This is the second installment of TIDAL by Slippin' Mickeys.
You can find the rating, summary, etc. in the first installment.
Author's Note: There may be errors--formatting, canon, or otherwise, for which I sincerely apologize. I'm new to this fandom and working without a beta (or a JAG friend to bounce ideas off). (I know. Major faux pas.) If there's anyone out there that could recommend a good JAG beta, I'd be happy to hear it. red_phile@yahoo.com
Thanks! I hope you enjoy. Any and all feedback is appreciated.
TIDAL By Slippin' Mickeys
CHAPTER TWO
They were weather-beaten and dented, damaged goods. Pretty on the outside, but slightly fucked in the head. It was perverse the way it worked. They were perfect for each other, there really could be no one else.
She reached up and ran her hand lightly over his cheek. She wanted to kiss him but the timing didn't seem right. This was too profound a moment for them, she knew if she kissed him she would be outside herself instantly and right now she didn't want to miss a thing.
He seemed to push into her hand slightly, leaning into her touch. His eyes never left hers. His cheek was sandpapery under her fingers and she remembered that fingertips have more nerve endings than most places on the body. Most.
"I didn't shave this morning."
"The clean-shaven officer?" she scolded lightly, running her thumb over his chin.
"This is going to break all the rules," he said.
__________________________________________________________
The military was all about convention and discipline. How he'd managed to stay in this long was a complete mystery to her.
What would they do now? They both loved their jobs and they were good at them.
At times, she imagined them not as Batman and Robin, but Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, riding the fence of lawlessness right there under everyone's noses.
With her luck, they'd probably get caught.
Of course, with Harm in the equation, they'd probably summarily get off.
___________________________________________________________
They walked down the beach for a while not even touching.
Mac laughed softly after minutes of silence. "This is so strange," she said.
He gave a chuff of laughter himself, "Isn't it?"
They laughed for a moment and the tension eased. Mac slipped her arm through his.
"Let's forget about the rules for today," she said, "we'll worry about the rest when we get home."
"Let's forget about them forever," he replied lightly, "and not ever go back."
"Do you really want to do that?" Mac asked him, knowing he didn't really mean it.
He stopped walking and turned to her. "You know what, Mac, right now I really think I could."
She kissed him then, next to the inland sea, with its thunder and it's messages, moved only by the wind.
______________________________________________________________________
He kissed her again in a museum with butterflies in her hair.
They walked away from the lake, chilled but heartened, and it was nearing dinner time when they walked through the doors to the greenhouse.
Harm took her to Lincoln Park after they left the beach, wanting her to see more of the city, wanting to see more of her. In the car he'd called the office, told them that something had come up and that they wouldn't be able to make their flight. Tomorrow was a door they had to walk through, but at least they had today.
They passed by a Science Museum and Mac looked at the list of exhibits outside and then pulled him in. The woman working the box office told them they had only an hour before the museum closed. They were looking at the entrance kiosk when Harm felt a tug on his hand.
"Come on," Mac said quietly, pulling him along as if she had a secret to tell him.
The greenhouse was quiet when they walked in, they had it to themselves.
Harm glanced at the sign to the butterfly house as they were walking under it.
"What-" he began to say, but she turned and put a finger to his lips.
"Shh," she whispered, "listen."
Harm listened. There, among the quiet greenery and the gurgling fountain, he could hear the whisper of butterfly wings.
This was peace, he thought. This was a moment only for them. Amid the chaos of their lives, they would at least have this. He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes, capturing a moment of rapture.
When he opened them, Mac was looking up with a small fascinated smile on her face. A butterfly had landed in her hair.
This woman before him, she was the nectar to his soul, the balm that smoothed the rough edges of it, replacing the torn off pieces and feeding it, keeping it whole. It was as if the butterfly had sensed this too and wanted a taste of it for itself.
He nudged his foot between hers and leaned down, her breath fanning his face once before their lips met.
This kiss wasn't hungry or desperate as had their first real kiss been, on the Admiral's porch. It wasn't a nostalgic grasp at his past as it had been when he'd imagined her as Diane. This was soft and deep and felt like coming home.
He felt her fingers tangle in his hair and pulled back barely an inch, nipping lightly at her nose before whispering.
"Are you feeling this?"
A chrysalis split open; a butterfly took it's first flight.
__________________________________________________________________
How lucky was she in a world he inhabited that she could never be lost. Her compass, her friend. As untouchable as Luna and as reliable as the same.
