A/N: Between jet lag and working 15-hour days, it's been tough but I've
finally finished this. Please let me know what you think! The good news
is that I'm home for the next week so I'll have more time to write. :)
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Same Day; JAG Headquarters; Falls Church, Virginia
Harm returned a short time later to find Mac seated behind her desk. "I brought you some tea," he said quietly as he placed a steaming cup next to her hand. "It should help settle your stomach. How are you feeling?"
"Better," she murmured, raising the cup and cautiously tasting its contents. "Too much excitement for one morning, I think." Her lips curved upward appreciatively. Stepping away with a chuckle, Harm moved slowly back towards the door.
"Yeah, I'd say getting chewed out by a two-star has probably caused a sour stomach or two. Hey," he turned around, resting one hand casually on the doorjamb. "Do you have any plans for tomorrow night?" A brief glance reassured him that no one in the bullpen behind him could overhear.
"Not that I'm aware of. Why do you ask?"
"If you're feeling up to it, I thought we might go out and celebrate."
"Celebrate?" Frowning in confusion, Mac looked up at him questioningly.
"You know," he nodded meaningfully towards her abdomen.
Comprehension dawned. "Ah, *celebrate*."
"So, what do you say?"
"What did you have in mind?" she replied coyly.
His finger wagged at her. "Uh-uh, it's a surprise."
"C'mon, can't you give me just a little hint?" A playful pout crossed her face.
"Nope. I want it to be special."
Heaving a sigh of resignation, she took another sip of tea. "What time?"
"I'll pick you up at your place at 1830. Wear something nice."
"As in country-club 'nice' or NATO ball 'nice'?"
He shrugged. "Somewhere in between."
"Wow, that's helpful."
"I'm sure you'll look stunning in whatever you decide." The sincerity in his voice inexplicably surprised her. However, this was neither the time nor the place for her to analyze his statement in depth.
"No hints, huh?"
"None," he confirmed.
"Fine," she shook her head with a laugh. "If that's the way you're going to be, then let me get back to work."
"Yes, Ma'am." Flashing her one of his most charming grins, he gave a mock salute before stepping backward out of the office. Mac's soft laugh lilted through the air behind him as he crossed the bullpen. He had a few phone calls to make.
* * * * * * * * * *
Saturday; 0008 Zulu; Trattoria Genovesa; Washington D.C.
"I'll give you another few minutes to look over the menu."
Walking discreetly away, the server left Harm and Mac seated at the table in comfortable silence. A wave of subtle contentment washed over Harm as he turned his attention back towards Mac. So far everything was going better than he had hoped. He had surprised her when he showed up on her doorstep a few minutes early bearing a large bouquet of summer blooms. Then, in the car on the way to the restaurant, Mac had in turn surprised *him* by requesting that they not talk about anything case-related. He had immediately agreed although with some trepidation; he didn't want their roles at JAG to infringe upon their evening but was afraid that they might not be able to find other things to talk about. To his relief, the conversation flowed freely and easily, without any of the anxiety or awkwardness that had negatively affected their relationship over the last few years. Reaching for his beer, he watched as Mac thoughtfully stirred the ice in her glass, staring at it absently with an expression of near wonder.
"Something wrong with your drink?" Harm asked in a low tone, lifting the bottle to his lips. Lost in reverie, it took a moment for Mac to register the question. She glanced at him shyly.
"No," she admitted. "Just thinking is all."
"Care to share?"
"It has to do with being an alcoholic," she began tentatively, struggling to articulate her emotions into something he would understand. Her gaze fell back down to the glass on the table in front of her. "I've been ordering tonic with lime for years, but this is the first time that I haven't felt embarrassed because of it."
Harm was floored. "Embarrassed? Mac, you have *nothing* to be embarrassed about--"
"My head knows that," she cut him off sharply. Twirling the plastic stirrer between her fingers, her voice softened. "But there's always been a tiny piece of my heart that has felt shame in *having* to avoid alcohol. Whenever we all go out, everyone else is free to order whatever they want, but. . . I can't. It's a constant reminder of my own weakness. My own limitations."
