Nothing Worth Having

Becoming a hero isn't an easy task, not even in society clamoring for heroes. From the time we're young, we're told stories of heroes and soldiers. Of presidents who have led in troubled times. We're cultured to the ideas of big men and women rising to meet the challenges in life. Yet, very often, the stories we love the most are the stories of the underdogs. Those people who faced challenges that seemed insurmountable and overcame them. Their faults are forgiven, their sins commuted. Sometimes, having the courage to do something is worth more than a character flaw. We want to see greatness, yes, but we want to see it in human form. It reminds us that, even in a somewhat cynical and less stable world, big things are possible. Even when you're slightly less than perfect.

"Are things ever going to be normal between us?" he asked, following her into the bullpen one Monday morning. He was afraid his attempt to be inconspicuous was failing. The bullpen was studiously not paying attention to them. A sure sign that its occupants were hanging onto their every word.

"Harm," she began in a hushed voice as she stepped into the break room, "how can you expect things to be normal when you saw me," she broke off abruptly when she noticed that they weren't alone, "reaching for that doughnut," she finished lamely.

Harriet and Bud smiled their hellos uneasily.

"Don't you think we can," he tried to figure out he could phrase his sentence without attracting attention and still stick within the parameters of the ridiculous conversation, "talk about.." His hands raised and lowered.

"No." She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to move past it."

Harm flashed a quick smile at Bud and Harriet and struggled not to squirm. "It happened two weeks ago, Mac. We need to talk about it."

"Please." She closed her eyes. "Please stop talking about this. " She rested her hands on the countertop.

"Mac," he moved closer to her, " you haven't talked to me in over a week. There are things I need to tell you about that - doughnut."

Trapped in a corner of the kitchenette, Harriet and Bud watched the two officers carefully. Bud checked on the still brewing coffee, silently cursing the slow machine.

"Stop." Mac opened and shut cabinet doors. Not finding what she was looking for, she moved to the dishwasher. "You have someone else to . share doughnuts with." She turned to face him. "I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever. Has anyone seen my mug?" She dropped her hands to her sides and looked around the break room.

"It's right in front of you, Colonel," Harriet spoke up timidly, pointing to the cup on the counter.

Mac smiled her thanks, grabbed the mug, and left the room without waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. He smiled at the two lieutenants before following her out into the bullpen. "Batten down the hatches," he called over his shoulder. "It looks like it's going to be one of those days."

In the kitchenette, Harriet turned to Bud and said, "Well, that was odd."

"You said it, Sweetie." He rolled his eyes. "Do you think they thought they were fooling us?"

"Don't know. Coffee's done."

He was not going to be deterred. It was past time they talked. He didn't think it was going to be easy. In fact, he knew it wouldn't be easy. But he was up to the challenge. She was going to talk to him.

He could try the direct approach. He could open the door to her office, stride in, and announce his break up with Catherine. It could work. It had potential in theory. The problem with theories was that they had to be tested and he didn't know what the results of that one would be.

The rumors were circulating, of course. Adam hadn't been seen at headquarters in over a week. It galled him to admit he didn't have the courage to ask her if they were true. He had played tag with a nuclear missile, been on both ends of a gun and a witness stand, had survived plane crashes, and, yet, he was afraid of a one hundred and twenty pound woman in the office across the bullpen. It was past time, too, to face his fears.

So he emailed her and asked her to lunch. Twenty minutes later, his computer still silent, Harriet appeared at the door with a case file for him from the Colonel. The only page in the file contained one word: no. It was underlined twice. With exclamation points at the end. In capitals. He sighed. It was going to be much harder than he thought. Good thing he was persistent.

He emailed her again. She forwarded it back to him. A technological way, he supposed, of returning to sender. He walked by her office. She closed her blinds. He made coffee the way she liked it. She drank water.

By the end of the day, the staff was following his every move avidly and with unveiled curiosity. When he didn't overtly react to her darkened office, they bit back sighs of disappointment and felt strangely unfulfilled as they tracked his progress from the building.

On the way to her apartment, he had time to reassess his plan. Obviously, the subtle approach wasn't working. He knew he hurt her. It was evident every time she didn't look at him. But he also knew he wasn't the only one at fault. She had walked out of his apartment that morning without ever looking back. The last glimpse he'd had of her was of her back as she went through the elevator gate.

It had taken him less than a day to realize that they'd been wrong. That he'd been wrong. In a little over five hours, he'd realized that he'd chosen the wrong woman. It had taken him a week to figure out how to undo part of the problem. Two weeks to come up with a plan to fix the other part. Three hours to understand it wasn't working and one short car ride to decide on the direct approach.

When she opened her apartment door, he said, "I broke up with Catherine. I don't want to have it easy. I just want you."

"I think," she cleared her throat lightly, "you better come in."