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She glared at me angrily.

"I have never been so embarrassed in my life," she announced, pacing the office repeatedly.

I stood watching her, wondering how I was going to survive this day.

This day is called the battle of on-the-warpath-beyond-angry-down-right-pissed-off-Marine:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand on tip-toe when the day is named,

And rouse him at the name of this battle

"So this is my fault."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Well yes, as a matter of fact it is," she informed me scathingly.

He that shall live this day, and see old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say 'To-morrow is the day'

Then he will strip his sleeve and show his scars

And say 'She did that'

"That's unfair," I replied softly.

"Yeah, maybe it is," she paused, "But I don't care. First you read my diary, then you, you- humiliate me in front of my commanding officer and now you think I WON'T be mad at you? What planet are you on?"

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember with a cringe

What he endured that day: then shall the names

Familiar in his mouth as household words

Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,

All innocent bystanders subjected to her wrath

Be their painful deaths freshly remember'd

This situation needed to be diffused fast. I could almost hear the timers ticking now.

"Hurry, we only have two minutes to detonation."

"Firstly, I did not humiliate you, I kissed you and you enjoyed it, and secondly, for about a minute back there I though we were finally on the same planet. Apparently I was mistaken."

"It would appear that way."

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"

"Do you deserve any less?"

This story shall the good man teach his son:

Never mess with a Marine digging a foxhole

And readying herself for combat

Murphy's Law of Survival #1: RUN!

"Probably not."

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't know if you read it? Did you really think I wouldn't care?"

"No, I mean I didn't intend--- I didn't think---"

"Yeah, that would be your problem. You didn't think."

And this battle shall ne'er go by

From this day to the ending of the world

But we in it shall be remember'd

We few, we frightened few, we band of fools

For he to-day that sheds his blood is a children's party clown wannabe

And he shall be my brother, should he survive her

"My bad."

"Damn straight Commander."

"So what do you wanna do?"

"Forget about it."

"I can't remember a word of your writings."

"No I mean forget all of it, this entire day never happened."

"And then what?" I asked bravely.

"Excuse me?"

"Sure, we could forget about today, what happens then?"

She looked confused.

"Do you honestly think everything will be the same?" I continued by way of explanation, "Hell, knowing us it probably will. But is normal really good enough Sarah?"

"Stop calling me that, I feel like I'm at my own funeral when you call me that," she snapped.

"You said ---"

"Yeah I did. That was years ago. In the past, not present tense."

"And in present tense you don't feel exactly the same?"

"What? That hopeful-of-homicide feeling? Yes, it's exactly the same."

This day shall gentle her condition

And gentlemen in America now a-bed

Shall think themselves damned lucky they were not here

And hold their manhoods intact while any speaks

That fought with the fools in this battle against a homicidal USMC Lieutenant Colonel.

"Sa- Mac," I searched for a comprehendible string of words that would with any luck make grammatical sense as well as being a pattern of words meant to go together, "I know you're really mad at me---"

"Understatement of the geological era. Never in the Cenozoic Era have I heard a more perfect truism."

"I know you're really, really, really mad at me. I know you want to kill me right now--- but, but I don't understand why you want to forget about today."

She rewarded me with a poisonous glare that would've petrified peak hour traffic.

I averted her gaze for roughly two seconds, before facing her Evil Eye again.

"So maybe I made a mistake, but why does the damage have to be irreparable?"

"Because the offence is irreversible."

"I've already apologised---"

"That does not mean I have forgiven you."

"No it doesn't."

I paused.

"But can't we try and work this out? I mean all of it, not just what happened today, what has been happening for the past seven years almost."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Why'd you write those things Mac?"

"Cuz I meant them. I think, don't know now. I always thought I could *trust* you," she informed me with all too much emphasis on trust, "I never thought you'd do something so--- well low really."

"Well I didn't think you'd ever write anything like that."

"It wasn't meant to be seen by anyone."

"Then why was it in your desk drawer?"

"Happened to throw it in there one day. No big deal, most people don't snoop through other people's drawers," she raised her voice slightly.

"I was looking for a file Mac."

"Don't believe you and why should I after what you did?"

"Because I'm telling you the truth. Maybe I did something stupid, but I never lied to you: why would you think I would?"

"Belief is a large component of trust."

"Did you mean what you wrote?"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

"Do you still mean it?"

"Trust is a large component of love."

"Touché."

"I try," she smiled sadistically.

"I've tried."

"What?"

"I've tried to sort this out, but you are being un-cooperative."

"Un-cooperative?" she squeaked incredulously.

