Thursday 1830 Eastern Harm's Apartment North of Union Station

Harm was busy working over the stove while Mac set the table for dinner. He was making his vegetarian stir-fry, which was one of the few vegetarian dishes Mac actually ate without complaint. Harm pounded out a beat with his wooden spoon.

"Harm," Mac called from the table, "You could at least tap in time."

"In time with what," Harm called back; "There's no music on."

Mac walked into the kitchen and came up behind Harm, circling his waist with her arms. She kissed the back of his neck.

"Keep it up, Marine," he whispered playfully, "And I'll forget about your dinner."

"Well, in that case," Mac said as she slipped her arms from his waist.

Harm spun on her and gathered her tightly into his arms. "Let the dinner burn," he said huskily, just before he let his lips descend upon hers. He kissed her passionately, pouring all the kisses he'd wanted to give her throughout the day into that one kiss.

She kissed him back; opening herself to the zealous passion that they concealed inside themselves. She arched herself into him, and he gripped her more strongly. Their lips broke contact for a moment, and Mac traced little kisses along his carved jaw line. He groaned deep in his throat. He slid his hands up to her shoulders and gently drew her away.

"We'll just have dessert then," he said, his voice strained.

Mac wet her lower lip, and looked up at him invitingly, as she reached out and drew her finger along the waist of his jeans. Harm's eyes blazed, and he drew them both down to the floor. Above them their dinner sizzled and burned.

Thursday 1945 Local Harm's Apartment North of Union Station

Harm and Mac never made it to the table that night. Their dinner had burned but neither of them cared very much; they sat in the bathrobes, contentedly eating ice cream on the couch. Mac was about to open a book, when Harm got up off the couch suddenly and bounded into the bedroom.

"What's up?" she called to him.

"Mac, come in here and get dressed," he yelled back.

Mac groaned, but she pushed herself up off the couch. "Harm, why do I need to get dressed?" she asked when she came around the glass partition. Harm had already pulled on his jeans and was pulling a Navy sweatshirt over his head.

Harm sat down and put on his socks, before he stood up again, and said, "Because I'm taking you somewhere."

Ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, Mac sat beside Harm in his SUV. They were heading into town, when Harm stopped for a red light. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He began to fold it into a blindfold.

"I hope you're not planning to use that," Mac warned playfully.

Harm made a fake disappointed face. "Come on, Mac, trust me."

Mac gave him a wary look, and took a deep breath, but she nodded and allowed Harm to tie the blindfold over her eyes. As soon as the blindfold was secure, Mac's other senses sharpened. She could smell Harm, not just his cologne and his soap, but him. The smell that was just his. She could hear his hands on the steering wheel, and she felt the turns of the SUV deep in her stomach.

"Harm, where are you taking me?" she asked smiling.

"You'll see."

A few minutes later, Harm pulled the SUV to a stop. He turned off the ignition, and Mac reached up to remove the blindfold. Harm caught her just in time, "No, not yet," he said as he fixed it over her eyes, "Patience."

Mac sighed, and sat back in her seat. Harm came around the car and helped her from the car. "That's it," he said softly, "One foot in front of the other."

"Harm, I'm just blindfolded,"

Harm chuckled. "Come on."

Mac felt the hardness of the ground and knew that they were walking on concrete. She could smell and hear the city, but they weren't unpleasant sensations. The smell was fresh, like air after rain, and the city sounds were muffled. She realized that they must be near or in a park of some kind. They had walked at least two blocks, when Harm stopped. He still kept one hand on her arm.

"Mac," he said softly looking at her face. She stood before him, her hair slightly unkempt because of the blindfold, dressed in jeans and tennis shoes, and she was still the sexiest woman he had ever known. "Mac, remember in London, when you said we'd been pretending for five years, and that a few more months wouldn't make much difference?"

Mac's mind came to the exact moment she had said that. "Yes," she answered simply.

"Well, I disagree," he said, and he paused and Mac could feel him shifting nervously, "I can't take another day of pretending that I don't worship the ground you walk on, that I don't hang on your every word."

He paused again, and Mac was keenly aware of his quickening pulse as well as her own. Harm's hand had slid from her arm and was untying the blindfold. When it fell away from her eyes, she blinked, and slowly the scene around her came into focus. They were standing beside an iron fence, and beyond it stood the White House rose garden.

"Harm," Mac gasped.

"This is as close as I could get us," he said softly, and Mac turned to face him. He met and held her gaze for a long moment, before he slowly went down on one knee still holding both her hands in his. Mac gasped, and then she didn't know whether to giggle or cry, so she did both.

"Sarah Mackenzie- partner, friend, soul mate, lover," he said, his eyes darting back and forth to each of hers. "Will you marry me?"

Harm rose quickly off his knee, and embraced her tightly. He laughed, a full belly laugh, and swung her around as she laughed and cried. When he finally let her feet touch the ground again, he reached into his jean pocket, and pulled out a small black velvet box.

He opened it, and positioned within it was a simple silver band with a single glittering diamond. Harm, taking the ring from the box, and sliding it slowly onto Mac's fourth finger, said, "This is the engagement ring that my father gave to my mother and that his father gave to his mother."

He folded Mac's hands into his and squeezed them gently. "And, now it's yours."