A/N: Well everyone seems to think that Harm would never hit Mac or any woman, even in anger. I'm going for the: he was mad and she was hysterical angle. I don't think he'd hit her either, but remembering it's from her POV, there's probably some bias in the recount. The author notes that he probably didn't slap her hard, or for any other reason than she was basically falling back on the primitive defensive tactic of yelling very loud at your enemy while choking on sobs and gasping for air. Even men who never and would never hit a woman do in that kind of situation in my personal experience. And besides, it sounded like a reasonably primitive argument over nothing at all to me.

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Friday: the war continued with no hope of a ceasefire, peril imminent and more bombs falling than usual.

There were three evil omens waiting for me when I arrived at the office.

The first was him, who had uncharacteristically turned up early. To the good fortune of my sanity, he'd had the decency to leave last night until I'd disappeared into the bedroom with little intention of ever facing him again. I wasn't sure what time he'd come back, but he'd left again before I was up.

He'd scared me.

'People change Mac.'

He had changed.


Never, never in my life had I felt threatened by Harm. He would never hit any woman; much less one he claimed was his best friend and who he supposedly respected, treated like a lady. Herein I found our problem. I was most definitely not a lady. A bitch, a slut, a tease maybe, but certainly not a lady. I understood why he'd slapped me. Because I'd let him see everything I felt inside, I'd told him the contradictory truths that were me. He'd seen inside me and I'd been subjected to his reaction.

That's what always happened: I hurt people, I disappointed people, I am The BIG Nothing: a living paradox, a reminder of everything people hate and love about humanity. Everyone thinks I'm different to the way I really am. That I'm arrogant, over-confident and self-assured. I'm not like that at all. It is, in part, a façade. The tough-girl Marine-officer act I've been pulling off for years leads people to numerous conclusions about who I really am, none of which are accurate. I am not arrogant really, I don't believe I can do anything, and while I am proud, I'm very rarely too proud for my own good unless I feel threatened. I'm not confident with myself at all. I spend ages and ages wondering about how I look, how I appear to other people. I stress over my weight (after women have children they put on weight, it's some sought of biological reaction, I'm sure), I stress over what I wear, how I wear it, what I say, what I do- I always worry about how people are judging me. I hate being judged and I say I don't care what other people think, but that's a lot of tough talk that isn't always true. And self-assured? I am certainly not self-assured. You have never met someone as insecure as I am. I tell myself I can't do things. I am my own worst enemy. I remind myself of all the awful things I've done to people, I never forget the mistakes I've made and I let the past haunt me. I expect nothing at risk of being disappointed. Defensive before they even begin the attack... that's me. And a lot of the time my defensive strategy is to appear to be on the offensive.

I had not meant to hurt him. I had not meant to say all the awful things I'd said to him. He was right. I knew he was right. I hated it when he was right. I'd always hated it when he was right. When he was right I was invariably wrong. I hated being wrong and I hated having to sacrifice my pride just to admit it.

The second evil omen was an open invitation; lay out in the middle of my desk with a note from Nikki attached.

'Hope you can go, cuz I am. Just so you know because I won't be able to watch Angela. Sorry! Anyway, will hopefully see you there. And what is that extra $200 in my account for?!?! I know it's from you- WHY!?! (If you say watching Angie you know I am gonna kill you!)'

The 'love always Nikki' was crossed out and replaced with 'PO Ryder'. I grinned at her note then frowned at the invitation. It was to some political party. The local senator's Christmas get together- I sighed. I hated such events. The senator's son was Navy. Lieutenant Neilson was a JAG who'd been based with us for over a year. He did a decent job but was to rapt in his father's pressure to really excel as an officer. I didn't like the senator much- he interfered with Lieutenant Neilson's work and was always trying to force his own political aspirations on his son. My entire staff was always invited to the Christmas party. Last year's had been bad enough, and this year? Well this year would surely be worse, especially given the presence of a certain lawyer and the negative events of last night. I decided not to go, the remembered I was acting CO and even when I wasn't, Chief of Staff and really couldn't make that decision. I hated the social obligation of this job. Sighing, I reluctantly ticked 'yes' on the RSVP and pushed the invitation away in dread.

The third and final omen was a letter and as they say: they save the best for last. This one was a real kick in the face, a bullet in the back. I opened the letter apprehensively, reading the sender's address: Dr Field's office.

