AN: You all thought it would never happen. That I would never finish this. Frankly, I thought the same thing, so no hard feelings on my end. But here it is. For those of you with freakishly long memories, this picks up right where it left off (I think). For the rest of you mere mortals (myself especially), I'll repost the first 3 parts, since I can't remember exactly where I left off, and it's been so long that I can't double check on voy.
P.S. Thank you for being so patient.
P.P.S. I hope I don't get everyone's hopes up by posting this. I am working on finishing "At Last", it's just coming along slowly. Verrrry slowly. So bear with me.
CONCLUSIONApparently the same thing that goes on in my mind, at least some of the time, if what I'm looking at is any indication.
I hold the item delicately in my hand and wonder just what he plans on doing with it.
Well, I mean, I'm pretty sure what he plans on doing with it.
Great minds think alike, after all.
Unless, he doesn't plan on doing it with me.
Oh dear.
Well, seize the opportunity, MacKenzie. It's here. It's unopened. He obviously hasn't put whatever plans he has into effect, so here's your chance to make a few of your own.
**********
CHRISTMAS EVE
(2 weeks later)
I rap one more time for good measure before pulling out my key. After a count of five, I slide it into the lock and let myself in. The ever-present chill of his apartment immediately accosts me and I quickly decide that before anything else happens I'm going to turn up the heat. Hearing it kick on, I quickly hang my coat and purse on a peg by the door and place the two plastic bags I'm carrying on his dining table.
Chances are I've only beaten Harm by about fifteen or twenty minutes. The admiral sidelined him after church and, given Singer's appearance at JAG earlier today—the first since we heard the astonishing news of her pregnancy (she's been on sick leave)—I can only imagine what the conversation was like.
Her official announcement at staff call certainly raised a few eyebrows and I wonder what Harm thinks about what she had to say. With the holiday, and with now two junior attorneys out (though Singer returns to work after the new year) he and I were both incredibly busy and barely had time to say hello much less mull over the meaning and hidden messages embedded in Singer's cryptic statement.
I brush the topic away, even though I'm more than curious as to what the admiral had to say—and even more curious as to what Singer had to say to Harm when I saw them together by the elevator before she left—and concentrate on getting everything ready.
Plug in tree lights. Check.
Put Harm's gift underneath tree. Check.
String up the mistletoe I found a couple weeks ago among Harm's Christmas decorations.
Needless to say, once I discovered it, it was subsequently hid. Harm hasn't made any mention of its absence but about a week or so ago I came over to find him going through every bag, box and container he has, looking for something that he refused to name. He did attempt a roundabout inquiry, but after about a half dozen vague answers from me he gave up the topic.
We've had a bit of fun—nothing too serious or racy, or even too deep in the passionate zone—with a few mistletoes kisses. Not too many, since neither of us wants to look like we're aiming for a kiss every time we argue over who has the right to my kitchen space. But it wasn't too long after that first one at my apartment I found him a couple of days later tearing apart his.
I finish up with the last sprig, just as I hear the gate to the elevator noisily bang open and shut. I jump down from my chair and take once last look around before shutting off the overhead lights and opening the door.
"Hi!" I say a little too brightly. Harm looks up from the keys poised in his hand and smiles.
"Ah, you made it," he says, moving to step inside his apartment. I stand firm at the doorway.
"Ahem."
His brow furrows in confusion before noticing my discreet glance upward.
"Uh-huh," he says, eyeing those innocent-looking leafy greens before glancing at the equally innocent-looking and expectant smile on my face. "Tell me something: was there a sale on mistletoe or will you find any excuse to kiss me?"
Thank God it's physically impossible to swallow your own tongue because I'm sure I would have just choked to death on mine. Still, I manage to answer with the self-assured poise of a marine.
"I could ask you the same thing," I retort, hoping that the dim light of his apartment covers the flush I can feel racing up my neck. "I found it with your Christmas decorations in that bag by your desk."
I see a flicker of a sheepish grin before he regains control of the conversation. "Oh, you mean that bag you claimed to know nothing about?"
