A/N: Side B! Forgive me, but the first one here is rather long, but I swear I didn't use Taylor's ten minute version of All Too Well here! And, if all of you could send prayers and well wishes—Taylor is going on tour next year and I want tickets for me and my daughters. That would be the best Christmas ever for those girls!
I'll admit, the last part is just rather silly, so forgive me.
RED
Side B
Track 5: All Too Well
December 24th, 2001
I've never been to the Wall.
I suppose that would be shocking or even offensive to other Vietnam War widows and those women whose husbands are MIA or POWs, but I could never bring myself to actually see my husband's name amongst the other lost ones. I'm sure that has always bothered my son, who's gone there every Christmas Eve since he was at the Academy, but I don't know how to explain to him.
Frank understands, I think, just as he understands why I've finally come here after all these years.
I'm finally ready to say goodbye. Oh, I know I've moved on; Frank and I have been married decades longer than Harm Sr and I were, but now that I truly know what happened to my first husband, I can let him go. Yes, it has still taken a few years to get me here, but I guess that's the way it goes.
Contrary to popular belief, or at least contrary to the belief of my preteen son, I didn't forget my Harm and I didn't want to when I married Frank. Yes, I had Harm Sr declared dead, but my first husband has always been present in my heart and mind. Now, lest anyone think I don't love Frank with my whole heart, know that Frank is the man I think about as I sit at my desk in the gallery, the man I want to call whenever something good or exciting or sad happens. He's the one whose touch I crave, and though I know it would devastate my son to know this, he's the man I was always supposed to be with.
But I still miss my Harm. I still love him. He was larger than life, so handsome, with a smile that made me weak in the knees as clichéd as that sounds. He also gave me the most precious gift—our son, Harm Jr. Harm is so much like his father; he has the same sense of chivalry, the same smile, and he bleeds navy blue just like my Harm. My son is also a pilot just like his father, and that has caused me no small amount of fear. I lost Harm Sr. because of his need to fly, and it would kill me to lose my son that way as well. I came close when Harm Jr. had his ramp strike, but thank God, my boy survived.
Like you survived, I think as I run my finger over Harm Sr's name. My Harm. It broke our son's heart to have to tell me his father survived ejecting from his aircraft only to be captured and eventually taken to Russia of all places. He subsequently escaped years later and was taken in by a woman and her brother. He was killed when he stopped Russian soldiers from raping that woman.
My husband was still alive when I had him declared dead. He was still alive when I married Frank. He was still alive when our son ran off to Laos to search for him. He was, however, dead when the woman who had taken him gave birth to his son. This I found out a couple years after I found out about my Harm.
Harm Jr was afraid I'd be devastated that his father had "moved on" with another woman, but how could I be? I had moved on with Frank while my first husband had suffered so much. I know in my heart that if there had been any way, he would have come back to us. Honestly, once I adjusted to the idea that my first husband had a child with another woman, the saddest part was knowing Harm Sr never got to meet his son and young Sergei had never gotten the chance to meet the wonderful man who was his father.
I hear now that Sergei is now missing in Chechnya. I pray that he's found safe and that both my son and Sergei's mother don't lose another loved one. As I send my prayer to the heavens, I run my finger over Harm Sr's name again.
It's too hard to hold back the tears when I see the white letters against the black, and for a moment I turn, wanting to motion Frank over here. He had me go alone, telling me that Harm and I needed some privacy first. He was right, of course, so in the end I don't call Frank to me.
When I turn back to Harm Sr's name, I hesitate for a moment before I sit down on the cold ground before it. It's time for me to talk to the father of my son.
"Hello, Harm," I start. "It's been a while."
A snowflake drifts past my eyes and lands on my nose, and I can't help but think it's my Harm telling me he's here.
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." A few more snowflakes land on me. "I've missed you, you know. I should have come sooner. Harm has invited me every time I've been in town, but I always find an excuse. I'm ready to be here now, though. I'm embarrassed to admit that "little" Harm doesn't even know I'm in town, and I don't plan on seeing him. He's got his own plans for tonight and I know I'll need some time alone after this." I pause a moment to get my emotions under control, and then I continue talking to my husband.