"Mac," Harm argued, "you should be proud of what you've accomplished. It takes a tremendous amount of strength and courage to overcome that kind of addiction. Staying away from alcohol should be a reminder of how strong and capable you are for having beaten your dependence."
"Like I said, my head knows that but my heart took a little more convincing."
"So what's changed?"
Mac eyed her glass reflectively before answering. "Now I'm not avoiding alcohol because of my own shortcomings." She glanced up at him.
"Now you aren't drinking because of the baby." Finally understanding her logic, a small smile played across Harm's lips.
"Exactly," she confirmed, her eyes radiant. "It's not just about me anymore. There's a higher purpose at work here. For the first time in my life I am *proud* to order something non-alcoholic. The shame, the embarrassment. . . they're gone."
Their gazes locked. Catching her hand in his, Harm gave her fingers a quick squeeze.
"Excuse me, folks," a voice abruptly interrupted. "Do you need more time?" The moment broken, Mac pulled her hand out of Harm's and looked at her menu briefly, grateful that she'd already decided on what to order.
"No, I think we're ready," Harm answered. "Go ahead, Mac."
A few minutes later, the server repeated their selections back to them before gathering up the menus and heading off to the kitchen. Mac didn't have to wait long for Harm's questioning gaze. She'd seen him use that look on countless witnesses over the years, particularly when he didn't believe his ears.
"Eggplant parmigiana? Mac, you do realize there's no meat in that, right?"
Stifling the urge to squirm, she looked down at her drink and nodded. "I know."
"But you ordered it anyway?"
"Yes."
"Why?" He stared at her, confused.
Mac sucked in a deep breath and lifted her eyes to his. "Because in the last few days I've discovered that my digestive tract doesn't seem to tolerate meat." There, the words were out. She watched him pointedly, expecting to be teased. To her astonishment, his inquiring expression was replaced by one of concern.
"It's the morning sickness? Why didn't you say something earlier?" Harm asked gently, realizing belatedly that he already knew the answer. "You were worried that I would make fun, weren't you." A wave of discomfort washed over him with Mac's small nod.
"Yeah, I guess I was."
"Mac," he said as he reached once again for her hand, clasping it lightly. "I'm sorry. I would *never* intentionally make you uncomfortable over this, and that's a promise."
She nodded again, her eyes glistening brightly as she raised her head and forced a small smile. "Okay. I may need to mooch some recipes off you, though."
"I can live with that."
They both laughed. A few moments passed before Mac changed the subject. "So, have you given any further thought as to when or what we ought to tell people?"
"Well," Harm said thoughtfully, "the more I think about it, the more I'd like to hold off on going public until we're into the second trimester. As for people at work. . ." He shrugged.
"We have some time to work that out. Are you still okay with waiting to tell Mattie and Jennifer?"
"If you're not comfortable letting them in on the secret, then I'll back you up one hundred percent."
"I'm just not sure that I trust Jennifer to keep this to herself," Mac admitted. "When the Admiral accidentally punched out last year she blabbed to the entire office despite being instructed to keep it quiet."
"You're just annoyed because you were the last to find out," he snorted.
"True, but I still don't want to take the chance." Lifting her glass, Mac looked at him smugly. "Harriet and Bud are going to be disappointed enough that we didn't tell them right away. I can't imagine what they would say if they heard about it first from Jennifer."
"Maybe we can let them know separately, take them out to dinner or something," Harm suggested, then paused. "I'd also like to wait to tell Mom and Frank--"
"How did I know you were going to say that?" Mac chuckled.
"I have good reasons," he said sheepishly.
"Go ahead. I'm listening."
"If we tell my mother, there's always the possibility that she'll let something slip to Mattie or Jennifer, which would defeat the purpose of waiting to tell *them*. And what do you think Mom's reaction will be when she finds out there's a grandchild on the way?"
"She'll probably want to catch the first flight eastward, which might raise some eyebrows. I see your point," Mac conceded. Her attention shifted as she caught sight of their server approaching, carrying a tray laden with food. "Ooh, here comes dinner. I'm starving!"
