a little slurred. A quick glance at his eyes and I begin to suspect it's less his diction and more the fact that he's been drinking. Just what I need, to deal with a drunken sailor. He's simply leaning against the wall and as long as he doesn't make a move towards me, invading my personal space, I can deal with him. You'd be surprised the kinds of men I've had to deal with working in Hollywood. Drunks, druggies, men with overactive libidoes. I think I've dealt with it all at one time or another.

"Hello, Mr. Burnby," I say, finally finding my keys and inserting them in the lock. He reaches down and picks up my suitcases for me. "Again, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's Brumby. Mic Brumby. Just wanted to talk," he replies as I push open the apartment door. He carries them into the apartment for me before I can suggest that I can get them myself. Then again, why would I want to get them myself? Nothing wrong with having a man do things for me once in a while. "You and I have a lot in common."

"What, dating those military types who go out of town at the drop of a hat?" I comment as I toss my purse on a table near the door.

Something flashes in his eyes, something that appears to be anger. Damn, they did go out of town again. Probably out of the country, too. He's probably as mad about it as I'm going to be once I confirm that. He ignores my question, however and holds up the suitcases he is carrying. "Where would you like these?"

"In the bedroom is fine," I reply absently, gesturing in the general direction of the room. I go to the answering machine and press the play button. Three messages, two concerning various film projects I'm trying to land and one from a telemarketer. Nothing from Harm. Damn. If the man was going to leave on a case, you would think he would at least have the decency to leave me a message and let me know. Hell, I always carry my cell phone with me. He could easily have reached me.

"If you're expecting a message from Rabb, don't," a voice behind me says, so smug and sure. I turn around to find Mic standing behind me, his hands crossed over his chest. "I expect he's got other things on his mind right now. Or maybe not on his mind." He laughs at that last statement, as if he just said something hysterically funny. As I throw him a puzzled glance, he adds, "I wouldn't expect to hear from him, unless of course it is to tell you it's over. Then again, maybe I'm underestimating the man. Maybe his needs are such that he has to have someone else to fulfill those needs when you're not around."

"Excuse me!?" I exclaim, not quite sure that I understand what he was just rambling on about. I'm not quite sure that I want to understand. I already know that Harm and Mic do not get along. Why would I take his word for anything concerning Harm? "Harm's not like that, Burnby."

"Brumby," he corrects me, but I'm barely paying attention. I'm more concerned about defending my boyfriend from the slick Australian.

"Whatever," I say with a wave of my hand. "Harm is too much of a Boy Scout to do something like that. The man is so honorable that it can sometimes be a bit of a bore." Of course, he does definitely make up for that in other ways. I can't help smiling at that thought.

"Then maybe you can explain why my fiancée spent the night at his place last night and why she came home this morning wearing his clothes," he counters, leaning slightly towards me. I take a step backwards to put some space between us.

"Harm and that drab, mousy Marine?" I question, laughing. Yeah, right. "What could he possibly see in her? I mean – those clothes and that hair. Please. Harm has better taste than that."

Mic doesn't even notice that I just insulted his fiancée. He continues to press his case. "You haven't been around for all that long," he continues, a sinister smile on his face. I'm beginning to believe that he's angry at Harm for something and is trying to get back at him through me. I'm not buying. He's enjoying telling me this entirely too much for it to be true. "You haven't seen the way they've always been together, at least before Rabb went off flying. Hell, they've probably been screwing each other the entire time behind our backs."

"I don't believe you," I state emphatically, picking up the phone. He simply laughs at the gesture.

"Planning to call Rabb?" he taunts, still laughing. "I wouldn't expect him to answer. She's probably gone back over there, running back into his arms and into his bed. They're probably screwing each other as we speak. Why don't you just go over there – see for yourself? Are you afraid that I might be right? Or maybe it turns you on, the idea of your boy toy with another woman?"

I can't help the look of disgust that crosses my face at his insinuations. "You're drunk," I proclaim as he laughs again. I'm fast seeing why Harm hates this man so much.

"Oh, I've been drinking, but I'm not drunk," he replies, eyeing me in a manner that makes me feel uncomfortable. I keep the phone in my hand, just in case I have to call 911 – or hit him with it. I'd probably hit him with it then call 911. "I do know what I saw when Sarah wandered in this morning and what I heard when I heard the message Rabb left her on the machine. And she wasn't exactly falling all over herself to deny it."

"I think you need to leave," I say angrily, trying to bury down the flicker of doubt in my mind. What if. . . . No, I'm not going there. It's not true and that's all there is to it. It can't be true.

"Are you sure?" he asks, leering at me. I have feeling I know what's coming next. "You know, maybe you and I could get to know each other better. It could be. . . .fun."

"I don't think so," I state angrily as I stride over to the door and yank it open. I guesture to the hallway. "You need to leave now or I'm calling the police to have you escorted out."

"Just think about what I told you," he says as he moves towards the door. "And if you change your mind. . . ."

"I won't," I retort strongly. Not if he was the last man on earth. "Now leave."

Fortunately, he does as I insist and I close the door behind him, resisting the urge to slam the door. As soon as I am alone, I click on the phone and dial Harm's number. After three rings, the answering machine picks up. "Damn!" I exclaim as I click off the phone. Turning it on again, I try his cell phone with similar success. I toss the phone on the couch in disgust.

Maybe I should go over there. Not to see if it's true. I can't believe that it's true. But I want to see my lover. After all, it has been eleven days and I do have needs.

+++

I feel so cold and empty inside when I wake up, part of it due to the fact that I'm alone in this huge bed. But a large part of it is due to the fact that there's a war waging inside of me between the strong, independent Marine who can take care of herself and survive anything and the scared little girl who has found herself the victim of yet another in a line of abusive males. Right now, I'm not sure which is going to come out on top in this battle.

A flash of lightning illuminates the darkened room and through the partition separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, I can see Harm standing at the kitchen sink while staring out the window at the falling rain, a bottle of some kind in his hand. Rubbing my arms, although I'm not cold in a physical sense, I climb out of bed and make my way as quietly as possible down the stairs. Maybe I can surprise him. I smile at that pleasant thought. That's what I have to do. Think pleasant thoughts.

As soon as I'm in the other room, I can make out what kind of bottle he is holding in his hand and I freeze, a cold fear seizing me. There are several other similar bottles on the counter, I can now see, all open along with a couple of larger bottles. God, Harm, no. Please, anything but that. Not that I mind when he has a drink in my presence. Just because I don't drink doesn't mean I expect those around me not to as well. But the idea that I may have driven him to get drunk terrifies me. That's me, isn't it – the woman who manages to destroy the life of every man she touches? I got Dalton killed because a psycho was stalking me. I did kill Chris. Mic was driven to hit me because I am in love with someone else. But this one hurts the worst. This time, I've managed to destroy the life of the man I love with all my heart.

Trying to maintain a calm, collected exterior despite my trembling inside, I take a few more steps until I am at the edge of the kitchen. In a way afraid to move any closer, I am about to speak when he does something that shocks the hell out of me. With a slightly shaking hand, he overturns the bottle and pours the contents out into the sink. Finally, I find my voice and ask, "What are you doing?"