"I never explicitly said that."
"Hmph." He leans forward and presses his soft warm lips against mine. It lasts just long enough to outrun the confines of friendship and ends just before I give in to my devilish side and really give him a kiss to remember.
He releases my mouth and I realize we're both standing a lot closer to one another than we were. His mouth hovers near mine, as though he's wrestling with the idea of whether to pursue another kiss or if it's best to just leave it alone for now. That's what going through my mind, at any rate, before he pulls away and I step back and allow him to enter.
I refuse to be disappointed.
There's plenty of mistletoe hanging around.
**********
He sits close to me, closer than what he usually does, which is not to say we're wrapped in each others arms, just a nice brushing of shoulders. Comfortably close. Close enough that I could lay my head on his shoulder. Close enough so I can smell the masculine scent of his cologne. Close enough that I can see the dark stubble of his well-after-five o'clock shadow. I can feel the heat of his body next to mine…
I realize he's talking and I force myself to listen and not get further distracted by his proximity. He stares at the lights on the tree, pausing every once in a while to take a drink of his hot Dr. Pepper, or to poke at the slice of lemon floating around in it.
In typical Harm fashion, he talks about everything except what is really on our minds, but for once the topic of avoidance is not our complicated relationship. Finally, after a few random comments about the tree, the weather, Chaplain Turner's sermon, and his client's unwillingness to plead, I ask him the question that's been begging to be voiced since this morning.
"So what did she say?"
"Who? Singer?"
Of course about Singer. "Yes. I saw you two talking by the elevator."
He stares down into his mug and sighs. "Nothing of value, really. She was vague and noncommittal."
I tuck both legs under me and lean against him. He doesn't seem to mind. We sit and enjoy the lights and the silence, and each other's company for a long moment.
"What did the admiral have to say?"
"Not much. I don't think he knows anything more than anybody else does."
"Have you heard from Sergei?"
"No. I imagine he's spending Christmas with his mother, so I won't hear from him until maybe New Year's."
"Did Singer give any indication that she had talked to him?"
"She didn't really give me any indication she had. Or hadn't. She really didn't give me much indication of anything, Mac."
"Well, it's what we expected." He nods in agreement, but I can tell he's still disappointed. We settle back into silence again, mine reflective, and Harm's bordering on brooding, before I decide to lighten the mood.
"So flyboy, what movie do you want to watch first?"
Harm groans and shifts in his seat on the couch, our shoulders and hips rubbing and bumping together.
"Don't start that stuff, Mac."
"Harm, it's tradition."
He groans again and gives me a rather pathetic plea with his eyes, but I refuse to be dissuaded. No matter how endlessly green and soft, and intelligent, and beautiful, and soul jarring those jade orbs are.
Hmm…there also appear to be green-blue specks in the iris, like the color of the ocean Harm loves so much. And long black lashes framing his—
Something obstructs my view, and I notice a faint clicking sound in the background before I remember where I'm at, and who I'm with—and whose eyes I've been staring in like some wide-eyed, lovesick teenager. And they call it puppy love.
"Uh, what?"
Harm snaps his fingers, and I note their present location in my face and the corresponding click and realize with some embarrassment that Harm has been trying to get my attention for some time.
"Wh-what were you saying?"
"I didn't say anything, Mac. You were the one talking before you just trailed off into outer space."
"Was I?" I don't remember saying anything that didn't end with a punctuation mark.
"What was I saying?" Puh-leeze God, don't let it be some spiel on the magical color of his eyes and the things they do to me.
"Just that you wanted me to get started on a little dinner."
"I said that?"
He nods, and quickly charters a course to the kitchen.
"Hey! Weren't we talking about what mo—"
"No," he calls over his shoulder.
I find him busying himself with grabbing utensils and ingredients. As he reaches for his refrigerator door, I head him off at the pass.
"As I was saying, I believe we were discussing what movie to watch first," allowing him to yank open the door and handing him a stick of butter and the eggs.
"What are these for?"