I skimmed over the letter absently; sure it could only be bad news. After several minutes, I decided I needed to actually comprehend what it was telling me. I read the first paragraph five times before the shapes actually formed themselves into letters that formed themselves into words making up a coherent sentence. The Marine in me said 'Semper Fi- it can't be worse than combat'. The cynic in me didn't like the chances of survival she gave. The employee in me didn't like the financial figures she estimated. The woman in me was too tired to be able to understand the full implications of the letter. It took several moments for these to become apparent. That was when I was afraid.

The facts were pretty clear: I was sick, possibly life threatening, but probably not, it was an inhibiting situation to say the least and reasonably scary.

I briefly and jokingly considered suicide. It was alarming to find that killing myself actually seemed to have more pros than cons. Sighing I realised life could only get worse.

*              *              *              *              *              *

A/N: No, I haven't decided what she's got yet--- any suggestions for a life-threatening disease we could give Mac?


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I knew we had to talk. Approaching his office in the hours between lunch and late afternoon that are always quiet hours in the office, I knew I had to talk to him. I didn't want to. I wanted to pretend nothing had happened, to run away, to ignore it, but I knew I had to enter the office and talk to him. Opening the door nervously, I decided to begin the conversation quickly and hoped it would end much the same.

"Are you going tomorrow night?"

A quick, toneless question preceded by no greeting or announcement of my presence.

Harm looked up and stared at me, "Going where?"

'Good, he's finally learned to follow my lead and not say much when I don't,' I thought.

"To the senator's Christmas party, he'll expect you."

"Oh, yeah," he responded, realising what I was talking about, "I don't know. Don't really want to go but I guess I have to. Sit down."

"No, I was just going past and I thought I'd ask," I replied, declining the attempt to prolong my stay.

"Yes I'm going. Are you?"

"I have to go."

"Mac, sit down."

"No."

"Mac."

"Why?"

"Because."

I rolled my eyes, backing away towards the door, "Informative answer Sir."

"Sit down!"

"Why?"

"Because we need to talk."

"About what?"

"Things."

"What things?"

"Tomorrow night for one."

"We talked. We're both going, what else do we need to say to each other?"

"Are you going with someone?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but no, I'm not."

I'd half-heartedly attempted to date other people when I moved, but nothing or no one really interested me, and when you've got a baby, you don't really have time for dinner dates anyway. Several guys had taken me out, only two more than once, and only one of them more than twice. He'd given up after realising we didn't have the same ideas about a relationship. And a date for a Christmas party? Not that I couldn't find one, more that I couldn't be bothered finding one. But, as I had stated, not that it was any of his business.

"Oh."

"Is that all you wanted to ask?"

"No."

"Then---"

"Mac, we're both going to be at the same place and the same time for an entire evening. Can we agree not to argue for that long? Surely it wouldn't kill you to have to keep all your biting comments to yourself."

"Excuse me? My comments?"

"It's an armistice not a surrender."

"Yes, of course we can agree to cease disagreeing for the evening. I don't see why that would be a problem after avoiding each other like the plague for over twelve hours."

"Mac, you know what I mean."

"I don't think I do," I replied.

He sighed, looking tired more than anything else, "You know, I wish I still loved you. Then you could talk to me about nothing and the sound of your voice would actually make me feel like there was something worth living for."

I snorted, "You're not serious?"

"No, I am. I used to like listening to you talk."

I laughed, "Real funny."

He looked a little hurt, "Mac, I am serious and I am sick of this. Why do you always- always- do this?"

"Do what?"

"Try to tell me I'm not 'serious' about anything. When I tell you things, I mean them. If you'd ever listened to me and stopped trying to twist my words all the time, maybe we wouldn't be where we are now."

"Which is where?"

"At a point where we can't even be in the same room for more than ten minutes without arguing about something."

"We haven't argued yet today," I objected, raising my voice a little.

"Well we're about to, aren't we?"

"Only because you keep pushing."

"Oh really?"

"You have an answer for everything don't you?"

"And you don't?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You've got a list of comebacks and cheap remarks to match the best of them Mac. Every time I say anything, you make some sarcastic comment, another petty shot. You've always got to have the last word don't you?"

"No."

"And you always have to argue."

"I am not arguing," I argued before realising how annoying it was that by denying that statement, I actually proved his point.