"It's cold today, but I guess that is a given for this time of year. Harm, do you know what today reminds me of? The first time you brought me home to meet your mom. I was so scared she'd hate me since I went and married her son. What were we thinking Harm, eloping when we'd only known each other a month? Thank goodness she welcomed me with open arms. I still call her every Sunday, ever since that visit. Did you know that? Well, I suppose you do, now anyway.
"That Christmas was one of my favorite Christmases. It was so cold, but your mom's house was so warm and inviting, it—it felt like home. She was nothing like my mother, but you already know that.
"She knitted that red scarf for me when she found out about us and when she put it around my neck, I knew Sarah Rabb was welcoming me into the family. In fact, she told me to call her 'mom' and even though I had my own mother, it was so easy to do that. She was really more of a mother to me than mine, especially after you were gone. I think we helped each other along, and God knows, she helped our son. I'm not sure where he'd be now if he hadn't had his Grandma Sarah. Anyway, I loved that scarf, and I was so sad when I lost it. I thought I must have left it at my sister's house, but she swore she hadn't seen it. Imagine my surprise when I found it in the box they sent me when they mailed back your things after you…after, well, you know. It still smelled like me, and I like to think you took it because of that.
"Let's see, what else did we do that Christmas? I remember when you took me into town. You said you wanted to show me your high school and a few of your old haunts, but I think you just wanted to get me alone. You were so shy about kissing me in front of your mother. She wouldn't have minded, Harm. She was so sweet; she still is, and you inherited that sweet disposition from her.
"Your little town, all decked out for Christmas, was so beautiful and quaint, nothing like Buffalo. You told me my eyes were as wide as saucers and laughed but I know you were happy I loved Belleville so much. We sang Christmas carols all the way home and when we got back to the farm, we found that photo album your mom left out on the kitchen counter. My favorite picture was the one when you were sitting on your little bed. I think you stole your grandfather's glasses, and you had such a goofy grin on your face. It was my turn to laugh when I saw how you blushed at that photo.
"Harm looks just like you, darling. He's got that same smile and once, after you'd…you'd…gone away, I took a picture of him on that same little bed with those same glasses. Your mom put that photo in that old book next to yours.
"God, Harm, talking about this makes me feel like I'm back there again, driving down that street, you nearly running that stop sign because you kept turning your head to talk to me. Remember how we danced in the kitchen with just that little lantern on? Christmas day was wonderful too. I don't think I've ever laughed as much as when your mom told me all those stories about you when you were a little kid.
"For so long after you went missing, I felt like time was standing still. I tried to be happy, to act like myself for our boy but honestly, there was no way I could ever be 'myself' when you were such a part of me.
"I tried to hide a lot of it from our little boy, but I was so broken after those men came to tell me you'd gone MIA. Your CO wrote me a letter and Tom brought it with him when he came to see me. I still feel ashamed that I screamed at him and asked him why he'd left you behind. I crumpled up that letter and threw it at him, and he just stood there and took it. If he hadn't been the naval officer he was, I'm sure he would have cried. Don't worry, though. We made up and he comes and visits me and Frank now and again.
Tom's an Admiral now; well, I guess he's a retired admiral now. He had a bit of a rough time, had to go on trial, but Harm and Mac defended him well. By the way, Harm, if you have any influence whatsoever, could you get our boy to admit that he loves that girl? She's beautiful and the way they look at each other…but of course, you know our Harm. He's stubborn and after you went MIA, he started bottling up so much.
"Well, my love, I wanted to give you a proper goodbye. I miss you; I always will. You were a beautiful man, and the fact that you died protecting someone tells me that even after being a prisoner for so long, you never changed.
"One more thing, Harm. When I think of you, I don't picture you in your uniform. I picture you in that plaid shirt you were wearing when I met you. It must have been your favorite because you wore it all those days at your mom's house. I'm blushing now because I'm remembering how I took it off of you the first time we made love, when you made me your own. I actually try not to remember you in your uniform, because that's what you were wearing the last time I saw you. I remember that all too well, really, and it's now a painful memory. The rest though…I have so many happy memories of our life together, and now that I know what happened to you, for some reason I can enjoy those memories more.
"It's time for me to say goodbye, Harm. I love you. I'll try to visit when I can. I'll come with our son sometime. Oh, you'd be so proud of him. Thank you for giving him to me. He kept me going, even when he drove me crazy! Before I go, though, Harm, I'd like to introduce you to someone."