Watching her face light up, Harm grinned in amusement. "What else is new?"
* * * * * * * * * *
Saturday; 0140 Zulu; Trattoria Genovesa; Washington D.C.
Stepping out into the warm evening air, Mac waited while Harm handed the ticket to the valet. The sun was dropping behind the buildings to the west, casting a rosy glow over the crowded parking lot. Entranced by the sky as the vibrant pink deepened into sunset, she didn't realize that Harm had moved up beside her until she felt his arm wrapping around her waist. After the briefest hesitation, she mirrored the move and extended her own arm around him.
"So there's something else on the agenda for tonight, huh?" she asked, taking pleasure in the moment.
"There is."
"And that would be. . ." her voice trailed off as she glanced up at him.
"A secret."
Feeling the rumble of his silent mirth, Mac pulled away with a huff and lightly punched him on the arm. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you," she accused playfully.
"Every minute." The unabashed smirk on his face had her smiling despite herself.
"Not even a tiny clue?"
"No way. If I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"
"Fine," she pouted mischievously. "Then I'm walking home."
"Don't overdo it," he retorted. "Too much walking in those shoes wouldn't be good for you, or for Horace."
A look of confusion crossed her face before understanding dawned. "Horace?!" she roared. "You're calling our baby HORACE??!!" Her whole body shook with uncontrollable laughter.
"Hey, watch it, Jarhead. That's my son's name you're criticizing," he tormented.
"He's *our* son, Squid, and I will NEVER agree to the name *Horace*!"
The valet pulled Harm's Corvette around just as he opened his mouth to respond. Instead of answering, he simply turned to open the passenger door for her.
"We can talk about this later," he smiled charmingly as she slipped past him into the car.
"I am *not* calling our son Hor--" Silencing her words with a firm kiss, Harm quickly shut the car door and handed the valet his tip before sliding behind the wheel and driving off.
The teenager looked down at the generous sum of cash in his hand as the Corvette's taillights disappeared around the corner. "Wow," he muttered to himself. "That guy must be feeling lucky tonight."
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To be continued. . .
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Same Day; JAG Headquarters; Falls Church, Virginia
Harm returned a short time later to find Mac seated behind her desk. "I brought you some tea," he said quietly as he placed a steaming cup next to her hand. "It should help settle your stomach. How are you feeling?"
"Better," she murmured, raising the cup and cautiously tasting its contents. "Too much excitement for one morning, I think." Her lips curved upward appreciatively. Stepping away with a chuckle, Harm moved slowly back towards the door.
"Yeah, I'd say getting chewed out by a two-star has probably caused a sour stomach or two. Hey," he turned around, resting one hand casually on the doorjamb. "Do you have any plans for tomorrow night?" A brief glance reassured him that no one in the bullpen behind him could overhear.
"Not that I'm aware of. Why do you ask?"
"If you're feeling up to it, I thought we might go out and celebrate."
"Celebrate?" Frowning in confusion, Mac looked up at him questioningly.
"You know," he nodded meaningfully towards her abdomen.
Comprehension dawned. "Ah, *celebrate*."
"So, what do you say?"
"What did you have in mind?" she replied coyly.
His finger wagged at her. "Uh-uh, it's a surprise."
"C'mon, can't you give me just a little hint?" A playful pout crossed her face.
"Nope. I want it to be special."
Heaving a sigh of resignation, she took another sip of tea. "What time?"
"I'll pick you up at your place at 1830. Wear something nice."
"As in country-club 'nice' or NATO ball 'nice'?"
He shrugged. "Somewhere in between."
"Wow, that's helpful."
"I'm sure you'll look stunning in whatever you decide." The sincerity in his voice inexplicably surprised her. However, this was neither the time nor the place for her to analyze his statement in depth.
"No hints, huh?"
"None," he confirmed.
"Fine," she shook her head with a laugh. "If that's the way you're going to be, then let me get back to work."