"You are."

"Well you always fight back."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to finish your damned investigation and go back to Washington and let me live my life without the constant rain cloud of your presence!" I shouted, finally overcome by the annoyance he always inspired.

His volume lowered considerably, "That was unduly harsh."

"I know," I answered, "I didn't mean it. I just- I just hate the way- the way things are."

"Like I said, we can't agree on anything."

"Because you always want to fight with me."

"And you always want to fight with me."

"I don't Harm, I really don't want to fight with you. I can't be bothered. It's too time consuming, too painful and no one ever really wins. We've been fighting for long enough to know that we're evenly matched. I just- I just can't let you beat me though. I can't, I can't let you win. I can't ignore you. I can't *not* fight you."

"Why?"

"Because. Because you'll walk all over me and think I'm weak. I'm not."

"I know that."

"Do you really? Then why did you-" I stopped suddenly, biting down hard on my lower lip.

"Why did I what?"

"Last night, I mean, don't- it doesn't matter."

"Mac, I'm sorry for what happened last night. Here is me admitting I was wrong Ok? You see, despite what you think, I do not think I am incapable of making mistakes. I screwed up and probably nothing I ever do or say will allow you to forgive me, that's just the way you are, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry and I wish it never happened."

I was silent; unsure of how to respond I mentally withdrew from the conversation and physically recoiled, stepping away from him instinctively.

"And it wasn't because I think you're weak. It was because you're not. You're a very strong adversary and there was no other way for me to win- which is stupid really because I think I lost, more than just another pathetic argument too."

I swallowed, "It's not because I don't want to forgive you, you know that don't you?"

"What?"

"It's not because I don't want to forgive you, it's because I can't-" I choked back a sob, pressing my eyes together hard and cursing the damn tears, "It's because I can't just pretend nothing happened because- because I know that never works. I'm not afraid of you. It's not- it's not about you. It's about other people and other times and other relationships and I cannot forgive you."

"Because of the past?"

"Yes."

"Then you know why I can't forgive you."

"Because of what happened?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. What do you want me to say? What can I possibly do to make all of this right?"

"Nothing. Nothing will ever make 'this' right," he informed me bitterly, "But we still have to go tomorrow night."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you're not going with anyone?"

Was he going to ask me to go with him? Why was he so interested anyway?

"No," I repeated my previous answer suspiciously.

"Ok, then we're all right?"

"I thought we'd never be 'right'?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do, do I?"

"Well you should."

"Ok, I know what you mean."

"Then I'll see you tonight?"

"Maybe," I sighed, "Work, work, work and more work."

"Ok."

"I'm going to leave now," I announced, preparing to engage in a tactical retreat from the hostilities.

"See you."

My hand closed on the doorknob.

"Yeah," I answered as I opened the door.

"And Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"You should've just sat down."

I let it slam closed behind me.

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On Saturday night, Harm and I decided it would be stupid to drive ourselves when we were going to the same party from the same place. After I spent half an hour grilling the babysitter (a teenager from next door), he near-literally dragged me out the door, informing me that I was not an Inquisitor and that she was a perfectly capable young woman.

"She's your daughter you know," I snapped, irritably pushing a lose strand of hair out of my face.

"Yeah, and she'll be all right Mac, just relax."

"I'm fine," I retorted, tugging at the midnight blue skirt of my dress and smoothing the bodice, eying my reflection in the glass of the car window critically.

"You look fine, now get in."

"So encouraging," I mumbled to myself, complying with a glare in his general direction and cursing the heels that had already started to initiate blisters on my little toe. Stupid torture devices- I don't know why I wore them. I spent the rest of the journey alternating between tugging at the strap of my shoes and playing with my hair.

I was silent, he was silent and I was appreciative of the fact that I didn't have to make small talk for ten minutes.

When we arrived, I sat in the car, still battling with my hair and now examining my make-up while he complained about the outside temperature.

"Mac, it's winter. It's cold, hurry up."

"I just have to---"

"You look great Mac," he paused thoughtfully, reaching out to touch my arm, "Really, I've never seen you look so beautiful."

I turned to face him, genuinely surprised at the sincerity of the compliment. He sounded like he actually meant it. He looked back at me like he actually meant it.

I couldn't breathe.