The moon's light was cold and lazy, the darkness around them inky-if they stepped too far away from each other it might swallow them whole. She could tell he was next to her when she saw his breath and felt a heat on the small of her back. He led her through an open door.
Mac rubbed her hands together, shooting him a skeptical look.
"Ice cream, Harm?" She said dubiously.
"What?" He asked, all innocence.
"For one thing it's 40 degrees outside. For another," she gave a showy look to the freezer case, perusing the flavors, "I don't see Tofutti Vanilla Dream."
"So we'll order yogurt," he said, taking a step closer to her, leaning into her space, "and I'll keep you warm."
She imagined a spilled glob of hot fudge on his chin and her licking it off. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.
She was a tall woman, but he seemed to grow bigger the longer he stood over her. She felt small standing there in the empty ice cream parlor, all of Harm's attention focused on her.
His search for his father, his Sisyphean task, was ended now. He had no one else to focus on save her. With her dipsomaniacal thirst and her sober stare. How strange that she didn't feel threatened. How strange that she didn't feel weak.
The teenage girl behind the counter heaved a bored sigh and shoved off the countertop behind her, picking at hot pink fingernail polish. She flitted her eyes to them, paying half attention.
"What can I get you?" She asked, without a trace of enthusiasm.
"Two of those," he said, pointing to an interesting flavor. Mac didn't really care which one.
"With hot fudge," she was sure to add, biting her lip.
______________________________________________________________________
"So," he said, walking her to her quarters.
He waited for her to pull out the key and she fiddled with it on purpose, drawing out their time together in increments.
"So," she said.
It had started to snow. Light, dusty flakes that would melt as soon as they hit the earth. A shot across the bow from winter. 'I'm coming,' it said.
Something else was coming too, though Mac didn't dare hope what it was.
She looked at the ground, suddenly blushing, hoping he would think it was the cold.
"Do you want to come in?" She asked, meeting his gaze.
"Mac." he said, not moving. "I can't."
She flinched slightly, a bit stung though she knew she didn't need to be.
He reached out to her, an act of solace. "It's not a question of wanting," he said.
She felt suddenly stupid. Of course they couldn't. Not now, and certainly not here. She turned around quickly and jammed the key in the door. "Right," she said, feigning indifference, "of course."
He pulled on her elbow and she turned back to him. He leaned in and kissed her soundly and quickly, running his tongue against the inside of her upper lip before pulling back. She was breathless and surprised. He flitted his eyes in both directions, making sure they hadn't been seen. He squeezed her elbow and took a step back.
"We'll figure this out," he said decisively, with his head bent towards her in that way he had of assuring even the most guilty defendant that they'd get off. Of course she believed him. When it came to him she was guilty as sin.
He walked backward several steps holding her gaze and then trotted off toward his own room.
Mac swayed a bit on her feet and slapped the doorway with her hand, holding herself up. It took her a moment to walk through the door and slam it.
He was right and he drove her crazy. He would probably be really good in bed.
____________________________________________________________________________
She'd asked him once if she was good for him.
He was wrapped up in changing careers, and she was wrapped up in Mic. He'd been acting pissy and infantile and he was in a bad mood when Mac wasn't around and a worse one when she was. Renee chose to ignore his attitude and expedited it by flying to LA on business.
He'd snapped at Harriet in the bullpen and had felt so bad about it, he was skulking in his office.
He heard his door snap shut and looked up quickly. Mac was standing akimbo just inside the doorway. She didn't look happy.
"What the hell was that all about?"
"By all means, please come in, Colonel," he said derisively.
"Cut the crap, Harm," she said, softening only a bit and taking a step closer to his desk, "what's going on with you?"
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes.
"I don't know," he sighed, relenting his attitude.
She moved to the chair across from his desk.
"You know Harm," she said, "I think I know you better than anybody, but sometimes I just can't figure you out."
"I can't figure me out, Mac," he said, "I'm surprised you'd even want to try."
"Don't change the damn subject," she said, trying to contain a small smile but failing.
He smiled at her and dropped his eyes to the floor. "I guess it's just you and this whole." he sighed heavily, "I'm sorry."
"Apologize to Harriet, not to me," she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. She seemed to consider him a moment after he nodded, agreeing.
"If it's me." she finally said, "Do I do this to you?"
He didn't say anything. She messed him up inside, but only in the best ways he could think of.
"God Harm," she said, "sometimes I don't think I'm any good for you."
That surprised him and he looked up.
"You're the best part of me," he said quickly, simply.