I guess I did manage to surprise him, but this isn't what I had in mind. He turns towards me, startled, nearly dropping the bottle in his hand. He scrambles to keep the bottle from falling into the sink and shattering. "I thought you were still asleep," he says, seemingly ignoring my question. "Do you want something to eat or drink?"

I move closer, taking inventory of the open bottles on the counter. Five beer bottles, two wine bottles and even a bottle of bourbon – all empty. There are three more beer bottles on the counter along with the bottle opener and a corkscrew for the wine bottles. "Are you planning to pour out all the alcohol in the apartment?" I ask as he sets the bottle in his hand aside and picks up another one along with the bottle opener.

"Yes," he replies shortly, opening the bottle with a hard yank of the opener. The bottle top hits the sink with a loud clink. He then proceeds to dump the contents of that bottle out into the sink, too.

I close the distance between us and place my hand on his arm. "Please, talk to me," I beg as he continues to stare at the torrential rain outside, not even looking at me. God, as much as this whole situation is tearing me up inside, I fear that it may be tearing him up even more. Harm has always been one who feels deeply, even when he won't talk about those feelings. He tends to internalize and I worry that in this situation that is the unhealthiest thing of all.

When he doesn't respond, I pry the bottle and opener out of his hands. Taking hold of both of his hands, I force him to turn towards me, but his eyes are cast downward. "Harm, listen to me," I plead. "I'm sorry that this is hurting you so much and I can understand why you might want to drink to dull the pain, but this. . . ." Harm's head jerks up as another flash of lightning lights the room and his face, his eyes wide with surprise and then it hits me.

"You're not tossing out all the alcohol because you want a drink and are afraid of getting drunk in front of me," I say softly, sighing with relief that I haven't driven him to drink. "You're afraid that I might want a drink. You're trying to prevent me from falling off the wagon again." There's a part of me that wants to be angry at him for assuming that I would want a drink because of what happened. But I guess after seeing me drunk that one time, he is determined to make sure that it will never happen again. After what happened with Mic, I can't complain about a man who is putting me first.

Harm doesn't say anything, merely looking at me with brilliant eyes filled with sadness and pain. Gently tugging on his arms, I lead him towards the couch. Pushing him onto the couch, I sit in his lap, curling up against him with my head on his shoulder. His gaze distant, his arms go around me almost as a reflex.

"Harm," I begin hesitantly, uncertain of the words. Like Harm, I'm not often one who talks about what I am feeling either. But I am concerned that not talking here will tear us apart. I don't really want to talk about this either, but I gather my courage and continue, "We need to talk about this, what we're feeling."

"Mac, this isn't about me or what I'm feeling," he protests, resting his head against mine. "It's about what happened to you and how you're dealing with it." This is such typical Harm behavior and normally I would want to shake him silly for it. But I can't. It just saddens me too much that he is feeling like this because of me.

"No, it is about both of us, to a certain extent," I protest. "What affects me affects you and vice versa. Or at least that's the way I think it's supposed to work. I've never really been in a relationship like that before. But I want us to be like that. I want us to be able to share everything, the bad as well as the good."

"I've never really been in a relationship like that before either," he admits softly. "I'm kind of curious to find out what that's like."

"So would I," I agree, smiling a little. "So will you talk to me?"

I feel him nod against me and my smile grows wider. Maybe after everything, we both are all too aware of how precious and fragile what we have is. "I'll try," he promises, running one of his hands absently along my bare outer thigh. That feels so comforting and I relax into his embrace, sighing softly.

We sit here for a few minutes, drawing comfort from our physical embrace, before I begin laughing. It's the first genuine laugh I've had since this morning. "You know, one of us needs to start talking here," I point out.

"I know," he simply replies.

After another moment, I sigh deeply. I should have known that getting Harmon Rabb to talk first about his feelings would be like pulling teeth or worse. "Harm, I've been worried about your reaction to what happened earlier," I say. "At times you've been distant and at others you've been concerned about me, which believe me I do appreciate, while relegating your own feelings to the back burner. Please, tell me what you're feeling."

When he finally does speak, his voice is so soft that I have to strain to hear him, even curled up in his arms. "When you first called me and asked me to come over, I didn't think much of it at first," he says and I can hear the fear in his voice. "I just thought that you might have had an argument with Mic and were upset that he didn't take the break up well. I thought that you just wanted to be comforted, although I guess it should have occurred to me that could have waited until you came back over here. Then when you told me to carry a weapon, I. . . ."

He trails off and his arms tighten around me, but I resist the urge to finish the sentence for him, despite knowing what he is probably about to say. I need to hear him say the words. For himself, he needs to be able to say the words. Finally, he continues, "I was scared. When you hung up on me without telling me what happened, so many possibilities went through my mind. I mean, it couldn't be something small or why wouldn't you have told me over the phone? I was so afraid of what I would find when I got over to your place. A beating was probably the least of what I was imagining."

He pauses again and I have to resist the urge to burst into tears. "I know that probably wasn't the smartest move," I admit, my voice trembling, "not telling you anything over the phone. But I wasn't thinking about how you would construe it. I just wanted you to come over and put your arms around me and assure me that everything would be okay. And maybe, at the back of my mind, I thought that if you could see what happened, then I wouldn't have to tell you. You would just know and I wouldn't have to talk about it."

"I was torn between rushing over to you and going out to find Brumby and tear him apart," he admits after another long moment of silence. "I hadn't felt like that. . . .well, since Coster and those moments when I lost the tracking signal. But this time was worse. Instead of finding you okay for the most part, as I did before, I saw. . . ." He shakes his head, almost as if he's trying to push away the horrifying thoughts of that moment when I opened the door of my apartment to him.

"I kept thinking there was something that I could have done," he continues, moving past that horrifying moment when he saw me for the first time. "What if I had insisted on going with you? What if I hadn't let you wear that sweatshirt?"

"You think I haven't thought some of the same things?" I ask, my voice quiet. "As I waited for you to arrive, I kept thinking about what I might have done differently to prevent this from happening. What if I had let you come with me? Why didn't I leave Mic a message and ask him to meet me someplace public? But you know what? If you had come with me, we would probably have had a repeat of your fight in Australia. If I had asked him to meet me someplace public, he still would have been at my apartment waiting for me when I went home to change, having never gone home and heard the message. I can't think of a single thing that I – or you – could have done differently that would have changed the outcome. My God, look at your phone call. You had no way of knowing that I wasn't at Mic's where I said that I was going to be."

I just happen to glance up and I see such a look of anguish on his face. That's what this all boils down to, I realize. If he hadn't called and left that message, where he talked about how we never got back to the case last night, how I was on my way back over and how he loved me, then in all probability, Mic would not have lashed out at me the way he did. That knowledge is what is tearing him up inside. "Harm, please don't torture yourself like this," I plead softly, shifting in his arms so that I can look him in the eye, my hands on either side of his face. "We have to let it go and accept that there's nothing either of us could have done to prevent this."

Now there's an ironic choice of words. Let it go. That's what it all boils down to for us, isn't it? Letting go. "Harm, I am a strong person and I've lived through situations as bad or worse than this before I ever met you," I tell him, tears stinging my eyes. "And I know that given time I can get through this. But I don't want to get through it alone. I want and need you there, supporting and loving me every step of the way. And I want to be there for you as you deal with this too. You don't have to be strong all the time, any more than I have to be."