There was a long pause that he tactfully interrupted by lightening the mood, "For a Marine, you were blue really well."

I grinned, exhaling in relief and more in grateful for the change in atmosphere than the joke, "We Marines are very multi-talented. We can do many things well."

"That's true," he responded and the silence descended once more. I hated that silence. I hated him complimenting me. I didn't know how I was meant to react and I hated that.

I stepped out of the car and shivered, "You're right Sailor, it is cold."

"Due to the season as I previously explained," he assured me, "Come on, the idea is to make it to the party, not frozen in the parking lot."

I took the arm he offered me shyly, "We can be all right you know," I murmured nervously, "If you want to be."

"We're fine."

"I know."

I shivered. I'm not sure if it was the temperature or the look he gave me, but either way, this situation was getting dangerous. I'm not sure which was worse- hypothermia or Harmon Rabb. Either way, we quickly departed the frosty outdoors and entered the building.

Once inside, the intensity of the moments before lessened, much to my relief. He released his hold on my arm once inside and within moments, we were separated by the small crowd assembled in the room.

After greeting the appropriate people, I wandered over to the food absently, beginning to feel hungry. Picking at something that looked vaguely edible, I observed the comings and goings uninterestedly.  It took less than ten minutes for Nikki meet me at the table, her eyes twinkling teasingly.

"I saw you and Romeo arrived together," she stated impishly. (It was her nickname for Harm. I'd been obliged to explain to her who he was after he'd turned up at my apartment the day he arrived and she was still there watching Angela. Ever since, he'd been Romeo and she'd been Cupid.)

"No, we arrived at the same time," I corrected, "Not together."

"So you're not here *with* him, you're just *here* with him?"

"There was a merely implied invitation to come together, but we verbally agreed to go to the same place at the same time and nothing more."

"Will you be leaving together?"

"At the same time," I sighed, "And going to the same location, and that's all."

"You sound disappointed."

"Maybe a little," I confessed, "But it's for the best. What about you? I see no male companion accompanying you this evening."

She shrugged, "I arrived with no one and don't intend to leave that way. See over there," she gestured to an Army Sergeant.

I nodded.

"My mission objective this evening," she informed me.

"Is it someone different every evening?" I mock-scolded.

"No *mother*. For your information, I've been eyeing this one for a while… I call it performing recon ops before initiating ground warfare."

I grinned at her, "What's your line Petty Officer? My bedroom is a battlefield?"

"I," she began flirtatiously, grandly spreading her arms, "Do not need 'lines' Ma'am. I let my tactics do the talking."

I laughed at her, "So what's the plan?"

"Entice him with my…assets."

"What as…"

"Don't say it," she warned, realising what she'd left herself open for.

"I wish you better luck than myself," I remarked wryly, observing the liquid in my glass intently.

"What's your line?"

"Don't need lines," I answered quickly, "I let my assets do the talking."

"With all due respect and no offence, but your assets happen to include a 4 year old daughter and a further 14 years of responsibility. Probably not the best pick up line."

"I didn't come here to pick up anything, much less another military man," I responded.

She gesticulated with her shoulders, "Oh well. Have fun."

"What? Enduring the bitter taunting of the young who are enjoying their no-strings-attached affairs? I think not."

"It's not like that is it?" she asked, "You don't really think of me as young and stupid do you?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Well on account that you insist you aren't here with him I think you do need a line," she stated.

"What would you suggest?"

"I love you, I need you, I want you and want you some more?" she proposed.

"Already tried that," I notified her, "Doesn't care."

"What is it with you two?" she inquired curiously, "You're always fighting. I sense sexual tension."

"I assure you, there is no such strain between us."

"What, so you're sleeping together?"

"No."

"Is that the problem?"

Déjà vu!

"No, the problem is I left Washington five years ago because the feelings that lead to such acts between people were not mutual."

"So why don't you just apologise and move on?"

"Because neither of us is willing to let go."

"Why not?" she pressed, "Why not leave what's past pass and get over it?"

I was silent.

"Do you still love him?"


Remembering the events of the Thursday evening and again tonight, I couldn't think of a lawyer's answer.

'Do you still love him?'

Nikki's words echoed in my head. Did I still love him, even after everything that had happened?

I sighed.

"It's complicated," I explained, "There's too many times where we've hurt each other, too many lost chances."