She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth to say something.
His phone rang then, Renee calling to tell him she'd arrived at the airport, her timing impeccable as ever.
He rolled over in his bed, remembering. The best part of him was sleeping four doors down, and he was restless until he could be with her. For now he was incomplete.
________________________________________________________________________
"Jesus, Harm, you look like hell."
Not exactly the romantic greeting he had in mind, but it was certainly to the point.
"Colonel Mackenzie," he said, nodding to her as they met outside his room. The visiting officer's quarters were crawling with people. "I'll drive," he said, taking her bags from her and popping the trunk.
She was settled in the passenger seat by the time he got in. He put on his seat belt and turned to smile at her before he put the keys in the ignition.
She reached across the console then, putting a hand on his arm.
"I wasn't kidding, Harm, you look awful," she said, her forehead wrinkled in worry, "did you sleep at all last night?"
"I'll sleep on the plane," he said, looking away. His arm was tingling under her touch.
She rubbed her thumb against his jacket absently.
"Why the plane?" She asked, still concerned. "And not your bed?"
He huffed a self-depreciating laugh and gave her a look askance.
"You'll be there," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
____________________________________________________________________________ ____
A billboard flashed past, advertising car parts. He stole a look at Mac in the passenger seat. Her collar was a bit crooked, she'd obviously been distracted this morning. He wanted to reach over and fix it. He wanted to reach over, period.
He'd never been a terribly sentimental person, but Mac brought out feelings in him he never thought himself privy to.
He remembered coming out of the movies as a kid, inspired by the action. Running down the sidewalk ahead of his mother like a space commander, like a soldier, like a cowboy. In 'Prometheus Unbound' Shelley wrote about Life, Joy, Empire and Victory, inspired by the beauty of Rome. Sitting in a car with Mac, Harm decided that three out of four weren't bad. And in the gossamer memory of a kiss, he felt almost as if he could conquer the world.
Not that Mac would condone any such action. She'd probably grab him by the nuts and make him go home.
She caught him smiling at the thought.
"What?" she asked, grinning herself.
It had snowed a bit the night before and the roads were slushy. A plow roared by them, showering sparks on the asphalt.
"Nothing," he said, flicking on the windshield wipers, not really trusting himself to speak.
END CHAPTER TWO
You can find the rating, summary, etc. in the first installment.
Author's Note: There may be errors--formatting, canon, or otherwise, for which I sincerely apologize. I'm new to this fandom and working without a beta (or a JAG friend to bounce ideas off). (I know. Major faux pas.) If there's anyone out there that could recommend a good JAG beta, I'd be happy to hear it. red_phile@yahoo.com
Thanks! I hope you enjoy. Any and all feedback is appreciated.
TIDAL By Slippin' Mickeys
CHAPTER TWO
They were weather-beaten and dented, damaged goods. Pretty on the outside, but slightly fucked in the head. It was perverse the way it worked. They were perfect for each other, there really could be no one else.
She reached up and ran her hand lightly over his cheek. She wanted to kiss him but the timing didn't seem right. This was too profound a moment for them, she knew if she kissed him she would be outside herself instantly and right now she didn't want to miss a thing.
He seemed to push into her hand slightly, leaning into her touch. His eyes never left hers. His cheek was sandpapery under her fingers and she remembered that fingertips have more nerve endings than most places on the body. Most.
"I didn't shave this morning."
"The clean-shaven officer?" she scolded lightly, running her thumb over his chin.
"This is going to break all the rules," he said.
__________________________________________________________
The military was all about convention and discipline. How he'd managed to stay in this long was a complete mystery to her.
What would they do now? They both loved their jobs and they were good at them.
At times, she imagined them not as Batman and Robin, but Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, riding the fence of lawlessness right there under everyone's noses.
With her luck, they'd probably get caught.
Of course, with Harm in the equation, they'd probably summarily get off.
___________________________________________________________
They walked down the beach for a while not even touching.
Mac laughed softly after minutes of silence. "This is so strange," she said.
He gave a chuff of laughter himself, "Isn't it?"
They laughed for a moment and the tension eased. Mac slipped her arm through his.
"Let's forget about the rules for today," she said, "we'll worry about the rest when we get home."
"Let's forget about them forever," he replied lightly, "and not ever go back."
"Do you really want to do that?" Mac asked him, knowing he didn't really mean it.
He stopped walking and turned to her. "You know what, Mac, right now I really think I could."
She kissed him then, next to the inland sea, with its thunder and it's messages, moved only by the wind.