It's a bit of a struggle to get off the ground and I'm reminded that I'm no longer the you woman that Harm brought to his mother's house that Christmas. Once I'm steady, I wave Frank over, and as soon as he is by my side, he puts an arm around me.
"Harm," I say. I'd like you to meet Frank. He's my husband now, but you probably already knew that. Frank Barnett, meet Harmon Rabb Sr."
Frank steps forward and runs a finger over Harm's name. "Hello, Harm. It's nice to finally meet you."
I wrap my arms tightly around my living husband. Frank has been so strong for me and my son over the years. I wish Harm Jr had been able to accept him back when he was kid. Frank never tried to replace Harm Sr in my son's life, and no matter how Harm fought him, Frank always loved him. Frank is a gift too, and I suddenly have the thought that Harm Sr pushed Frank in our direction. Another snowflake settles on my nose and once again, and I know it's my first husband agreeing with me.
I'm about to tell Frank we should go but then I realize Frank is still talking to Harm Sr. "Thank you for letting me be a part of Trish and Harm's life. I've done my best to take care of them," I hear him say. Tears come to my eyes and when I see a snowflake land on Frank's nose, the tears spill down my cheeks.
"Are you okay, darling?" Frank asks. I can only smile and nod. Frank holds me close to him for a moment, then leans back and tells me he'll give me a moment to tell Harm Sr goodbye. He steps away, and I turn back to the wall. I lay my hand over my first love's name and whisper goodbye, and his answer is to send a swirl of leaves and snow around me. I have to laugh, and then I allow a surprised Frank to lead me away. I don't look back, but I know that my Harm is still watching us, and I think to myself how lucky I am to have had two great loves in my life. The End
Track 6: 22
April 1998
It feels like a perfect night to go out. Cut loose. Do something.
I should call Mac. She needs to get out more. After having her ex-boyfriend die in her arms, then being kidnapped by a deranged stalker, and a load of busy work gifted to her by an admiral who is still a bit peeved she left JAG to "spread her wings," she could use some fun. The question is, would she want to have fun with me? Do I even know how to have fun?
Maybe I shouldn't call her. Or I should…or, I don't know. The hell with it, I'll call her.
My hand reaches for the phone, but then I remember that Mac likely is out having fun, or at least she's out. A couple of friends from the University of Minnesota are in town and she told me she was going to go out with them. I actually met them today, and Dani and Stephanie seem quite unlike Mac. They are both quite pretty but without the exotic looks of my partner and their jobs are wildly different. Dani is a chef and Steph is a kindergarten teacher of all things, and Mac hadn't seen them since she was twenty-two. She's stayed in contact with them, which surprised me. The two women both have long hair that flows pass their shoulders and both appear to have very effervescent personalities. As sweet and lovely as Mac is, I wouldn't exactly call her bubbly.
I realize that I often forget Mac has other friends besides me. Yes, I know she's friends with Bud and Harriet too, but they're more, I don't know, like family? It's different, anyway.
I find myself wondering if Mac confides in Dani and Steph like she does me. I hope not. No, no, that isn't true. If there are things she can tell them that she can't tell me, I'm glad she has an outlet. Honestly, sometimes I worry about her. She's often so serious, and I'll admit I do whatever I can to make her laugh. When I'm successful, my heart swells. So does my head…and lately, well, let's suffice it to say other things might too.
I mentally slap myself at that thought. We're colleagues. Friends. Just friends.
I pace around my apartment for another twenty minutes before I decide I have to get out of here. I'm normally content to stay close to home. I'll cook or play my guitar or have Mac over.
Speaking of, I should call Mac. Maybe she's done with her friends. Deep down I know that's not likely, but I pick up the phone and dial anyway.
No answer. Damn.
Well, just because she's not around doesn't mean I can't go out, so I grab my keys and my jacket and head to a jazz club I've taken Mac to a couple of times. If nothing else, I can have a drink and listen to some good music. Bechet's is the kind of place that is still okay to go to even if you're a single man in his thirties with no one to play with.