I can see his bottom lip barely trembling as he tries to smile for me, a single tear slipping down his cheek. I kiss his cheek, catching the salty wetness on my tongue. I pull back slightly and try a smile of my own, tears stinging my eyes. We gaze at each other for a long moment before I lean towards him again, my lips brushing his questioningly for a brief moment before I deepen the kiss, pressing my body against his as my tongue explores his mouth, insistent and demanding.

God, I need this so much. I shift in his lap so that I am straddling him. I thought talking would help, but right now, talking just makes me think about it too much and I don't want to think about it. I want to feel. I need to feel loved and cherished and supported – everything that Harm makes me feel.

My hands slip between our bodies, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as my mouth moves along his jaw line up to his earlobe. I tug on it with my teeth as my trembling fingers fight with his shirt. Frustrated with my lack of progress in opening his shirt, I give a hard yank, buttons flying everywhere as the room becomes bright with another brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a loud crash of thunder that seems to shake the building.

Harm pushes me away slightly so that, while I'm still in his lap, my body is no longer pressed up against his. His breathing is rough as he murmurs, "Mac, we. . . .not like this."

What? He couldn't have just said. . . .I feel like I've been doused with cold water and I slide off his lap, choking back a sob as I move down to the far end of the couch, my legs pulled up against my chest, my forehead resting on my knees. I feel a shifting of the couch cushions as he gets up from the couch, but I don't look up, even when I feel his hand on my shoulder as he kneels on the floor next to the couch.

"Mac. . . .Sarah, I'm sorry," he says softly, his hand slowly moving up and down my spine. I bite my lip, trying to ignore the tingling his touch evokes in me. "Please, look at me."

"I can't," I whisper harshly, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands. I try to focus on the pain in my hands so that I don't have to think about the pain in my heart.

"Sarah, please," he pleads, pressing kisses against the back of my neck. "You misunderstand me. I do want you. I've wanted you so much for four years that it hurts inside."

"But, you just said. . . ."

"When I said not like this," he explains gently, his fingers still lazily stroking up and down my back. God, that feels so good. If he doesn't want me, then he needs to stop doing that, because his touch is only making me want him even more. But my mouth can't form the words because I don't want him to stop. "I meant that I. . . .Sarah, please look at me. I want you to see the truth."

Reluctantly, I lift my head slightly and turn towards him. Sighing with relief, he continues, "I do want to make love to you, but I want it to be slow and gentle. I want you to feel cherished and taken care of." He stands and, involuntarily, I lick my lips as he takes my hands and pulls me off the couch. Then he surprises me by sweeping me up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" I gasp as I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face against his throat, inhaling his scent.

"Treating you the way you deserve to be treated," he replies as he slowly carries me across the room and up the stairs to the bedroom, setting me carefully on the bed, my legs dangling over the edge. He stands next to the bed, just looking down at me and I see such love in that look that it brings more tears to my eyes, happy ones this time. I reach for the waistband of his jeans, but he grasps my hands, stilling them. I look into his eyes, confused.

He kneels in front of me between my legs and cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently against my cheeks. I'd never thought that such a light, gentle touch could make me feel – I don't know how to describe it. So cherished, so loved, and yet so aroused. It feels like every wonderful feeling I've ever had about Harm all wrapped up into one. No man has ever made me feel like this before. He stares into my eyes for a long moment before he finally answers my unasked question, "I'm going to make love *to* you."

+++

Afterwards, I curl up on my side facing the center of the bed with Harm behind me, spooning up against my back, a hand lazily moving up and down my thigh.

After laying here for a moment in silence, Harm begins quietly, "What was that about. . . ."

I roll over so that I'm facing him and place a finger over his lips to silence him. "Shhh," I tell him. "You just gave me one of the most beautiful experiences of my life and I just want to lie here and enjoy it. I love you and I just want to forget the rest of the world and. . . .everything for just a little bit. Right now, at this moment in time, there's just you and me and this beautiful thing between us."

Harm looks slightly. . . .I don't know, embarrassed, maybe. I laugh a little to lighten the mood and tease, "I can't be the first woman to tell you that making love with you is a beautiful experience."

He appears to ponder this for a moment, then shakes his head. "I think I've been told a lot of things," he replies, a slight smile playing at his lips, "but I don't think I've heard beautiful before. Maybe it's. . . ." he trails off, uncertain.

"Being in love," I suggest and he nods his head slightly in agreement. "I think that's the difference. It means more. At the risk of sounding like a sentimental sap, it was almost a spiritual experience."

"A spiritual experience," he muses, rolling onto his back and pulling me against him. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump-thump of his heart, sighing contentedly. "I don't think I've heard that one either."

I laugh, tapping his chest with a finger. "Stick with me and I promise to stroke your ego with statements like that for a long time to come," I tease.

"'Stroke my ego'?" he counters, cocking an eyebrow at me while I struggle not to laugh.

I shrug. "Or other body parts," I add saucily. Before I realize what he's doing, Harm flips me over and looms over me, his fingers moving over my sides. "No, Harm," I screech. "I'm ticklish. . . .Harm!"

As the sound of our laughter fills the air, I can almost forget that there's a not-always-nice world waiting for us outside the four walls of this apartment.

+++

When I wake up several hours later, the storm outside has stopped and I wish the clouds over my heart would disperse that easily. When I'm with Harm, wrapped up in his arms, it's so easy to forget everything that's happened. But lying here in the quiet, it all starts to come back to me.

I roll over, intending to snuggle up to Harm, suddenly realizing that I'm alone in the bed. I prop myself up and notice a piece of notebook paper lying on the bed beside me.

Sarah –

Ran to the Chinese place a few blocks away to get us some dinner. Remember to stay put and keep the door locked. I'll be back soon. I love you.

- Harm

'I love you.' Those words seem to come so easy between us now. It's almost like a floodgate opening. Then again, once Harm really decides to do something, he tends to go at it full speed ahead. I suppose a relationship with me would not be an exception to that. And I, for one, could not be more thankful.

I climb out of bed and grab some underwear and a pair of loose fitting pants from my suitcase. For a top, I opt again for Harm's Academy sweatshirt, trying not to think about a Marine being obsessed with wearing a Navy shirt. For some reason, I just feel comforted wearing it, probably because it's something of Harm's. Just like that night that seems like an eternity ago, when we thought Clay had died. In an odd way, I felt better wearing another of Harm's sweatshirts, especially since I was afraid to ask him to hold me the way I wanted to be held by him.

Dressed, I head for the kitchen for a drink and see the assorted bottles still on the counter. I grab all the empty bottles and toss them in the trash can, then return the unopened bottles to the fridge. Standing with the fridge open, I ponder what I want to drink when I hear a key in the lock.

"So what did you get me to eat?" I ask, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge and turning around. "I'm starved. . . ." My voice trails off as I find myself face to face with a wide-eyed Renee Peterson.

+++

As I went to and from the Chinese restaurant for our food, I couldn't help constantly looking around, on guard for the slightest sign of trouble and not just because of the rough neighborhood that I live in. We haven't heard a word from Mic Brumby since this morning – no demanding phone calls, no pounding on the apartment door, nothing. I'd like to think that it's because he took Mac's warning that she would call the police if he bothered her again to heart, but I know better. If he lost control enough for him to lash out at her once, he can and probably will do it again.

