CHAPTER 8: Fixing it all at last
Harm went home and sulked. He knew he wouldn't fall asleep for a while. Not without Sarah to hold. Now he would hold her no more.
Mac hadn't been able to sleep either, so troubled with thoughts of Harm. Things had been going too well for her to just back off this time. She grabbed her keys and headed out, knowing there was no else she should be except with Harm. She was about to knock on his door when she heard a sad, mournful tune coming from inside. Harm was playing his guitar, something she rarely heard him do anymore. She listened for a few minutes before pulling out the spare key he had given her years ago and quietly unlocking the door.
He was concentrating so hard on his music that he didn't hear her come in and sit down on his couch. He looked up from his desk chair and found her sitting there, gazing at him intently. He met her gaze and finished up the last few sorrowful notes.
"That's beautiful," she said softly.
He nodded his thanks, not trusting himself to speak.
"What happened tonight?" Mac carefully asked, knowing that she would be treading on dangerous ground but also knowing at the same time that the issue needed to be dealt with and cleared up.
"They all know, I guess we haven't been as discreet as we thought we were," he said, retuning his guitar slightly. He needed something to focus on besides the beautiful, enchanting woman sitting in front of him.
"Does that bother you that much?"
"Not really." He set his guitar down, needing to move away from her and her intense, inquisitive look. He headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.
She followed him. "Harm, don't shut down on me. We said we'd at least be honest with each other, if nothing else. What is going on? What happened tonight?"
"You want the truth?" he challenged, spinning around to face her with a defiant look on his face.
Mac nodded.
"Every time someone would come up to talk to me, it was about you, about us. But that's not the problem. Fine, they all know, that's great. I wish I would've shouted it to the world that we finally sorted everything out and that we finally admitted we loved each other. But what really gets me is that they all keep telling me not to screw up, that I can't let you go, that you're too good for me. It's like they all think that the reason it took us so long to fix it all is because I've always messed things up, like it's all my fault," he blurted out.
"It's not all your fault, Harm."
"I know that, we're both to blame. But the fact that they keep reminding me that you're too good for me. It's like they're all saying 'sorry, Harm, I don't know why she's wasting her time with you'. I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you," he told her, somewhat bitterly.
"Oh, Harm, you know it's not like that," she tried, placing a hand on his arm.
"Yes, it is." He pulled away, flinching at her touch.
"Stop this! You know my history, you know the mistakes I've made. With Chris, Farrow, my drinking. I'm the one who doesn't deserve you. Damnit, Harm, I've pointed a gun at you and you still stood by me. I've put you through hell and you're still here," she threw back at him.
"Why can't we work through this?"
"Because it keeps getting thrown back in our faces."
"I'll always be around for you, you know that, right?"
"I do." A pause. "I'm sorry you feel that way, and I'm sorry for the way they were acting tonight," she apologized.
"I'm sorry for being snappish with you earlier, you do deserve better."
"Harm, look at me," she pleaded, moving to stand directly in front of him.
He tentatively met her steady gaze.
"I love you. Men come and go in my life but you're always there for me. There is no one better for me than you," Mac told him. She made one last plea. "Please, don't push me out now, the pain would be unbearable."
"I'm scared," admitted Harm, scared even of the fact that the words had come out of his mouth.
"So am I," she agreed.
"I don't want to mess this relationship up," he continued.
"Neither do I."
"Help me," he begged; his cocky, arrogant, fighter-pilot facade fading fast.
"Let me help you."
"Can we put all this behind us?"
"We have to try," she said firmly.
"I'm sorry," Harm apologized once more.
"There's nothing to be sorry for."
"I love you," the words were not easy to speak but there was no other way to express his feelings so profoundly and honestly to her.
"I know," she said, leaning into his open arms.
He held her tightly for a few minutes, both needing some time to think and compose themselves.
Later that night, they were lying in bed still awake, neither tired enough to fall asleep.
"You want to get them all back?" Mac asked. Ideas had been running through her head on how to solve the problems of the bet and the pressure from their intrusive yet caring coworkers.
"I'd love to," he eagerly agreed. "But how?"
"By messing with their minds. We'll give them a little of what they want and then screw with their minds."
"How?"
"Flirt shamelessly with each other one day, then spend the next storming around, arguing, yelling at each other. Our behavior should only confuse them. Then one day, when they've had enough, we can kiss in the office and get those tickets," she said.
"You want to go to the Super Bowl, don't you?"
"Of course. If you finally get tickets, you're taking me with you this time. And not in the cockpit of some tomcat this time. I want the real thing."
He couldn't help but let out a laugh at the memory. "We've had some good times."
"Yes, we have," she said. Her mind too, was wandering down memory lane.