"Yes, Ma'am." Flashing her one of his most charming grins, he gave a mock salute before stepping backward out of the office. Mac's soft laugh lilted through the air behind him as he crossed the bullpen. He had a few phone calls to make.
* * * * * * * * * *
Saturday; 0008 Zulu; Trattoria Genovesa; Washington D.C.
"I'll give you another few minutes to look over the menu."
Walking discreetly away, the server left Harm and Mac seated at the table in comfortable silence. A wave of subtle contentment washed over Harm as he turned his attention back towards Mac. So far everything was going better than he had hoped. He had surprised her when he showed up on her doorstep a few minutes early bearing a large bouquet of summer blooms. Then, in the car on the way to the restaurant, Mac had in turn surprised *him* by requesting that they not talk about anything case-related. He had immediately agreed although with some trepidation; he didn't want their roles at JAG to infringe upon their evening but was afraid that they might not be able to find other things to talk about. To his relief, the conversation flowed freely and easily, without any of the anxiety or awkwardness that had negatively affected their relationship over the last few years. Reaching for his beer, he watched as Mac thoughtfully stirred the ice in her glass, staring at it absently with an expression of near wonder.
"Something wrong with your drink?" Harm asked in a low tone, lifting the bottle to his lips. Lost in reverie, it took a moment for Mac to register the question. She glanced at him shyly.
"No," she admitted. "Just thinking is all."
"Care to share?"
"It has to do with being an alcoholic," she began tentatively, struggling to articulate her emotions into something he would understand. Her gaze fell back down to the glass on the table in front of her. "I've been ordering tonic with lime for years, but this is the first time that I haven't felt embarrassed because of it."
Harm was floored. "Embarrassed? Mac, you have *nothing* to be embarrassed about--"
"My head knows that," she cut him off sharply. Twirling the plastic stirrer between her fingers, her voice softened. "But there's always been a tiny piece of my heart that has felt shame in *having* to avoid alcohol. Whenever we all go out, everyone else is free to order whatever they want, but. . . I can't. It's a constant reminder of my own weakness. My own limitations."
"Mac," Harm argued, "you should be proud of what you've accomplished. It takes a tremendous amount of strength and courage to overcome that kind of addiction. Staying away from alcohol should be a reminder of how strong and capable you are for having beaten your dependence."
"Like I said, my head knows that but my heart took a little more convincing."
"So what's changed?"
Mac eyed her glass reflectively before answering. "Now I'm not avoiding alcohol because of my own shortcomings." She glanced up at him.
"Now you aren't drinking because of the baby." Finally understanding her logic, a small smile played across Harm's lips.
"Exactly," she confirmed, her eyes radiant. "It's not just about me anymore. There's a higher purpose at work here. For the first time in my life I am *proud* to order something non-alcoholic. The shame, the embarrassment. . . they're gone."
Their gazes locked. Catching her hand in his, Harm gave her fingers a quick squeeze.
"Excuse me, folks," a voice abruptly interrupted. "Do you need more time?" The moment broken, Mac pulled her hand out of Harm's and looked at her menu briefly, grateful that she'd already decided on what to order.
"No, I think we're ready," Harm answered. "Go ahead, Mac."
A few minutes later, the server repeated their selections back to them before gathering up the menus and heading off to the kitchen. Mac didn't have to wait long for Harm's questioning gaze. She'd seen him use that look on countless witnesses over the years, particularly when he didn't believe his ears.
"Eggplant parmigiana? Mac, you do realize there's no meat in that, right?"
Stifling the urge to squirm, she looked down at her drink and nodded. "I know."
"But you ordered it anyway?"
"Yes."
"Why?" He stared at her, confused.
Mac sucked in a deep breath and lifted her eyes to his. "Because in the last few days I've discovered that my digestive tract doesn't seem to tolerate meat." There, the words were out. She watched him pointedly, expecting to be teased. To her astonishment, his inquiring expression was replaced by one of concern.
"It's the morning sickness? Why didn't you say something earlier?" Harm asked gently, realizing belatedly that he already knew the answer. "You were worried that I would make fun, weren't you." A wave of discomfort washed over him with Mac's small nod.