It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. There's a part of me that wants him to try something just so we can throw that smug bastard behind bars where he belongs, but only after I beat him to within an inch of his life for what he did to Mac this morning, for what she's still going through because of him.

I just wish that I knew what to do for Mac. She's trying so hard to be strong, but then the façade will slip and it breaks my heart to see just how much she is hurting inside. She's almost like a scared little girl deep down and I want nothing more than to take away all the pain that she is feeling. But I don't know how. And God help me, it's all my fault.

And it's not just my ill-timed phone call. There are so many things that I could have done differently over the last four years. If only I'd not let Mac pull back in Columbia. If only I'd told her that it was really her I was kissing that night in Norfolk. Then there are the really big regrets. If only I'd never left her to return to an ultimately dead-end career as a pilot. If only I'd told her what I was really feeling before I left. If only I hadn't let us get so far apart while I was gone. If only I'd worked harder to bring us back together upon my return. And then there's the biggest regret of all. If only I hadn't choked on the ferry, unable to put into words how much I really wanted and needed her in my life and not just as a friend.

What's that old saying? 'Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these – it might have been.' If any one – just one – of those things had been different, then we wouldn't be where we are today. Then I wouldn't be watching the woman I love suffering because of the actions of a man whom she thought was the one that was different from all the other men who've ever hurt her.

I enter my apartment carrying a bag with our food, blindly tossing my keys on the bookcase as I kick the door closed. "Mac, food's here," I call out as I carry the bag to the kitchen.

"Um, Harm," Mac begins hesitantly, her voice coming from the living room. I don't even turn in her direction as I grab some plates and a couple of glasses for our drinks and set them on the bar.

"What do you want to drink?" I ask, pulling the containers of food out of the bag. I open one container and dump the rice inside on a plate, seeing Mac come towards me out of the corner of my eye.

"Harm, will you stop for a second?" she asks, covering my hand with hers. "Um, there's something that you need to know."

"Can we talk after we eat?" I ask, staring at her bare right hand, remembering the ring that used to sit on her third finger. "I just. . . ."

"Harm," she repeats my name, her voice bearing an edge of frustration. When I still don't respond, she sighs heavily, then blurts out, "Harm, Renee's here."

"What?" I ask, my head jerking up and whipping around to see Renee standing by the couch, looking a bit uncomfortable as she watches us. As a reflex, I jerk my hand away from Mac's, but she doesn't even react, merely looking at me with sympathy in her chocolate eyes.

"You two really need to talk," she says softly. "Look, I'll be okay here. Why don't you take Renee out to eat somewhere? She's had a really long flight out from California and I'm sure she's hungry."

Right now, I could care less about what Renee wants or needs. I don't want to think about what Renee's being here means. "I don't want to leave you alone again," I tell her, keeping my voice low so that only she can hear.

"I know you want to take care of me," Mac replies, just as quietly, putting her hand on my arm and rubbing gently. "But Harm, you really owe it to Renee to talk to her after everything. I know this is not how you imagined this happening, but you really do have to talk to her. You need to explain things. Mic went to see her; he was waiting for her when she got home."

"What?" I demand, my voice louder. I turn to look at Renee, concerned. Even though I don't love her the way she wants me to, I do care about her and don't want her anywhere near Mic Brumby. "Are you okay? Did Mic. . . ."

"Do anything?" she asks, shaking her head. "No. I think he sees me as some kind of victim in all of this, just like he sees himself. He had been drinking, but it was. . . .I don't want to say fine, after seeing what has happened to Mac, but I got rid of him. Look, I really should go. We can talk later."

She moves towards the door, but Mac stops her. "Renee, wait," she says, then looks at me pleadingly. I look down at the counter for a moment, then look back up at Mac.

'Are you sure?' I mouth and she nods.

"Do you want to grab some dinner, Renee?" I ask, trying to keep the reluctance out of my voice. I don't want to do this now, but Mac's right. I do need to deal with this. Renee didn't deserve to find out about everything, not like this, and especially not from Mic Brumby. God only knows what he told her. "I don't. . . .you deserve an explanation."

She looks from me to Mac for a moment, then nods. "Okay," she agrees, her voice as reluctant as I feel.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" I ask Mac and she gives me an exasperated look.

"I was fine when you went out to get our dinner," she points out. "I've got Jingo to keep me company. I'll just curl up on the couch, eat my dinner and listen to the radio."

"Okay," I say reluctantly, squeezing her hand. I want so much to kiss her, but not in front of Renee. I don't want to rub her nose in this anymore than it already has been.

"I know," she whispers. "It will be okay. I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

+++

Renee and I sit across the table at the restaurant, staring at each other. I wish that I knew what she is thinking, but she just stares at me impassively. After her testimony in the Grenada trial, I knew exactly what she was thinking, just from the tears in her eyes and the stiff way she held herself as she stepped down from the witness stand. But nothing in her body language gives me an indication of what she is thinking now.

Finally, the silence gets to me and I begin hesitantly, "Renee, I'm sorry. . . ."

"Sorry for what exactly, Harm?" she interrupts, her voice soft, but with an angry edge to it. "Sorry for leading me on for the last nine months? Sorry for making me fall in love with you? Sorry that you cheated on me? What exactly are you sorry for?"

"I guess I deserve that," I say, staring down at the table top. I'm not used to being in this position and I'm not just talking about what's happened this weekend. Usually I'm the one being dumped, not trying to think of how to explain why I'm the one doing the dumping. "I can understand why you're upset."

"I'm not just upset," she counters, tears filling her eyes. "I'm angry, Harm. I'm so angry that I want to yell and scream at you, to demand how you could do this to me. I'm so angry that I want to throw things. I'm so angry that I want to hurt you the way you've hurt me. I'm so angry that I want Mac to pay for stealing my man away. But you know what? Doing those things won't accomplish anything. In the end, I'll still be a woman who was foolish enough to wish for things that I can now see were never going to happen. I guess hindsight really is twenty-twenty."

"I don't know what to say to you, Renee," I say, shrugging. "I just. . . .I wish there was some way to make all of this easier."

She leans across the table, brushing the tears from her eyes. "Unfortunately, you can't," she replies firmly, her voice shaking – not a lot, but just enough that I notice. Damn. She pauses a moment to compose herself, then continues, "I love you. I wanted to marry you, to have your babies. Only, I find out that I've been living a lie for nearly a year."

"Renee, I'm sorry. . . ." I begin, but she interrupts again.

"Please stop saying that," she demands softly. "If you really were sorry, none of this would have ever happened." Her tears are now falling faster than she can wipe them away with her fingers and I hand her a napkin across the table. She dabs at her eyes, then looks at me and utters a single word, "Why?"

I take a deep breath as I stare at her, trying to think of what to tell her. I don't know what she and Mac talked about before I arrived, aside from the fact that they obviously discussed Mic, what he did to Mac and his impromptu visit to Renee. There's a part of me that wishes Mac would have explained things to her so that I wouldn't have to. I'm such a coward. But I know that Mac wouldn't have done that. If Renee had asked her anything about our relationship, Mac likely would have told her that she needed to talk to me.