"And we'll have plenty more," he promised.
Harm went home and sulked. He knew he wouldn't fall asleep for a while. Not without Sarah to hold. Now he would hold her no more.
Mac hadn't been able to sleep either, so troubled with thoughts of Harm. Things had been going too well for her to just back off this time. She grabbed her keys and headed out, knowing there was no else she should be except with Harm. She was about to knock on his door when she heard a sad, mournful tune coming from inside. Harm was playing his guitar, something she rarely heard him do anymore. She listened for a few minutes before pulling out the spare key he had given her years ago and quietly unlocking the door.
He was concentrating so hard on his music that he didn't hear her come in and sit down on his couch. He looked up from his desk chair and found her sitting there, gazing at him intently. He met her gaze and finished up the last few sorrowful notes.
"That's beautiful," she said softly.
He nodded his thanks, not trusting himself to speak.
"What happened tonight?" Mac carefully asked, knowing that she would be treading on dangerous ground but also knowing at the same time that the issue needed to be dealt with and cleared up.
"They all know, I guess we haven't been as discreet as we thought we were," he said, retuning his guitar slightly. He needed something to focus on besides the beautiful, enchanting woman sitting in front of him.
"Does that bother you that much?"
"Not really." He set his guitar down, needing to move away from her and her intense, inquisitive look. He headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.
She followed him. "Harm, don't shut down on me. We said we'd at least be honest with each other, if nothing else. What is going on? What happened tonight?"
"You want the truth?" he challenged, spinning around to face her with a defiant look on his face.
Mac nodded.
"Every time someone would come up to talk to me, it was about you, about us. But that's not the problem. Fine, they all know, that's great. I wish I would've shouted it to the world that we finally sorted everything out and that we finally admitted we loved each other. But what really gets me is that they all keep telling me not to screw up, that I can't let you go, that you're too good for me. It's like they all think that the reason it took us so long to fix it all is because I've always messed things up, like it's all my fault," he blurted out.
"It's not all your fault, Harm."
"I know that, we're both to blame. But the fact that they keep reminding me that you're too good for me. It's like they're all saying 'sorry, Harm, I don't know why she's wasting her time with you'. I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you," he told her, somewhat bitterly.
"Oh, Harm, you know it's not like that," she tried, placing a hand on his arm.
"Yes, it is." He pulled away, flinching at her touch.
"Stop this! You know my history, you know the mistakes I've made. With Chris, Farrow, my drinking. I'm the one who doesn't deserve you. Damnit, Harm, I've pointed a gun at you and you still stood by me. I've put you through hell and you're still here," she threw back at him.
"Why can't we work through this?"
"Because it keeps getting thrown back in our faces."
"I'll always be around for you, you know that, right?"
"I do." A pause. "I'm sorry you feel that way, and I'm sorry for the way they were acting tonight," she apologized.
"I'm sorry for being snappish with you earlier, you do deserve better."
"Harm, look at me," she pleaded, moving to stand directly in front of him.
He tentatively met her steady gaze.
"I love you. Men come and go in my life but you're always there for me. There is no one better for me than you," Mac told him. She made one last plea. "Please, don't push me out now, the pain would be unbearable."
"I'm scared," admitted Harm, scared even of the fact that the words had come out of his mouth.
"So am I," she agreed.
"I don't want to mess this relationship up," he continued.
"Neither do I."
"Help me," he begged; his cocky, arrogant, fighter-pilot facade fading fast.
"Let me help you."
"Can we put all this behind us?"
"We have to try," she said firmly.
"I'm sorry," Harm apologized once more.
"There's nothing to be sorry for."
"I love you," the words were not easy to speak but there was no other way to express his feelings so profoundly and honestly to her.
"I know," she said, leaning into his open arms.
He held her tightly for a few minutes, both needing some time to think and compose themselves.
Later that night, they were lying in bed still awake, neither tired enough to fall asleep.
"You want to get them all back?" Mac asked. Ideas had been running through her head on how to solve the problems of the bet and the pressure from their intrusive yet caring coworkers.
"I'd love to," he eagerly agreed. "But how?"
"By messing with their minds. We'll give them a little of what they want and then screw with their minds."
"How?"
"Flirt shamelessly with each other one day, then spend the next storming around, arguing, yelling at each other. Our behavior should only confuse them. Then one day, when they've had enough, we can kiss in the office and get those tickets," she said.
"You want to go to the Super Bowl, don't you?"
"Of course. If you finally get tickets, you're taking me with you this time. And not in the cockpit of some tomcat this time. I want the real thing."
He couldn't help but let out a laugh at the memory. "We've had some good times."
"Yes, we have," she said. Her mind too, was wandering down memory lane.
"And we'll have plenty more," he promised.