"Chances not taken aren't always lost Ma'am," she commented vaguely.

"Yeah, but some wounds don't heal," I responded quietly, "Relationships are a bloody war Nikki. Ours was KIA a while back."

She shook her head, "No, MIA maybe, not KIA. You're both prisoners of war and neither of you are dead… yet."

"Like I said, it's complicated. For one, he's not interested any more."

"I disagree," she observed idly, "Whether he says it or not, he still loves you. Any one who comes within radar range of you two could see that."

"People used to think that about us five years ago and it was never true."

"So it's about the sex."

"What?"

"Just because two people aren't sleeping together doesn't mean they're not in love. I was talking about love, not a cataclysmic human mating ritual. By saying it wasn't true five years ago you were referring to the fact that everyone thought you were sleeping together when you weren't. Had they thought you were in love with him they would've been right, or so you've led me to believe Ma'am."

I stared at her for a moment, "It is not about the sex. What sex by the way?"

She rolled her eyes at me and laughed incredulously, "I may be young, but I am not that young. You have a daughter. Women don't get pregnant through goodbye kisses Ma'am. I've known that since I was about five."

I sighed, "Who said he was Angela's father anyway?"

"You did," she shrugged, "Maybe not in those words, but it was there."

She paused before continuing, "So there was sex."

"Yes," I agreed, "Once. One night and that's it."

"He broke it off after one night? What kind of jerk…"

I interrupted, "No, he's quite a gentleman. I'm just a slut that left after a stupid one-night stand. And you really didn't need to know that."

She eyed me disbelievingly, "Are we talking about the same person here? He was the man that you'd been in love with for… well forever. And you left after… because of… because of the sex?"

"No," I exhaled slowly, "It wasn't because of the sex. If anything the sex almost convinced me not to leave, much less pushed me out the door. I was leaving anyway Nikki, I just happened to get on the plane the day after the night."

"How on earth did that happen?"

"He was trying to persuade me to stay," I answered dryly; "Blame it on eight years of unfulfilled and unacted upon desire."

"But it wasn't potato chips Ma'am?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well you didn't go back for more?"

"It was a little better than grease ridden potatoes, I'll have you know," I informed her with a sly smile.

"I'll take your word for it."

"You'd better," I warned.

"Ooh, the hands-off-my-man reaction," she teased, "So you are still interested?"

"Firstly, he never was and is not 'my man'. Secondly, the interest is not mutual. He has made that fact painfully obvious. And finally, he's almost old enough to be your father Petty Officer."

"And fourthly, you'd kill me before the potato chip complex had time to come into effect," she grinned mischievously.


She was enjoying this far too much.

"You'd better believe it," I vowed flatly.

She rolled her eyes, "Marines! The thought never crossed my mind I swear."

I could tell she was being earnest but I couldn't resist a comeback.

"The way you're mind works, I find that hard to believe Petty Officer. You'd have anything on legs."

She laughed wickedly, "And some things that aren't."

"That was far too much information Nikki."

"Happy to share with you Ma'am," she grinned, "So, back to the original topic, from all this I conclude that this coupling was… rewarding. A mutually enjoyed experience shall we say?"

"Speaking only for myself, it was not enjoyed- savoured is a better word."

"Hmm, you give a generous appraisal. So it's definitely not the sex- or is it? Could it be that due to the potato chip complex or more specifically, the denial of the potato chip complex caused by your immediate departure, the sex has effectively destroyed your relationship, despite being incredibly satisfying?"

"No," I mused, "It was more that in the first place the sex was for all the wrong reasons at exactly the wrong time."

"Then it was the sex?"

"What is it with you and sex?" I inquired in exasperation.

"I am still in the motion caused by the momentum of my hormone driven teenage years," she notified me shortly, "And I'm trying to make a point here."

"And what would that be?"

"That love solves all the problems caused by sex."

"You are a young and idealistic woman."

"Young, not naïve. You are a middle-aged and cynical woman," she retorted.

"For someone who hates chick flicks you are a secret romantic."

"No, I just hate to see two incredibly cool people kept apart by their own stupidity," she came back with, "Now if you'll excuse me, I see something on legs that is begging me to enter into a partnership that will test the potato chip complex," she winked, placing her glass on the table next to us and gliding across the room to the young Army Sergeant.

I sighed.

Was it stupidity?

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