Finally, I counter, "Do you really want to know?" I want her to say 'no' so we can drop this whole painful topic and just go our separate ways. But there's probably a snowball's chance in hell of that happening.

I'm proven correct. "I don't want to," she replies, "but I need to know. I need to know how the man I loved, who is supposed to be an officer and a gentleman, could so easily betray me."

The 'officer and a gentleman' bit stings, but only because it's all too accurate in this case. I've always prided myself on being the epitome of what a Naval officer should be. But after denying my feelings for Mac for four years, maybe it was just high time that something broke. And while I'm not sorry that everything's finally out in the open between me and Mac, I am sorry that Renee got hurt in the process. I know that most of my friends never understood what I saw in Renee, but she is a good person and didn't deserve this. Hell, before this morning, I probably would have thought deep down that Mic didn't really deserve this either.

"Believe me, it wasn't easy," I finally reply, referring to this entire situation rather than to just what happened last night. "If it were, I wouldn't have spent the last four years denying what was right in front of me."

"So you've been in love with her the entire time," she states softly, taking a sip of her water. Her hand is shaking as she sets the glass down and I cover it with mine, but she jerks her hand away. "Please, don't do that. I can't. . . .it hurts too much."

I pull my hand back and say, in response to her previous statement, "Have I always been in love with Mac? I honestly don't know. Maybe. Our relationship's always been a bit. . . .complicated and I don't know if I can pinpoint an exact moment when I realized that I love her as more than a friend."

"Why now?" she asks. "If you've gotten so good at hiding your feelings over the last four years, then why did everything change all of a sudden? Or maybe it wasn't all of a sudden? Was Mic right? Have you two been carrying on behind our backs the entire time?"

"No," I say forcefully, a bit louder than I intended. Several of the restaurant's patrons turn to stare at us and I lower my voice as I continue. "No, it just started last night. And I don't even know why, can't even explain it. It was just like, in this one instant, everything became so clear and we couldn't deny our feelings any more."

"I'm sorry I asked that," she says softly, twirling her fork in her hand. "I didn't think Mic was telling the truth about that, but then again, I thought he was just accusing you two of having an affair because he wanted to get back at you for something."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I counter. "I'm the one who hurt you."

"How noble of you," she says sarcastically and I have to force myself not to flinch. I suppose I should be thankful that she didn't go with her first instinct to yell and scream and throw things – or to hurt Mac.

"How long had you been at the apartment before I got there?" I ask. I'm not sure that I want to know, but Mac's already been hurt enough and I need to know if Renee said anything, intentionally or otherwise, that might have upset Mac.

"About half an hour," she replies, looking me straight in the eye. I'm a bit uncomfortable under her intense scrutiny, but I don't turn away. "Worried that I might have said something to upset your girlfriend?"

I don't reply and she sighs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that last part," she explains. "This is just getting to me. Actually, we hardly talked about you and her at all. I had asked if what Mic said was true, but Mac insisted that I needed to talk to you. Actually, I suppose you could say that was as good as admitting it. After all, if you two hadn't had sex, why not just say so? I know she doesn't like me, but she's never struck me as being petty and vindictive enough to make me believe there is something going on between you two when there isn't."

"She's not," I say. "So what did you two talk about or are you going to tell me you just stared at each other for the half hour until I got home?"

"Well, we did talk about Mic," she says. "I guessed that he had been responsible for the bruise on her face and I told her about his stopping by my place."

"What exactly did he say to you?" I ask, concerned. I know she had said earlier that everything was okay, but I am just not in a position anymore to believe the best about Mic Brumby.

"He helped me carry my luggage in," she tells me, her voice steadier. "I could tell from his eyes that he'd been drinking, but he didn't seem threatening. I just thought he was upset because you and Mac had gone away on some case. Then I listened to my messages and he said that I shouldn't expect one from you, although he said he supposed that you might enjoy being involved with two women at the same time. Then he said that Mac had stayed out all night and wandered home this morning wearing your clothes and that maybe you two had been, um, together the entire time behind our backs. Then he suggested that maybe he and I should get to know each other better."

"But he didn't do anything?" I ask, worried. After what happened to Mac, what else could have easily happened, I can't believe anything good about Brumby.

"Harm, working in Hollywood, I've seen men do a lot of things and I know how to handle myself," she assures me. She shakes her head. "Then again, being a Marine, I'm sure Mac thought the same thing right up until he actually hit her." She actually sounds sympathetic and I can't help the look of surprise that crosses my face.

"What? Do you honestly think so little of me that you would think that I would believe Mac got what she deserved?" she retorts, then sighs. "Sorry again. I didn't really mean that. I like Mac about as much as she likes me, but as another woman, I have nothing but sympathy for what she's gone through today. No woman deserves that and no matter how strong a woman is, it unfortunately can happen all too easily. Meet a man who says all the right words, does all the right things and before you know it, you're in too deep. And that's when you see his true colors."

There's something in the way she says the last part that makes me think. "You?" I ask, surprised. To be honest, Renee and I have never talked much about our pasts unless something causes the topic to be brought up, like my discovery that I have a brother, which brought an explanation of my first trip to Russia and what had happened to my father there.

She shakes her head. "Someone close to me," she replies without elaborating. "Unfortunately, she married the bastard before she found out what a monster he is. And she came this close to dying before she found the courage to get out. It's. . . .you don't ever forget it when you see something like that and you pray every day that it won't ever be you someday."

"I'm sorry," I say, unable to think of anything else.

"She survived, which is the important thing," she continues. "I just wish that she hadn't had to go through that just to realize how strong a person she can be. But from what I've seen of Mac, she's a survivor, too. And I guess it counts for something that she's got you to help her through this."

"I guess," I reply, not really sure of how much help that I can be. "So. . . .I don't know. It seems kind of trite to ask if you'll be okay."

"I will be, eventually," she says, shrugging. "It's not like I've never been dumped before, although I admit that you do mean more to me than most. But I'd like to think that I've got too much dignity to try to hold on to something that just isn't there. So, are you ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah, I want to. . . ." I trail off, not wanting to say to Renee, of all people, that I want to get back to Mac. But she knows.

"You want to get back to Mac," she finishes for me.

I don't reply as I motion to the waitress for our check. I hand the waitress some money, telling her to keep the change and I walk out with Renee, heading for our cars. She had suggested that we each drive our own cars here, telling me that she would drive home straight from the restaurant, but I think that she just didn't want to be in the same car with me, not that I can blame her after what I've done to her.

We stop at the back of her car and she turns to me. "I guess this is goodbye," she says sadly. "It hurts too much right now, but I'm sure that someday I'll look back and think that it was nice knowing you."

"I never meant to hurt you," I say sincerely. "I hope that someday you will be able to believe that."

"Maybe someday," she say, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. "Goodbye, Harmon Rabb."

She turns to walk around to the driver's door, but stops suddenly, dropping her keys. "Harm. . . ." she says, her voice shaking.

"What is it?" I ask, following the direction of her gaze – to the tires of my SUV, all four of them slashed.