"Yeah, un-cooperative."

"Well why should I cooperate with a man who just read something incredibly personal and is now relishing the opportunities he has to tease me about it?"

"You think I'm teasing you?"

"Yeah," she replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"You misread me Colonel."

"When all of what you want to say is hidden between the lines you must be prepared for misinterpretation."

"I am not teasing you."

"You are so."

"I am not."

"You are so."

"I am not."

"You are---" she stopped mid-sentence realising how childish we sounded, "You are," she mumbled quietly.

"I'm not, I swear. I just want to know how you feel."

"I believe I've made my anger and animosity apparent."

"So you hate me and that is it?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but had no answer.

"Well?"

"I don't hate you," she sighed, "Wish I did sometimes, but no, I do not and never have hated you."

"Good."

"I still just want to forget about it and survive my Christmas thank you very much."

"Well see, we're going to encounter some difficulties there."

"Where?"

"Well, for one I know for a fact that Harriet has purposefully adorned every doorway in her house with mistletoe in an attempt to catch everyone out. And secondly, I haven't got you a Christmas present yet."

"There is still plenty of time before Christmas Harm, and I am a Marine. I have been in a war zone for the past few weeks, I'm sure I can handle mistletoe. We have every other year."

"Not working this year."

"Why not?"

I shrugged, "Because to put it simply, I don't want it to. I don't want to avoid the issue any more."

"What issue? There is no issue."

"You been hanging out with Webb on the Seahawk or something?"

"No. *What* issue?"

"You can't be serious. Mac, you know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't, now tell me," she responded in frustration.

"*This* issue."

"Commander, I believe we have been through this. WHAT issue?"

"The fact that you've written all those things for years and never told me any of it."

"Why would I tell you what I've written in my diary?"

"Because--- well because most of it is stuff I wish you had told me. I never knew how you felt about lots of things. If I had, things would've been different, a lot different. Why in hell did you not tell me how upset you were when I left JAG to fly? You thought I was leaving you. I was never leaving you."

"Well you did."

"I didn't know you saw it that way. It had nothing to do with you. You were the most important reasons I had to stay."

"But you still left, because I wasn't as important as other things."

"No, I still left because I thought that maybe we could work something out. I mean, we can't---we're in the same chain of command."

She stared at me, "So I'm meant to believe that you left *for* me?"

"No. It wasn't like that either. I left for a multitude of reasons, but yes, you were one of them."

"Then why'd you just go?"

"Because you wouldn't talk to me. I get it now, after reading that, but at the time I had no idea you were hurt by what happened."

She rolled her eyes, "You are so perceptive."

"I *am* a guy Mac."

"No excuse. If you couldn't tell I was upset," she paused, "How the hell could you not tell?"

"Because you can't assume anything when you're involved. We misunderstand each other too often."

"So what other times would you say we had misunderstood each other? I thought we understood each other pretty much perfectly. We can talk without talking, I know exactly how you'll react in every situation you're in and vice versa. Where's the misunderstanding?"

"Sydney."

"That one was pretty simple. I asked you how you felt, threw myself at you and you told me to take a long walk of a short pier. Again I pose the question, where is the misunderstanding?"

"I said wait, not get lost. There is a vast difference. In that book of yours you said something about turning you down gently. That was never my intention."

"Then what was your intention? You make no sense!"

"Yet you claim to understand me."

"What was your intention?"

"I asked you to wait. I said exactly what I wanted. A little more time to clear a few things up. My life was pretty screwed at the time Mac. I didn't want to bring you into all of that just then."

"In case you didn't notice I was a part of that anyway. I work with you, you were my best friend," she sighed, "Pathetic argument."

"I didn't want to lose you if it didn't work out, I just wasn't ready for that, then. You surprised me."

"If you couldn't see that coming you *are* blind."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on, I'd been hinting for weeks, even months and you--- well you never caught on."

"I thought--- I thought you thought of me as a friend Mac. I had no idea you were--- well serious about all that stuff."

"I'm not like you, I don't flirt with whatever flirts with me."

"I'm not like that either."

"You are so."

"I--- do we have to have another childish argument about nothing? Who cares? YOu wrote after Sydney---"

"Do we have to talk about what I wrote? You can't submit that evidence, it was acquired through questionable means."

"Yes, we have to talk about what you wrote."

"No we don't."

"Yes we do."

"Harm---" she warned.

"Mac, I'm serious. You wrote after Sydney that I didn't love you. That was not true."

She blinked twice and shook her head as if to clear it.

"Implying something?" she asked.

