A/N: Note the change in rating here. I don't know if it's really necessary, but I thought better safe than sorry.

For Every Action 6

Harm woke slowly to the sound of Vanessa Carlton on the radio. Finding himself more rested than he had been in months, Harm dug down in to the covers reluctant to end the nights' sleep. It was then that his groggy mind realized the difference. With very little memory of the night's happenings, Harm looked up to find Sarah McKenzie's sleeping face hovering over him. Going very still he tried to remember why she was in his bed. There was the obvious reason, but as it was something he'd been waiting years for he was sure he'd remember that. Deciding not to test the waters this early in the morning, he disentangled his arms from Mac's waist and sat up slowly. She moaned quietly at the loss of contact very nearly undoing the tenuous control Harm was trying to build. Sliding off the bed, he walked into the bathroom started the shower. As steam began to fill the small, tiled space he stuck his head out the door to check on Mac. Just as her eyes opened, and she stretched the sleep from her limbs. She blushed slightly when her eyes locked with his. He, on the other hand, went white as a sheet. The nightmare came back with stunning, vivid clarity. Tears stood in his eyes again, and he could all but see her consumed by the flames. "Mac." His voice broke over her name.

"Harm, It was just a nightmare." She stood and went to him. Laying a hand on his shirtless shoulder, she looked hi min the eyes, "Tell me about it?"

"I don't think I can." He croaked grabbing at the hand she'd laid on him. Letting go when she pulled back, he watched as she shuffled through the bathroom back to her room. Within the hour the were both dressed, and hunting down a killer.



~*2*~

"What makes you think the killings were crimes of passion?" Mac questioned picking a pencil up from the table. "I mean since all the bodies are very meticulously in the same condition—I don't know, Harm, they look like your typical serial maniac."

"Except the wounds. Killer used a knife. Pathologist says he got pretty violent. The stab wounds are all jagged. No methodical in and out motion—instead, it's more an in and twist motion."

"And?" Mac asked with a nearly imperceptible shudder.

"Serial killers are notoriously unattached emotionally." Shaking his head he glanced back over at the inventory of personal effects from each victim. He and Mac had circled all the common items. Since the women were all Sailors, all stationed to the same ship—the lists were a mass of red circles. Harm started to close the first folder when an item common to all three victims struck him. Flipping through the other two folders her brought out all three lists.

"What is it, Harm?"

"This," he pointed out the glasses listed on all three effects manifests, and going back through the boxes he brought out each of the glass. "Laissez les bons temps rouler."

"Let the good times roll." Mac murmured.

"French?"

In spite of the grim scenes Mac dazzled him with a smile. "Mardi Gras, Harm. You've never been?"

"Not something I'd gotten around to." he shrugged. "I'm really not a hedonist--" he looked her in the eye, "Despite your opinion of me."

"I never said you were a hedonist—perhaps a lecher—but never a hedonsit."

Getting back to business, Harm focused on the glasses. 'They're identical. All three."

"Yeah, the probably went to New Orleans together and got souvenirs." Mac shrugged looking through the pathology reports again, hoping she'd see something she'd missed. After a long stretch of studious salience Mac's stomach decided to turn on her. Pressing hand to the loud rumbling she looked up at Harm with a wry smile.

"All right, Let's go eat." She jumped up eagerly. "But I'm not eating at that little shack of a McDonald's." Her face fell.

"It's the only thing close."

"I'm sure you can wait the five minutes it'll take us to drive into town." She pouted, but he held his ground.

Over a lunch of what Mac less than affectionately termed "rabbit food," they discussed the case in the easy manner of old friends and coworkers. As she shoved the lettuce on her plate around, Mac's cell phone rang. "McKenzie." She answered and waited for a reply. "Tom. How nice to hear from you." She looked at Harm and shrugged. "You're in Biloxi?" She waited for the answer and slid from her seat in the booth. As she walked away from the table Harm heard her laugh and agree "Sure, I'd love to. Tonight? All right I'll be there." He watched her close the phone and tried not to glare as she sat back down.

~*3*~

Mac slid into Tom's booth as the waiter appeared carrying her water glass. She chuckled low in her throat. "Always said I had great timing." She joked.

"Thanks for coming, Mac. I don't like to eat alone, and it seems I've been forced to do it far too often recently." Mac smiled and they began to chat quietly, companionably until he waiter took their orders. After appetizers and entrees they ordered dessert and coffee, still talking quietly.

"Well, the other reason I wanted to talk to you is that I'll be taking leave for the next two weeks. I'm taking my brother and his fiance out west. If there's anything you—or Commander Rabb—needs regarding the investigation here's my cell phone number." He handed her a small white card. Reaching under the table He pulled out a brightly wrapped box. "Just a thanks for having dinner with me. A small token. Open it later." She smiled and slid out of the booth to take his arm as he lead her out to his car. The easy drive back to Pascagoula was comfortably silent, and Mac gave a small sigh of relief for it. The gift in her lap had made her a little self conscious, but she figured that he was an older man, from a more gallant time. Shrugging,she straightened in the seat and leaned over to kiss his cheek as he pulled to a stop. "I had a nice time,Tom. If you see any available cowboys, send 'em my way."

Mac opened the door to her room and groaned. Sliding off her dress and undergarments, she settled on top of the blankets and promptly passed out.

Between her infallible internal clock and the seriously off key Sailor singing in the shower, Mac awoke with a start, but settled back into the blankets once she was reassured of her surroundings. She stretched into a sitting position and saw the brightly wrapped box on her nightstand. The thought of the sweet man who'd given her the gift had a small smile spreading over her face. Pulling the ribbon, and divesting the box of it's paper, her smile froze as she opened the lid to reveal a souvenir hurricane glass. "Laissez les bons temps rouler." She read the imprint. "Let the good times roll." she whispered her voiced filling with an ironic tone of dread. "Harm!" she called frozen by shock, hurt by her terrible judge of character. Leaving—"out west" Oh God! Regaining the use of her feet, Mac sprang from the bed and pounded on the door. "HARM!" she screamed trying to hold off the panic bubbling up in her throat.