+++

"Thanks for the ride home," I tell Renee as she pulls up outside my building, letting the engine idle. After the police did their thing and asked their questions, I had the SUV towed to a garage so that new tires can be put on it. Unfortunately, I won't be able to pick it up until Monday afternoon. I guess Mac and I will have to take a taxi to her place and pick up her car – assuming that her tires haven't been slashed as well.

"Do you really think it was Mic?" she asks, studying me. I had told the police about Mic and what he had done to Mac when they had come to take my statement about the slashing. I shrug.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I suppose it could have just been some random act." The police dusted for fingerprints, but didn't find any by the tires or on the hubcaps, so there's nothing to prove that it was Mic unless they turn up something while canvassing the neighborhood.

"But you don't really believe that," she concludes.

"No, I don't," I reply. "I've felt all day like we've just been waiting for the other shoe to drop. But slashing my tires is really minor compared to what he's already done."

"So what are you going to do for transportation?" she asks.

"I guess I'll call a taxi and Mac and I will head to her place to pick up her car," I explain. We could take the subway, but if it is Mic, he had to have followed me to the restaurant and I don't want to expose us to anything by walking to the nearest Metro station.

"Harm, I'm already here," Renee counters. "Why don't you just go upstairs, get Mac and I'll drive you over there?" I look at her, surprised.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "I don't want to put you out."

"I offered, didn't I?" she replies. "Anyway, if it is Mic, then Mac's tires have possibly been slashed as well and you'll need to go to a rental car place. Do you know what that will cost you in taxi fares? Now, go upstairs and get Mac."

"I'll be back in a few," I concede, getting out of the car. I'm not sure why Renee is doing this, especially after everything, but considering how badly she could have reacted to this news, I'm not about to knock her apparent good will.

When I enter my apartment, Mac's on the floor playing with Jingo. She looks up and smiles at me. "I was beginning to worry a little that you were gone so long," she says, getting up and walking over to me. She puts her arms around my waist and I just hold her for a minute, closing my eyes as I try to forget for just a moment everything that's happened.

"Was it that bad?" she asks, pulling back slightly to look into my eyes.

"Not really," I admit. "Renee took it better than I expected her to, considering how she found out. But something did happen. . . .when we left the restaurant, we discovered that my tires had been slashed."

"Mic?" she asks, her voice trembling. I pull her back into my arms.

"I don't know," I reply, rubbing her back, trying to offer what comfort I can. "The police didn't find any fingerprints around the tires. They're going to ask around, see if anyone noticed anything. I did tell them what Mic did to you, so they are going to bring him in for questioning, but. . . ."

"It's not like he's likely to admit anything if he did do it," she concludes. "So now what?"

"Renee's waiting for us downstairs," I tell her. At her surprised look, I explain, "She offered to drive us to your place to pick up your car, um. . . ."

"But if it was Mic, he may have slashed my tires as well," she points out. I nod reluctantly. "Let me call my neighbor, ask her to check on my car. Then we'll know." She walks over and picks up the phone, hanging it back up after a minute. "No one's home. I guess we'll have to wait and see."

Clasping her hand tightly in mine, I lead Mac outside, not dropping her hand until she gets into the back seat of the car. Renee turns and smiles weakly. "Hello again, Mac," she says as I get into the front passenger seat.

"Hi," Mac says, obviously trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. I turn and smile at her, hoping to offer her reassurances that I don't really feel.

With the exception of my telling Renee when and where to turn, we are silent on the drive to Georgetown, each wrapped up in our own thoughts. Finally, Renee pulls onto Mac's street and parks in front of a building a couple of buildings down from Mac's. As soon as Renee kills the engine, Mac lets out a small gasp and I turn to look across the street. The viewing angle isn't the greatest, but we can see enough of one tire to tell that Mac's tires have been slashed as well.

I turn to her and take her hand. "Let's just go inside and call the police," I tell her. "Mic's just moved up to the position of prime suspect."

Mac nods, taking a deep breath. "Harm," she says hesitantly, "I think. . . .I want to call Detective Summers. I want to press charges against Mic for. . . .this." She gestures to the bruise on her face. She takes another breath and her voice is stronger as she adds, "I warned him not to come after us. I told him what would happen if. . . ."

She stops suddenly and covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh, God," she exclaims, opening her car door. "He has a key to my apartment." She jumps out of the car and takes off for her building at a run.

"Mac, wait," I call out as Renee and I get out of the car, but if she hears me, she doesn't acknowledge it. I take off after her, barely aware of Renee following a few steps behind. I bypass the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time. I throw open the stairwell door and race for Mac's apartment, stopping in the open doorway.

Mac is standing in the middle of the living room, looking down at the floor, her whole body trembling. Strewn all over the floor are torn photos, apparently ripped from several photo albums which also litter the floor. As I step into the apartment, I get a good look at some of the photos, recognizing many of them. They're photos of the two of us, taken at various times in the last four years. I see part of one that looks like it was taken at a JAG softball game, another at the airfield with 'Sarah', still another taken at the NATO ball a few months after we met.

She sinks to the floor, picking up one photo and staring at it. I come up behind her and fall to my knees, pulling her back into my arms as I pry the torn photo from her fingers. It's of the two of us, me in my dress whites and Mac in a light blue dress, holding baby AJ in her arms. It was taken after his christening, the last photo taken of the two of us before I returned to flying.

I hear a gasp from the doorway and I turn my head to see Renee standing there, her hand covering her mouth as she looks on in shock. "Call the police," I instruct her. After a moment, she nods and moves to the desk to make the call.

"Oh, God, Harm," Mac whispers brokenly as I rock her in my arms. "When is this all going to end?"

"I wish I knew," I whisper, burying my face in her hair. "I wish to God that I knew."

+++

It's started raining again. It storms, then the clouds break, then they roll in again. Much the same way that my life has been going the last two days. Once I had found the bliss that I've always craved in Harm's embrace, I honestly thought that once we started talking to each other and working through the issues that had kept us apart, that everything would suddenly be looking up for us. I'd break it off with Mic, he'd break it off with Renee and then we'd live happily ever after. Sounds like some kind of fairy tale, doesn't it? But I should have known better. This time has ended up no different than any other time in my life. Just when I start believing in the good things again, something comes along to bring the rain back into my life.

I sit in a chair by the window, resting my head against the cool glass of the window, willing myself to remain strong, to not give into the tears that are threatening. Harm's on the other side of the room, conversing with the police, but every so often I can feel his eyes on me, feel his concern across the room. I can just imagine what's going through his mind right now. He's blaming himself. But who knows for what. For not speaking up about his feelings when he had the chance in Sydney? For just standing by when Mic came to the States to claim me? For allowing himself to let go at what now appears to be the worst possible time? He probably blames himself for all of it. But what he won't let himself realize is that it's a false blame.

I'm the one who wouldn't listen and wait for him when he wanted me to. I'm the one who took an engagement ring from a man I didn't really love only because I'd been rejected by the one that I did. I'm the one who stood by and let Mic claim me at the Surface Warfare Ball like I some prize or trophy. I'm the one who didn't stand up to him when he started acting controlling. I'm the one who dragged my feet for nine months on a decision when I already knew deep down what my answer should be. I'm the one who's at fault here.