"No. Saying something. Just listen. I will tell you everything directly; you don't have to look for implications and inferred meanings in everything I say. That is a large part of our problem: you never think I'm saying what I mean."

"Well you never do."

"Yes I do. I told you to wait in Sydney. That is exactly what I meant. Wait, that's what I said, that's what I meant. You if course took it to mean something entirely different. I can't really do anything about that but apologise if my message wasn't clear. Sorry, but I think you're at fault there too."

She glared, "You are seriously blaming *me* for what happened in Sydney?"

"There is really nothing to gain by assigning blame, and both parties involved must have a share, some more so than others maybe."

"So you're saying that it's both of our faults, but more mine than yours?"

"No. I actually think it was more a misunderstanding, not the life-altering melodrama it turned out to be. What happened there was blown right out of proportion. You over-reacted to what I said, and maybe that's because I didn't make it obvious what I meant, but it--- it never should have ended with you engaged to someone else and you and I, well you and I the way we were, the way we are."

"What about the way we are? We're past that."

"You say that about everything, and you never mean it."

"I do mean it."

"Fine, but I know you think that what happened in Sydney was *my* fault. Why?"

"I don't think it was your fault."

"You still hold it against me."

"Yes well---"

"Well what? I've apologised to you, I've told you what I meant to say, what more can I do?"

"Tell me what you should've said."

"I don't know what I should've said."

"Yes you do," she sighed, "You almost said it before and you did in a way, and I know you do, I know you mean it, but you never--- you never say it, and you'll never be able to say it."

"To say what?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it."

"Say what?"

"Nothing."

"Mac."

"Harm."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Well you are blind aren't you?"

"No, just deaf and dumb. What do you want me to say?"

"I can't say it."

"Why?"

"Because I mean it and--- and I'm af- I don't know what will happen if I say it."

"You're afraid to say what?"

"I am not saying it."

"Why?"

"Same reason as you're not."

"Then doesn't that make it really stupid to not say it?"

"What?"

"Well, if we're both going to say the same thing and we're both afraid for the same reason, which is we're uncertain of how the other will react, then doesn't it make it stupid to not say it?"

"But I don't know if you're going to say the same thing."

"Neither do I."

"You're the brave one."

"You're the Marine."

"I am not saying it," she repeated.

"Saying what?"

"Nothing."

"Look, after Afghanistan you wrote that you hoped we could work this out. So let's work it out Ok? It's stupid. I'm sick of playing around with you. We're not teenagers, and we know each other too well."

"So why don't you say it?"

"Because you're making this a competition to see who'll say it first."

"I am not. I'm just af- don't---"

"You're afraid. Why won't you just say that?"

"Because. Because I hate to think that you think I'm--- I don't know, I'm not your damsel in distress type Ok?"

"I know that. I don't want you to be. Saying you're afraid doesn't make you like that--- well, not to me."

"You mean that?"

"Yes. Hell, it's *harder* to say you're afraid that to pretend you're not. That's the difference between courage and bravery. Bravery is when you're not afraid, or you pretend you're not afraid. Courage is when you're shit scared but you face that fear. I don't know about you, but it sounds better to be courageous to me."

She nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry about Chegwidden's office, I---"

She laughed.

"No, it was actually pretty funny really."

"I don't see the humour in threats of court martial or worse, my transfer to various parts of the world where sub-zero conditions are prominent."

"Come on, have you ever seen that look on his face?"

"The I-am-going-to-murder-you-slowly-and-painfully-and-enjoy-every-second-of-it look? Unfortunately yes."

"No, his immediate reaction when he walked in on us," she sniggered, "That was hit sitcom material."

"If you say so."

"Harm?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I guess I do over-react to you a lot, today not excluded."

"That's Ok. Most of the time it's not really a problem, makes life interesting," I paused, "But would you try to listen to what I'm actually saying to you?"

"Would you stop encrypting everything you say into some weird code that is impossible to decipher?"

"Ok."

"Then yes."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"So."

"So."

"What did you want me to say?"

"Tell me you already know."

"I think I do."

"Guess then."

"No. I don't guess with you any more. Too painful."

"Ok."

"Are you going to tell me?"

She sighed and looked at me for a long moment.

"Yeah, me too," I grinned.


Non-verbal communication is a wonderful thing.

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A/N: He he, the parody of Shakespeare just sort of happened… no offence intended. Love Shakespeare, especially Henry V. My faves are Macbeth and Hamlet, but The Merchant of Venice and The Taming of the Shrew are pretty good too.

Meh, Shakespeare rocks.