"Cutout cookies."
He gives me a look and rolls his eyes. "You and your sweet tooth, marine."
"Tis the season," I reply sweetly.
"In the hunt for satisfying your never ending sugar fix, it's always open season."
I ignore the remark and concentrate on the task at hand. "Oh, here, you'll need another stick of butter." I smile at the horrified expression on Harm's face and tug on the refrigerator door, but it doesn't budge.
"Here, the seal's just—" he reaches over me and gives it a hard yank, eliciting a popping sound and causing something from on top to float down. I find another stick and turn to give it to Harm before I realize he's recovered the fallen item.
Mistletoe.
Whoops. I forgot I placed one there.
Our eyes meet, mistletoe between us before, and very slowly, Harm raises the hand holding it above our heads. I've long since stopped breathing and just wait to see what will happen.
A knock at the door interrupts whatever words or action we might have taken. Harm sighs in annoyance and casts an apologetic glance at me before making his way to the door.
I take a moment while his back is turned and his attention is seemingly tuned on the door and whoever's on the other side of it to rally my thoughts and get my emotions under control.
Just because the Promised Land is in sight, doesn't mean I—we—I should go sprinting for it. Knowing my—our—my luck, I'll step in some gopher hole before I get five strides into my run and wind up in the dirt flat on my stomach with a sprained ankle and seriously wounded pride.
"Sturgis."
The sound of Harm's voice snaps me back to the present and I hear Sturgis reply, in a polite but obviously curious tone, "Sorry to bother you, Harm. I hope I'm not interrupting." He looks around Harm to give me a nod of greeting. His eyes narrow at some point on the floor to the left of me. When I follow his gaze, I realize he's found the sprig of mistletoe.
Oh…crap. Oh well.
I don't start feeling uncomfortable until he steps in and looks up, and notices the sprig hanging over the threshold. I feel my neck grow warm again as he casts a fleeting glance between Harm and I and somehow manages to catch sight of yet another bunch of mistletoe hanging over the kitchen island. Really, I didn't think there were that many.
(Harm certainly hasn't complained.)
Thank goodness Harm, quite his usual clueless self, steps in and halts any further accusatory looks.
"Was there something you needed, Sturg?"
"As a matter of fact, there is. I was hoping to get through the holiday without having to come bother you, but I need to ask a favor, buddy."
"Name it," Harm replies easily. I ponder the idea that perhaps he's being so easygoing because he's hoping to get rid of Sturgis faster, but then again it's Harm's nature to be easygoing.
"Do you still have that old reel-to-reel player?"
"Yeah. It's in my storage room. Still runs great, though. I had it out a couple of months ago."
"Perfect. I need to borrow it, if you don't mind."
"Sure, no problem. Let me grab the key to the storage room and I'll get it."
"Thanks, Harm."
Harm grabs a key out of a bowl sitting on the bookshelf by the door, gives each of us a brief smile, and disappears out the door and down the hallway. We both listen to his footsteps fading away before we turn to the other.
"So, are you—"
"Sorry again for the –"
"I'm sorry—"
"You go—"
"Wait. You first," I manage to get in.
"Sorry to ruin your evening, Mac," Sturgis repeats in his smooth baritone, but there's just enough inflection to give me pause as to his absolute sincerity. Not that I'd accuse Sturgis of being a saboteur and a liar, but he sounds a bit…amused.
And a tad accusatory.
"Oh, that's all right," I reply airily. "Harm and I were just getting ready to make some cutout cookies.
"Were you?" Again, that tone.
"Yesss."
"Hm."
I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at him, but he pretends not to notice, and instead focuses his attention on the mistletoe hanging above the island.
"I take it Harm's feeling much better. From his cold, I mean," he adds nonchalantly.
All right, Sturgis.
"Yes, he's back to his old self."
"I don't know. Seems like some things are different." He picks the sprig of mistletoe off the floor and places it on the counter ledge.
"So, what do you need a reel-to-reel player for?" I reply, deciding I'm not going to even touch that one.