I look at the direction my life has taken those nine months since Sydney and I don't even recognize the woman living that life. What happened to the nineteen year old who managed to turn her back on alcohol with her uncle's love and encouragement? What happened to the young woman who vowed to make it in a man's world as an officer in the United States Marine Corps. What happened to the officer who endured the hard work and sleepless nights of law school? What happened to the woman who's always been able to pull herself up by her bootstraps? I don't know what has happened to her and it scares me that I'm not sure how to get her back.

"Here you go, Mac," I hear Renee say. I turn away from the window to find her standing over me, a coffee cup in each hand. "I took the liberty of putting some coffee on. Harm told me how you like yours."

"Thanks," I reply weekly, accepting the mug she's holding out to me. I take a cautious sip of the scalding liquid as she grabs another chair from the dining table and pulls it near me, sitting down to sip her own drink.

After a long moment's silence, Renee asks in a sympathetic tone, "How are you doing, Mac?" Even after how well things have gone with her today, there's still a part of me that's surprised by the question and the concern behind it. I'd never thought much of her before, but she's really surprised me today. In fact, I would have thought she would have taken the breakup of her and Harm's relationship worse than Mic would have taken his and mine. That just goes to show how much I misjudged her – and misjudged Mic.

"I don't know," I say quietly, staring down into the brown liquid as if I might find life's answers there. "I still keep expecting to wake up and find this has all been some kind of nightmare. I'd never expected Mic to act like this. Then again, looking back, I guess the warning signs were there all along." Once I started talking, the words just kind of tumbled out. I guess I need someone outside of this thing with Mic to listen to me. I just never thought I would feel comfortable talking to Renee Peterson. Maybe I'll give that psychologist that Detective Summers recommended a call. Although I've always preferred doing for myself, I don't know if I can do it this time. Maybe I need someone to talk to who is outside this entire situation. Maybe both Harm and I do.

"The warning signs always are there, I guess," Renee agrees sadly. "But when you love. . . .or care about someone, you don't want to see anything that will destroy the image of them you're carrying around in your mind. I know Andrea didn't. . . ." she trails off, caught up in the memories of this mysterious Andrea. When we were waiting for Harm to come home earlier, she had said enough to lead me to believe that either she or someone she knew had been abused by a significant other.

She takes another sip of coffee and explains, her voice soft, "Andrea was my best friend growing up. I was an only child and she was like the sister I'd always wanted. We were even roommates in college and often double dated. Our senior year, she met Mike. He was sweet and charming and appeared to be head over heals for her. They married two weeks after college graduation and for a while, their life seemed like a fairy tale."

"So how did it all go wrong?" I ask, curious. This is obviously painful for her and it explains a lot about her reaction to what happened to me. Something tells me that if it weren't for the bruises I'm sporting, she probably would have taken the news of mine and Harm's relationship a lot worse. But because she apparently feels bad for what I've been through, she's keeping her negative feelings to herself – at least as far as I know, since I don't know what she said to Harm when they had dinner.

"It was a combination of things," she continues and I'm not even surprised that her eyes are filling with tears. "There were cutbacks where he worked. He was able to stay on, but at a lower salary. His mother had terminal cancer and Andrea found out she was pregnant. At first, it was just yelling – yelling about the lack of money, the pain of dealing with his mother's illness, how they couldn't afford a baby. She said that the first time he hit her, it was after she came home from a shopping trip to buy some things for the baby. He yelled at her about spending money on a baby they couldn't afford, then he hit her. That first time, she said it had surprised them both and he was instantly apologetic."

"I think it's safe to say that doesn't apply to Mic," I comment, gesturing to the trashed room and the police photographing it. I notice Harm glance in our direction and I force a smile to let him know that everything's okay with me and Renee. He nods, forcing a smile of his own in return, and returns to his conversation with the police detective he's with.

"But he wasn't apologetic enough because it happened again," Renee reveals, setting her now empty coffee mug on the window sill. "He lent some money to his parents to help with his mother's doctor bills, money they couldn't really afford to give away, then he wanted her to have an abortion because they couldn't afford the baby. She refused and he gave her a black eye and split lip before storming out of the house. When he returned the next day, he dragged her to an abortion clinic, but she was so hysterical that the doctors refused to perform an abortion since she obviously was not consenting. So he took her home and beat her again. It was her first trip to the hospital because of a beating and she ended up losing the baby. When I visited her at the hospital, she told me that she'd fallen down the stairs. But when I went to the house to see Mike, a lamp was overturned in the living room and stuff strewn all over the floor. When I saw his bruised knuckles, I knew what had happened. But she refused to leave him. She said he was under a lot of stress because of making less money and his mother's illness. She even said that she should have gone along when he wanted her to have the abortion."

"You know what's scary?" I muse, staring out the window at the falling rain again. "If Mic had done this while we were still together, I can't honestly say that I would have walked out either. My mother was abused by my father until she left on my fifteenth birthday and I'm afraid that I might have been like her and stayed. I didn't even want to press charges against Mic initially." I may be a mean drunk like my father, but I'm also apparently an emotionally needy woman who has a hard time standing up the the men in her personal life. I appear to have inherited the worst characteristics from both my parents.

"But you are pressing charges now," she points out. "You've got the strength to stand up for yourself. It took another year and a near-fatal beating before Andrea found that strength inside herself. After Mike was convicted of attempted murder and sent to prison for thirty years, she put her life back together and eventually met a truly nice man whom she married after her divorce was final. They now live in Pennsylvania with their two kids."

"So there can be a happy ending," I whisper, pressing my palm flat against the cold glass. "When I saw my mother when my father died, it struck me how – I don't know – empty her life seemed. She had escaped my father but she didn't really seem any happier."

"But you've got Harm," she points out and I turn back to her, stunned. Even if she's keeping her true feelings about her and me and Harm to herself and is trying to be sympathetic towards me, to actually hear her sound so accepting of the reality of the situation is beyond surprising. She just shrugs off my shock. "I'm realistic enough to understand and accept the reality of what's going on here. I. . . ."

Anything else she might have said is interrupted by Harm's approach. He places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently, giving Renee a weak smile. I reach up and curl my fingers around his, needing this comforting contact. "The police about finished up?" I ask, anxious to get out of here. I'd love to go back to Harm's, crawl into bed and forget the rest of the world while in his arms. But the rest of the world just won't forget about us.

"Yeah," he replies. "They'd like to keep a man posted here, just in case Mic decides to return." I can tell from his tone that he'd like to be the one lying in wait for Mic, but that idea scares the hell out of me. The last time they went toe to toe, Harm ended up with various bruises and two broken ribs and that was without anger fueling their fists. Before, it was mostly about competition over the same woman, just as Bud said it was. This time it's about a whole lot more than just that.

"I don't have a problem with that," I tell him. "Anything else?"

"No, just that the DC police are putting out an APB on Mic," he says. "Detective Summers called one of the other detectives and and let him know that she's questioning his co-workers just in case he went to one of them for help. They're also going to check out his usual hangouts – McMurphy's and places like that. And they gave me a number to call if we think of any place he might go or if we hear from him. They've also got a car staking out his apartment."

I nod mutely, trying not to think about Mic coming after us again. But I'd be a fool to think that he's just going to slink away into the night. He didn't after the events of this morning, did he? It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I just pray that the police get to him before he can do any more damage.

"So, are you two ready to get out of here?" Renee asks.