It takes me about thirty minutes to make it to the club, and about thirty-one minutes to see that the name above the door is different and the music coming from it is certainly not jazz. I'm just about to turn around and go home when I see a few people my age going in, so it must be safe.
The music is a little more modern than I generally like, and it sounds like they're playing the "dance mix" versions. Not my favorite, but, oh well. Most patrons here aren't too much younger than me and there really is a decent amount of people in their thirties and forties here. I approach the bar and order a beer and as soon as I have that, I take a seat and then turn my stool to survey the room.
The place has a dance floor now and there are several people out there moving to the music. They all look like they're having a good time and I start to feel a little pathetic. What are you doing here, Rabb?With my eyes still on the dancers, I decide to just down my beer and go, but then a whirl of red catches my eye.
Oh my god…
It's Mac, and she looks…happy. Joyous. Glowing. She's dancing like she's twenty-two again, her movements free and easy. Dani and Stephanie are out there with her, and the three of them look like they're all having a great time.
For long seconds I can only stare, a stupid grin on my face. It warms my heart to see Mac so carefree. I think for a moment about joining her but decide not to. I suspect my presence would dampen her mood, not because she doesn't like me, but because…well, because I'm not a female college friend. I don't giggle and dance with abandon. I decide to just watch her instead.
I see several males of all ages move themselves closer to my partner. I'd be jealous, but she doesn't pay any attention to them. These boys don't know anything about her, but I bet they want to and she's not biting. Hell, I'd like to know about her, this side of her that twirls with glee. I've danced with Mac before and it definitely isn't like dancing with my sister despite what she once told me. I've always thought she moved with an unconscious sensuality and in this dance floor she still does, but her movements are so much freer.
I think I love her.
Actually, I know I love her. I'd like to run over to her, tell her to ditch this whole scene and come home with me, but I won't. In fact, I'm going to hightail it out of here so she doesn't see me. I don't want to kill her mood. With a last smile toward the girls, for that is what they are tonight, I set down my still half-full beer and walk out the door.
I smile as I head to my car. I bet Mac, no, she's Sarah tonight, and Stephanie and Dani are going to spend the night at Sarah's apartment. They'll probably stay up all night talking and laughing.
That thought gladdens my heart. I'll never mention that I saw her here tonight, but I'll always treasure the gift I've just been given—a chance to see a lighthearted Sarah MacKenzie. The End
Track 7: I Almost Do
August 15th, 2003
It's such a relief to be home, even though I'm not sure this is really home anymore. I spend more time out of town than in, and frankly, this place makes me think too much of her.
I'll picture her here with me, working on cases, or on the night we left for the tribunal, when we bumped heads after flipping a coin to see who would be first chair. I'll see her buried in a pair of my sweats, crying over a deceased Webb, and then I'll wish Webb really was dead.
I don't like thinking like that. He's been a friend of sorts for the last eight years, but if he had died then, I wouldn't have seen a "pregnant" Mac walking out of my apartment to go on a mission that ended in disaster for all of us.
That's what I remember the most about her now, and that image assaults me every time I'm here.
Something more, however, is nagging me at this time, has been since yesterday, and when I see the flashing light on the answering machine, it hits me.
Yesterday was her birthday.
With trepidation, I hit the play button on the machine, and her voice fills the room. She left the message fairly late last night, but she didn't mention her birthday, and that makes me sad. One, because if she was calling me, she wasn't out celebrating, and two, because this is the first time in eight years I haven't acknowledged the day. I briefly consider picking up the phone and finally calling her, but as usual, I force myself not to. Just as I have done twelve times before, I push the delete button, erasing her from my life once again.
I don't know if I can do this anymore.
With a sigh, I walk to my refrigerator and pull out a beer, taking a long swallow before I settle onto my couch for another unwanted night of introspection. Let's see…it's Friday night at 2350. I'll bet she's still awake but oh so tired; I'm sure it's been another long, hard week. As far as I know, they're still down a senior attorney, so everyone has been taking on an extra load. I feel guilty for that for a moment, but I suppose that's not really my responsibility given the admiral refused to take me back. I'm still angry with him, but I always knew he was perfectly within his rights to process my resignation.