"A little Christmas gift for my dad."
"Kind of last minute."
"Well, I wasn't sure if it was the right gift or the right time, but I think it will wind up being a good choice."
"What are—"
"Found it!" Harm announces triumphantly, indicating a large black case, covered in dust. He sets it carefully on the ground and attempts to wipe off the dust with a few sweeps of his hand.
"Thanks, buddy."
"No problem."
"I'll try to get it back to you as soon as—"
"Don't worry about it, Sturgis. I know you'll give it back."
"Thanks again, Harm. Sorry for interrupting your evening."
"No problem," I reply as Harm follows Sturgis to the door. Just short of it, Sturgis turns abruptly to Harm, who stops just as suddenly.
"If you don't mind I'll see myself out."
"Sure," Harm accedes in bewilderment.
"No offense, but I'd rather not engage in holiday tradition with you." He tips his head to indicate the mistletoes hanging over the entryway. "I doubt you'd find the activity anywhere near as enjoyable with me as with the colonel. Bye, Mac."
********
I pull the blanket covering me tighter to my body and rest my head on Harm's shoulder. I let out a contented sigh as the credits for It's a Wonderful Life role, pondering if my own life equals the fulfillment that George has. Perhaps. It's certainly closer to it than in years past.
"It's warm in here," Harm comments, indicating the deep thoughts he's currently engaged in. "Did you turn the heat up?"
"It was cold," I reply defensively.
"You were cold," he corrects.
"So what if I was?"
"You want another blanket or anything?"
"No. I'm fine." I could stay here all night, but it's already pretty late—going on midnight—and Chloe will probably be calling early, if Christmases past are any indication.
We don't say anything for a long moment, both of us watching the credits roll past until nothing's left but a blue screen, and even that plays for quite a few seconds before Harm sighs resignedly and shuts off the VCR.
I've about convinced myself that I must get up and leave my warm and comfortable spot on the couch next to Harm now if I'm ever to even attempt to make it home tonight, when he leans his head against mine and all such going home nonsense is scrapped immediately.
I'm almost ashamed to admit how thrilled I am when he places a kiss on my head before pulling me tighter to him.
All in all, this is shaping up to be our best Christmas yet.
"Well, Mac, did you get everything you wanted for Christmas?"
"Nearly. It's not over yet."
"No, it isn't," he agrees.
"I know the reason I don't see my gift from you under the tree is that it's too big to fit under there, right?"
He chuckles. "Maybe."
"How about you? Did you get everything you wanted?"
"I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well, I might be an uncle, something I never even dreamed of until I knew I had a brother and even then I thought it would be a while before I had a little nephew. But then again, if I am an uncle, it's because Singer slept with my brother. Ugh."
"Well, okay, did you get anything else of a decidedly less ambiguous nature that you wanted?"
"Well, I did finally get rid of that stupid cold."
Argh. The man is hopeless.
"Oh, and spend the evening with you and an abundant supply of mistletoe."
My lips part in a wide smile. "There weren't that many," I reply, trying to quell the sensation to bury my face in Harm's shoulder. He snorts.
"Really? Then I'm kind of curious as to what the one in my shower means."
"I had extra."
"Mm-hmm."
Okay, so maybe you did buy a bag too many, MacKenzie.
"So what do you think we should do next, marine?"
"I suppose I should get my things together and head home."
"Yeah, I suppose it's about that time," he agrees.
Neither of us makes a move.
"Of course," Harm adds as nonchalantly as possible, it's almost time for Santa to be stopping by. We could stay up and see if he comes."
I feel my mouth stretch into an even wider grin than before.
"That sounds like a good idea," I reply, settling back into my comfortable position from earlier.
"I've got an even better one."
"Oh yeah?"
"I know how we can pass the time while we wait."
"How?" I pull away to look at him, and find a fairly mischievous look in his eyes, which immediately makes me wary.
He produces a sprig of mistletoe and holds it over our heads between us. I stare at it for a long moment before daring to look at him.
He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
"You up for it, marine?"
*********
THE END