"Yes," I reply quickly. I just want to put this all behind me – at least for a little while, until the next storm in my life breaks.

+++

"So is there anything in particular you want to do?" Harm asks as we enter his apartment. I breathe a sigh of relief that nothing happened on our way to pick up a rental car and on our way back here and that nothing unexpected was waiting for us on our return. I don't know how much more I could take today.

"Can you just hold me?" I ask, holding my arms out. He walks into them without hesitation and I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head against his chest, breathing deeply. In his arms, surrounded by his scent, I can almost forget. Almost.

He leads me towards the couch, sitting down and pulling me down across his lap while his hands stroke my back. I close my eyes and bury my face against his neck. We're silent for several minutes, then Harm finally asks, "How are you doing?"

"I'm managing," I reply. "I've got you and that makes this. . . .not easier, but at least I know I'm not alone."

"And you never will be," he vows, entwining his fingers with mine. He's silent for a moment and I can tell that he's thinking, then he adds, "Mac, even if it weren't for this. . . .our new relationship, I would still be there for you through this. I know that given my behavior of the last year and a half, that may sound pretty incredible, but I stayed back because I thought. . . .well, if Brumby was the one you wanted to be with, I loved you enough not to stand in the way of that. But all you had to do was call and I would have come running."

And he always has been there for me, even when he barely knew me. Even when I tried to go to him when Chris first came to Washington, if I had been upfront about the seriousness of the situation, he would have dropped everything to help me out. But I didn't want to interfere in whatever was going on with him and Bobbi. Just like he didn't want to interfere with Mic and me. God, what a pair we make. To distract myself from that train of thought, I comment, "That last line, that sounds like something from a song."

"A paraphrase, but yeah, it is," he replies, wrapping his arms around me just a little tighter. "It's called 'You've Got A Friend'." He pauses for a moment, then begins singing softly.

When you're down and troubled

And you need some love and care

And nothing, nothing is going right

Close your eyes and think of me

And soon I will be there

To brighten up even your darkest night

You just call out my name

And you know wherever I am

I'll come running to see you again

Winter, spring, summer or fall

All you have to do is call

And I'll be there

You've got a friend

If the sky above you

Grows dark and full of clouds

And that old north wind begins to blow

Keep your head together, baby

And call my name out loud

Soon you'll hear me knocking at your door

You just call out my name

And you know wherever I am

I'll come running to see you again

Winter, spring, summer or fall

All you have to do is call

And I'll be there

Ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?

People can be so cold, oh yeah

They'll hurt you and desert you

And take your soul if you let them

But don't you let them

You just call out my name

And you know wherever I am

I'll come running to see you again

Winter, spring, summer or fall

All you have to do is call

And I'll be there

You've got a friend

You've got a friend

You've got a friend

As his voice drifts away, I sigh. I just wish it could be that easy as having a friend to stand up for me. "Harm?" I ask hesitantly.

"What is it?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"I appreciate more than you'll ever know your being here for me," I begin, searching for the right words. "But I think it's going to take a lot more than your love and support to get through this. I know this is going to sound pretty incredible, but when I was talking to Renee back at my apartment – and here, earlier – it felt so good to have someone to talk to who was outside the whole situation with me and Mic. I don't know if that makes any sense. Maybe it's that she doesn't really know Mic and can be objective without her own perceptions of him coloring her judgment. Or maybe it's that she had a friend go through an abusive situation."

"At dinner, she mentioned that she had known someone who had been abused," he reveals, "but she didn't say much about it."

"She was talking about it back at my place," I say, respecting Renee's privacy by not saying more. If she had wanted to, she could have explained the entire story to Harm herself. "Anyway, it scares me that I have this habit of picking men who are bad for me – even John Farrow, as good a man as he is, was a bad choice – and when I was talking to Renee, it occurred to me that maybe I'm turning into my mother. If I hadn't already been ready to walk away from him, it terrifies me to think that I might have just excused his behavior and stayed with him."

Harm looks like he's about to say something, so I raise a hand to silence him. "Please, let me finish," I request. He nods and I continue, "I was thinking. . . .you know that Detective Summers gave me the name of that counselor while we were at the hospital and I think that I want to make an appointment. And Harm, I don't know how you're going to feel about this, but I'd like you to go with me. I think we both need some outside help to get through this."

There's a heavy silence between us and for about half a second, I wish that I could take back those last words, but then reason prevails. Harm's not dealing with this very well, maybe even worse than I am due to his obsessive personality. As many bad choices as I've made in my life concerning men, I don't want Harm to become another one because he won't stop obsessing about this situation. "Mac, I don't. . . . well, I've never really liked the idea of talking to a professional. Mom tried to get me to talk to someone when I was a teenager, thinking it might help me deal with my resentment of Frank, so maybe that's why I never cared for the idea," he explains. "I thought the psychologist was going to try to convince me that I needed to accept the fact that my father was dead."

I suppose I can understand that, but I've got to stick to my guns on this one. There's just too much at stake. "Please, Harm," I plead, my eyes filling with tears. I turn slightly in his lap so I can look him straight in the eye. "I really want this. . . .us to work and I'm afraid that this whole situation could ultimately tear us apart sooner or later. Please, Harm, for us."

"I know this probably isn't the answer that you want to hear, but could I have a little bit of time to think about it?" he asks. "I'm not going to stop you from going yourself. In fact, I encourage it. But I need to consider this. It wouldn't do you any good if I'm not a willing participant."

Since I know that he has a point, I can respect his desire for time to think. At least he didn't say no outright. "I can live with that," I say, trying to keep the reluctance out of my voice. I know it's probably a lot to ask of Harm, but what might happen if we both don't get help scares the hell out of me like almost nothing else has. "I'll call first thing Monday morning and make an appointment for myself and if you decide that you want to go with me. . . . I'll just let them know there might be two of us coming."

"Okay," he agrees. I try unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn and he notices. "Ready to go to bed? I know it's still a little early, but it's been a long day."

Yes, it has been a long day and one that I am very ready to put behind me. I cross my fingers, praying that tomorrow will be better. "As long as you come with me and promise to hold me all night long and not let me go," I say.

"That's a given," he replies, giving me a soft kiss as he stands, sweeping me up in his arms for the second time today. I close my eyes as I bury my face against his neck, imagining that I'm a princess in some fairy tale and he's my white knight come to rescue me. I just hope that we can eventually find the 'Happily ever after.'

+++

I shift sleepily, dimly aware of a ringing in the background that is calling me from the land of dreams. I reach out and feel the firm muscles of Harm's back. I realize that the ringing must have been the phone and that he turned away from me to answer it so that he didn't disturb me. With him facing away from me, my sleep-clouded brain can't make out his soft words. After a moment, he hangs up the phone and turns back to me and I snuggle back into his arms, never opening my eyes.

"Who's on the phone?" I mumble against his chest.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he apologizes, clasping his hand around mine which is resting just over his heart.

"S'okay. I heard the phone ringing. So who's it?" I ask again even as I begin drifting back to sleep in his arms.

"Just a wrong number," he replies quietly. "Go back to sleep."

"Hmm," I murmur sleepily as he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. I smile softly, content for the moment with the peace that I'm finding in his arms.

+++

To be continued. . . .