When Mac is tired or melancholy, she likes to sit in that cushy chair by her window. It doesn't exactly fit the décor of her apartment, but she told me once it was so comfortable, she had to have it. Sometimes she reads or goes over casefiles while sitting there, but I suspect tonight she's just staring out at the city, maybe wondering about me.
So, why then, do I not call her? I guess I don't know…or I do. It's because she said never.
I can't put myself through that again.
I down the rest of my beer in one long swallow and stand up, intent on getting another one. Her voice fills my head then, telling me that alcohol isn't the answer, that it will only bring misery. Well, misery's already here, but I resist the temptation for another bottle, knowing she'd be so disappointed if I went down the same path she did in her youth. I'll admit, when I first started working for the CIA, my alcohol consumption increased dramatically. I never drank on a job, but once I'd get home, that was another story. It was my new "career" and thoughts of her that made me want to drink, but thoughts of her also made me tone it down. I guess I should be thankful for that? I don't know. I wish she'd stop calling me. The urge to drink always increases after she leaves another intrusive message. She should probably give up. I've never returned any of her thirteen phone calls, and yet she keeps trying. She's probably hoping she can wear me down.
Ha, if she only knew…I'm already worn down to an extent. From her first phone call the day after I accepted Webb's invitation to the brotherhood, it's taken everything in me not to call her. She probably thinks I've moved on or that I hate her, since every time she's reached out, there's been no reply. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I want to call her. I want to hear her voice in my ear. I want to run right over to her apartment and ask her to try again with me, to tell her that this time we can get it together, but I don't. I almost do, but I can't.
Some of her messages have been just a brief "call me back." In others, I can hear the sadness in her voice as she nearly begs me to call and tell her how I'm doing. Sometimes, she even sounds angry, and a couple of times she's brought up our friendship, asking how we could have been so close only to be brought to this.
God, if she only knew…I bet it's never even occurred to her that I can't just pick up the phone and say hello, because then I'll risk having my heart broken again.
I just can't do it.
But I want to.
No, I don't.
But I almost do.
Dammit to hell. We made quite a mess of us. I dream about her all the time, and in each one I tell her I gave up everything to rescue her because I love her. She always reaches out and touches my face, brushing a tear aside before she leans in to kiss me. I've always woken up just before our lips touch, furious because I can't even have her in my dreams.
The phone rings as I continue to contemplate the destruction of Mac's and my relationship, and before the machine picks up, I know it's her. Her voice once again fills my apartment, and she feels so close. I don't pick up the phone, but I almost do. I'll pick up the next time, I tell myself. I don't really believe that.
But I almost do. The End
Track 8: We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together
February 2000
There's a pounding on my hotel room door and I give a most unlady like curse. It's probably Mic and given what just happened with Harm, I'll either work out my frustrations by killing him or inviting him into my bed.
Neither are good options.
So, I decide to ignore the continued beating on my door, thinking soon enough the neighbors will call down to the front desk and my visitor will be forcefully removed. I smile at that thought. I don't want to be around any man tonight and if one of the male species can be roughed up a bit, I don't mind.
So, what has made me so irritable?
Harm.
What did he do?
He rejected me.
Great, now I'm going to cry, and why haven't the other guessed called security? The asshole outside my door is still pounding on it and I think I'm going to have to hurt him.
"Mac!"
Well, fuck me, it's Harm. I'm sorry. I'm usually not this vulgar and why am I apologizing to myself?
"Go away!" I call out, even as I yank open the door. Harm was just raising his arm to knock again and his momentum carries him forward. It's rather comical to see him tumble into the room.
"Hey, Mac," he says as he looks up at me from where he's sprawled on the floor. I kick his legs aside so I can close the door.
"Hey, yourself," I mutter, walking past him. I sit down on the bed and turn on the TV. Late night Australian programming is just as bad as it is in the US, but I need something else to focus on besides Harm.
Now, why am I so mad at Harm?
Actually, I'm not mad. I'm hurt. Disappointed. Humiliated. I tried to tell him how I felt about him, but it came out all wrong. That doesn't really matter though. He doesn't want me. He said some crap about "not yet" but that was just his way of letting me down easy.
Dick.
"Mac, can we talk?"