"Yeah, I guess I was."
"Mac," he said as he reached once again for her hand, clasping it lightly. "I'm sorry. I would *never* intentionally make you uncomfortable over this, and that's a promise."
She nodded again, her eyes glistening brightly as she raised her head and forced a small smile. "Okay. I may need to mooch some recipes off you, though."
"I can live with that."
They both laughed. A few moments passed before Mac changed the subject. "So, have you given any further thought as to when or what we ought to tell people?"
"Well," Harm said thoughtfully, "the more I think about it, the more I'd like to hold off on going public until we're into the second trimester. As for people at work. . ." He shrugged.
"We have some time to work that out. Are you still okay with waiting to tell Mattie and Jennifer?"
"If you're not comfortable letting them in on the secret, then I'll back you up one hundred percent."
"I'm just not sure that I trust Jennifer to keep this to herself," Mac admitted. "When the Admiral accidentally punched out last year she blabbed to the entire office despite being instructed to keep it quiet."
"You're just annoyed because you were the last to find out," he snorted.
"True, but I still don't want to take the chance." Lifting her glass, Mac looked at him smugly. "Harriet and Bud are going to be disappointed enough that we didn't tell them right away. I can't imagine what they would say if they heard about it first from Jennifer."
"Maybe we can let them know separately, take them out to dinner or something," Harm suggested, then paused. "I'd also like to wait to tell Mom and Frank--"
"How did I know you were going to say that?" Mac chuckled.
"I have good reasons," he said sheepishly.
"Go ahead. I'm listening."
"If we tell my mother, there's always the possibility that she'll let something slip to Mattie or Jennifer, which would defeat the purpose of waiting to tell *them*. And what do you think Mom's reaction will be when she finds out there's a grandchild on the way?"
"She'll probably want to catch the first flight eastward, which might raise some eyebrows. I see your point," Mac conceded. Her attention shifted as she caught sight of their server approaching, carrying a tray laden with food. "Ooh, here comes dinner. I'm starving!"
Watching her face light up, Harm grinned in amusement. "What else is new?"
* * * * * * * * * *
Saturday; 0140 Zulu; Trattoria Genovesa; Washington D.C.
Stepping out into the warm evening air, Mac waited while Harm handed the ticket to the valet. The sun was dropping behind the buildings to the west, casting a rosy glow over the crowded parking lot. Entranced by the sky as the vibrant pink deepened into sunset, she didn't realize that Harm had moved up beside her until she felt his arm wrapping around her waist. After the briefest hesitation, she mirrored the move and extended her own arm around him.
"So there's something else on the agenda for tonight, huh?" she asked, taking pleasure in the moment.
"There is."
"And that would be. . ." her voice trailed off as she glanced up at him.
"A secret."
Feeling the rumble of his silent mirth, Mac pulled away with a huff and lightly punched him on the arm. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you," she accused playfully.
"Every minute." The unabashed smirk on his face had her smiling despite herself.
"Not even a tiny clue?"
"No way. If I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"
"Fine," she pouted mischievously. "Then I'm walking home."
"Don't overdo it," he retorted. "Too much walking in those shoes wouldn't be good for you, or for Horace."
A look of confusion crossed her face before understanding dawned. "Horace?!" she roared. "You're calling our baby HORACE??!!" Her whole body shook with uncontrollable laughter.
"Hey, watch it, Jarhead. That's my son's name you're criticizing," he tormented.
"He's *our* son, Squid, and I will NEVER agree to the name *Horace*!"
The valet pulled Harm's Corvette around just as he opened his mouth to respond. Instead of answering, he simply turned to open the passenger door for her.
"We can talk about this later," he smiled charmingly as she slipped past him into the car.
"I am *not* calling our son Hor--" Silencing her words with a firm kiss, Harm quickly shut the car door and handed the valet his tip before sliding behind the wheel and driving off.
The teenager looked down at the generous sum of cash in his hand as the Corvette's taillights disappeared around the corner. "Wow," he muttered to himself. "That guy must be feeling lucky tonight."
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To be continued. . .
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