______________________________________________________________________
He kissed her again in a museum with butterflies in her hair.
They walked away from the lake, chilled but heartened, and it was nearing dinner time when they walked through the doors to the greenhouse.
Harm took her to Lincoln Park after they left the beach, wanting her to see more of the city, wanting to see more of her. In the car he'd called the office, told them that something had come up and that they wouldn't be able to make their flight. Tomorrow was a door they had to walk through, but at least they had today.
They passed by a Science Museum and Mac looked at the list of exhibits outside and then pulled him in. The woman working the box office told them they had only an hour before the museum closed. They were looking at the entrance kiosk when Harm felt a tug on his hand.
"Come on," Mac said quietly, pulling him along as if she had a secret to tell him.
The greenhouse was quiet when they walked in, they had it to themselves.
Harm glanced at the sign to the butterfly house as they were walking under it.
"What-" he began to say, but she turned and put a finger to his lips.
"Shh," she whispered, "listen."
Harm listened. There, among the quiet greenery and the gurgling fountain, he could hear the whisper of butterfly wings.
This was peace, he thought. This was a moment only for them. Amid the chaos of their lives, they would at least have this. He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes, capturing a moment of rapture.
When he opened them, Mac was looking up with a small fascinated smile on her face. A butterfly had landed in her hair.
This woman before him, she was the nectar to his soul, the balm that smoothed the rough edges of it, replacing the torn off pieces and feeding it, keeping it whole. It was as if the butterfly had sensed this too and wanted a taste of it for itself.
He nudged his foot between hers and leaned down, her breath fanning his face once before their lips met.
This kiss wasn't hungry or desperate as had their first real kiss been, on the Admiral's porch. It wasn't a nostalgic grasp at his past as it had been when he'd imagined her as Diane. This was soft and deep and felt like coming home.
He felt her fingers tangle in his hair and pulled back barely an inch, nipping lightly at her nose before whispering.
"Are you feeling this?"
A chrysalis split open; a butterfly took it's first flight.
__________________________________________________________________
How lucky was she in a world he inhabited that she could never be lost. Her compass, her friend. As untouchable as Luna and as reliable as the same.
The moon's light was cold and lazy, the darkness around them inky-if they stepped too far away from each other it might swallow them whole. She could tell he was next to her when she saw his breath and felt a heat on the small of her back. He led her through an open door.
Mac rubbed her hands together, shooting him a skeptical look.
"Ice cream, Harm?" She said dubiously.
"What?" He asked, all innocence.
"For one thing it's 40 degrees outside. For another," she gave a showy look to the freezer case, perusing the flavors, "I don't see Tofutti Vanilla Dream."
"So we'll order yogurt," he said, taking a step closer to her, leaning into her space, "and I'll keep you warm."
She imagined a spilled glob of hot fudge on his chin and her licking it off. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.
She was a tall woman, but he seemed to grow bigger the longer he stood over her. She felt small standing there in the empty ice cream parlor, all of Harm's attention focused on her.
His search for his father, his Sisyphean task, was ended now. He had no one else to focus on save her. With her dipsomaniacal thirst and her sober stare. How strange that she didn't feel threatened. How strange that she didn't feel weak.
The teenage girl behind the counter heaved a bored sigh and shoved off the countertop behind her, picking at hot pink fingernail polish. She flitted her eyes to them, paying half attention.
"What can I get you?" She asked, without a trace of enthusiasm.
"Two of those," he said, pointing to an interesting flavor. Mac didn't really care which one.
"With hot fudge," she was sure to add, biting her lip.
______________________________________________________________________
"So," he said, walking her to her quarters.
He waited for her to pull out the key and she fiddled with it on purpose, drawing out their time together in increments.
"So," she said.
It had started to snow. Light, dusty flakes that would melt as soon as they hit the earth. A shot across the bow from winter. 'I'm coming,' it said.
Something else was coming too, though Mac didn't dare hope what it was.
She looked at the ground, suddenly blushing, hoping he would think it was the cold.
"Do you want to come in?" She asked, meeting his gaze.
"Mac." he said, not moving. "I can't."
She flinched slightly, a bit stung though she knew she didn't need to be.
He reached out to her, an act of solace. "It's not a question of wanting," he said.
She felt suddenly stupid. Of course they couldn't. Not now, and certainly not here. She turned around quickly and jammed the key in the door. "Right," she said, feigning indifference, "of course."