I'm so focused on the thoughts in my head that he actually startles me. "Shit, Harm. You're still here?" Harm's eyes widen at my profanity. I'm really not this way. Yes, I can swear like a…like a…fuck it, a sailor, but I left that all behind when I became a marine. They cuss too, and yes, I've let loose with a few eloquent streams of vulgarities in my day, but I'm a lawyer and I'm a lady. Not a lady like a princess, but a professional, direct, articulate lady.
"Yeah," Harm gulps. "I'm still here."
"What do you want?"
Harm decides that's an invitation for him to join me on the bed. I'd move over, but it's not that big of a bed. Plus, there's no headboard, so it's nice to have someone, er, something to lean against.
Harm takes my hand. "I want to, um, apologize."
The fight goes out of me, and I sigh. "For what, Harm? Just because I, uh, would like to…you have no obligation to feel the way I do. I appreciate your honesty."
Harm puts his other hand on top of his on top of mine. "That's just it. I wasn't being honest."
Well, this is an interesting turn of events.
"Oh? How so?"
"Well, um…"
I yank my hand from his and slide off the bed. "Harm, I know you really meant 'no' when you said, 'not yet'. That's okay! I got the message just fine."
Harm starts opening and closing his mouth like a large-mouthed bass. He's also blushing furiously.
"Go back to your hotel, Harm."
"N-No, Mac. Not until we—"
"Harm, I'm not going to sleep with you!"
"What?!" Now he's standing too.
"I don't just want a fling with you, Harm. I want…" I may as well go for broke here. "I want the whole thing. The house. The white picket fence. The 2.3 kids, maybe even the other 0.7. I don't just want sex!"
"But…but…"
Now Harm is pale and sickly, like the underbelly of a catfish.
"Yes, Harm?"
"But I want that too." He speaks so softly, so squeakily, that I feel the need for clarification.
"Say that again, Harm? And this time, try not to sound like a field mouse."
Harm looks slightly affronted by that, but he still takes my hand and leads me back to the bed. "Sit, Mac."
"Fine," I roll my eyes. Inside, though, my heart is pounding and my brain is pinging around in my head. Am I about to get everything I've wanted since I met Harm? "Talk," I say when we're both sitting.
"Okay, Mac. After I dropped you off here, I went back to my hotel room and went to bed. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but then I had the weirdest dream."
Harm doesn't continue for several seconds so I nudge him with my shoulder. "Yeah, and then what, Harm?"
"Well, you were there, surrounded by a bunch of, I don't know, tall blondes— "
"Ah, your lady of choice."
"Come on, Mac. That's not…ugh, you're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"
"Yes. But continue anyway."
Harm rolls his eyes. "Thank you. Anyway, I got the impression that you and I were dating, or had been dating, and I kept screwing it up. You started singing along with those blondes that we were 'never, ever getting back together'. "Mac, I don't want that to be us."
Oh, my. "So, what are you saying?" I hold my breath.
"Well, um, the message I got was that maybe we shouldn't even start—"
Well, I should have expected that. Don't cry…don't cry…don't cry…
"But when I said that to you in the dream, you punched me. Then you kept telling me to tell my friends to talk to your friends, and then…then…"
"Oh, good lord, Harm. Spit it out."
"Then I woke up."
"Oh. Well, that…that's an interesting dream, there, Harm."
Harm smiles for the first time since he fell through my door. "Yes, it was. And I got the message."
"What message?"
"Well, rather than telling me never to start with you, it was telling me to jump in, full bore, go for the kids, the house, a dog. Stop saying 'not yet' and start saying 'now'. I don't want to keep doing this push and pull."
"Um, push and pull? I'm the one who just pushed, Harm. There's been no pulling."
Harm snorts. "Yes, there has, at least on my part. We've had something from the beginning Mac, and it's always scared me. I kept pulling back from my feelings and tonight, I panicked. I'm not panicking now."
"Oh, my, Harm. I guess I don't know what to say."
"Mac, please tell me it isn't too late. Go out with me again tomorrow. We'll take the ferry, and you can ask me if I want you to go topless, and then I'll tell you no more waiting—"
Harm lets out an 'oof' as throw myself at him. My lips are on his, and then we're kissing passionately. I pull him on top of me, and when we come up for air, I'm already topless.
"No more waiting, Harm," I tell him. "We're never, ever getting back together because we're never going to break up."
And we never do. The End
End Side B