He pulled on her elbow and she turned back to him. He leaned in and kissed her soundly and quickly, running his tongue against the inside of her upper lip before pulling back. She was breathless and surprised. He flitted his eyes in both directions, making sure they hadn't been seen. He squeezed her elbow and took a step back.
"We'll figure this out," he said decisively, with his head bent towards her in that way he had of assuring even the most guilty defendant that they'd get off. Of course she believed him. When it came to him she was guilty as sin.
He walked backward several steps holding her gaze and then trotted off toward his own room.
Mac swayed a bit on her feet and slapped the doorway with her hand, holding herself up. It took her a moment to walk through the door and slam it.
He was right and he drove her crazy. He would probably be really good in bed.
____________________________________________________________________________
She'd asked him once if she was good for him.
He was wrapped up in changing careers, and she was wrapped up in Mic. He'd been acting pissy and infantile and he was in a bad mood when Mac wasn't around and a worse one when she was. Renee chose to ignore his attitude and expedited it by flying to LA on business.
He'd snapped at Harriet in the bullpen and had felt so bad about it, he was skulking in his office.
He heard his door snap shut and looked up quickly. Mac was standing akimbo just inside the doorway. She didn't look happy.
"What the hell was that all about?"
"By all means, please come in, Colonel," he said derisively.
"Cut the crap, Harm," she said, softening only a bit and taking a step closer to his desk, "what's going on with you?"
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes.
"I don't know," he sighed, relenting his attitude.
She moved to the chair across from his desk.
"You know Harm," she said, "I think I know you better than anybody, but sometimes I just can't figure you out."
"I can't figure me out, Mac," he said, "I'm surprised you'd even want to try."
"Don't change the damn subject," she said, trying to contain a small smile but failing.
He smiled at her and dropped his eyes to the floor. "I guess it's just you and this whole." he sighed heavily, "I'm sorry."
"Apologize to Harriet, not to me," she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. She seemed to consider him a moment after he nodded, agreeing.
"If it's me." she finally said, "Do I do this to you?"
He didn't say anything. She messed him up inside, but only in the best ways he could think of.
"God Harm," she said, "sometimes I don't think I'm any good for you."
That surprised him and he looked up.
"You're the best part of me," he said quickly, simply.
She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth to say something.
His phone rang then, Renee calling to tell him she'd arrived at the airport, her timing impeccable as ever.
He rolled over in his bed, remembering. The best part of him was sleeping four doors down, and he was restless until he could be with her. For now he was incomplete.
________________________________________________________________________
"Jesus, Harm, you look like hell."
Not exactly the romantic greeting he had in mind, but it was certainly to the point.
"Colonel Mackenzie," he said, nodding to her as they met outside his room. The visiting officer's quarters were crawling with people. "I'll drive," he said, taking her bags from her and popping the trunk.
She was settled in the passenger seat by the time he got in. He put on his seat belt and turned to smile at her before he put the keys in the ignition.
She reached across the console then, putting a hand on his arm.
"I wasn't kidding, Harm, you look awful," she said, her forehead wrinkled in worry, "did you sleep at all last night?"
"I'll sleep on the plane," he said, looking away. His arm was tingling under her touch.
She rubbed her thumb against his jacket absently.
"Why the plane?" She asked, still concerned. "And not your bed?"
He huffed a self-depreciating laugh and gave her a look askance.
"You'll be there," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
____________________________________________________________________________ ____
A billboard flashed past, advertising car parts. He stole a look at Mac in the passenger seat. Her collar was a bit crooked, she'd obviously been distracted this morning. He wanted to reach over and fix it. He wanted to reach over, period.
He'd never been a terribly sentimental person, but Mac brought out feelings in him he never thought himself privy to.
He remembered coming out of the movies as a kid, inspired by the action. Running down the sidewalk ahead of his mother like a space commander, like a soldier, like a cowboy. In 'Prometheus Unbound' Shelley wrote about Life, Joy, Empire and Victory, inspired by the beauty of Rome. Sitting in a car with Mac, Harm decided that three out of four weren't bad. And in the gossamer memory of a kiss, he felt almost as if he could conquer the world.
Not that Mac would condone any such action. She'd probably grab him by the nuts and make him go home.
She caught him smiling at the thought.
"What?" she asked, grinning herself.
It had snowed a bit the night before and the roads were slushy. A plow roared by them, showering sparks on the asphalt.
"Nothing," he said, flicking on the windshield wipers, not really trusting himself to speak.
END CHAPTER TWO