"I'm glad we're okay again," Mac whispered, walking side-by-side with Harm as they traversed the paved pathway through the shrubbery and grassy fields – albeit, there was adequate space between them. She had made sure of that.

Everything was covered in the snow and ice that had dumped on them earlier in the week, except for the carefully plowed path on which they walked. The blood had started to rush to her cheeks, creating a rosy tint about her normally fair skin. There where flecks of white where the snowflakes had landed defiantly, but she made no move to brush them off. He wondered if he looked as snow-blown. He decided she'd look better, anyway.

The night was clear, and crisp. Everything was strangely still for a day in late December, and the lack of wind provided surprisingly temperate weather.

"Me too. I just wish we could've worked it out sooner," he said as he hiked up the collar of his jacket. As he spoke, puffs of his breath were visible in the cool winter air. "I miss…this. I guess I took it for granted before."

She nodded and spotted a bench nearby beneath one of the city lights. The bulbs from the wrought-iron lamppost provided a halo of illumination around the area, but left the outside isolated and dark. She sat down and patted the spot beside her, brushing away the remnants of frost and snow that had compounded earlier that day. He acquiesced as he took his hands out of his pockets and adjusted his scarf distractedly.

"Let's not ruin it again, okay? I don't know how much more of this I can take," she said truthfully.

Harm tilted his head towards her, inadvertently breathing softly and making the air tickle her face. "It scares me sometimes."

"What?"

He looked away and studied a singular snowflake as it made the perilous journey to the ground. "How much I need you in my life."

She fell silent. Why did his admissions have to come at such strained times? It was undeniable that during Bud's accident, they were closer than ever before. He had made no move then, and she was too afraid to initiate anything, in fear that he would react as he did in Australia. There was never a time when both parties had been willing to take the risk. Their relationship was a seesaw: when one person was down, the other was up – the thought alone killed her inside.

He continued, unfazed by her failure to respond. "You were right when you said I'm afraid to lose control. That need…I can't control it. It's just there."

"Just there?" she swallowed. Did he want it to go away?

He had worn his cover outside and it obscured his eyes as he angled his head downwards. It annoyed her. It reminded her once again how bound they were by their uniforms, by the Corps and the Navy; their jobs had kept them from each other. No, she shook off the notion; she couldn't blame their indecision about each other on their careers. She reminded herself that were it not for JAG, they never would have met.

Sensing her anxiety, he corrected himself. "I meant I can't ignore it. Not that I'd want to. No matter what we go through, Mac, it's there."

"Whenever we've gotten away from each other before," she admitted, moving the toe of her shoe to leave tiny circles in the snow, "we've ended up coming together again. With Mic and…"

"Clay," he finished.

"Webb," she amended without a moment's hesitation.

That was all he was to her now. Back to Agent Webb of the CIA, Deputy Director of Counter Intelligence Operations. Or maybe Undersecretary of State. There were a myriad of titles Webb had shared with them. I was no longer Clay or anything intimate like that. Just Webb.

What they had talked about after Simon Tanveer was killed, Harm didn't know, but it was enough to finally push her away. Did it make him a bad person to be secretly happy? To gain a perverse pleasure at seeing her relationship fail? It sickened him but it was true; he had wanted to point an accusing finger at her that day, and express that proverbial 'I told you so' feeling that overwhelmed him so.

"Doesn't that say something." It was meant to come out as a question. His voice was softer, gentler than it had been during their talk after the investigation on the USS Hennessy.

Mac pursed her lips together before continuing. "Sometimes, I really believed, Harm. Butch and Sundance, Batman and Robin…but then something always happened to make me doubt everything I felt."

"I'm sorry I didn't do anything before."

"You weren't ready. If I'd pressured you into something, it wouldn't have worked out," she said as she shook her head. She crossed her arms and tucked her hands behind her forearms in a strangely protective gesture. "Did you really mean what you just said?"

He turned his head and nodded, refusing to let embarrassment get in the way of what he was trying to say. "Of course, Mac. And it makes me feel juvenile to say it in so few words, but it's true." He glanced at his watch and his eyes went wide with alarm. "You need to catch a plane. We can talk when you get back."

Harm stood up and took several steps forward. He turned around when he didn't hear the familiar crushing noise of her feet on the snow, to see her standing stagnant in front of the bench. "Mac?"

"Wait," she said, stepping forward and meeting him hastily as she came back to her senses.

She slowly reached up and smoothed out the lapels of his jacket as she let out a shaky breath. His hand went up and grasped hers, and through the thin material of her glove, she could feel the rough texture of the bandages on his uncovered fingers.

Finally, Mac leaned up, gaining an inch or two as she stood on her toes from within her heels, and grazed his lips with hers for the slightest moment before pulling back. "Harm," she breathed, letting her fingers entwine with his. "I want this."

Her other hand fell from his shoulder over his chest, pressing up against his heart. She could feel the gentle thudding as it pulsed within him. It surprised her that the sensation could permeate through all the layers of clothing; maybe she was just imagining it. Harm's free hand reached over her arm and into the confines of his coat. He pulled out a small box that couldn't have been wider than three inches, or longer than six.

He gently pulled her hand off and pressed it into her palm. "For on the plane," he whispered, closing her fingers around it gingerly and holding them in place. "Merry Christmas, Mac."

She nodded and carefully pushed the box into the safety of her jacket pocket, letting her hand linger on the crisp, cool feeling of the thin trimming on its top. "We should really get going," she said.

"I know."

He nudged her in the direction they came from and walked in silence beside her. For a moment, she contemplated the next action and reached out, slipping her arm through his before continuing towards her apartment. He stood still, pleasantly surprised, and glanced down at her with amusement. She tilted her head up and arched an eyebrow before pulling him along.

"If I'm late, I'll tell the General it was your fault."

"He'll never believe you," Harm shot back, quickening his pace to keep up with her. "He hates you, remember?" Truthfully, he couldn't believe anyone could ever hate the woman in front of him. Except maybe Clark Palmer.

Her nose was pink and there were snowflakes all over her, each tawny fleck standing out against the black of her overcoat – he loved it. Some of the bits of ice shook out as she spun around, glaring at him with mock annoyance. He reached out and pushed back a particularly defiant lock of hair that bounced out of place as she moved, brushing out the snowflakes as he did so.

Mac's face broke into a smile and she slowed down, pressing herself to his side as they strode out of the park together. He wished he had done this sooner. It would've meant a lot more happiness, and a lot less hurt.

"Colonel Mackenzie!" Lieutenant Troy called across the crowded airport lobby. "They're boarding, Ma'am!" He waved his arms to catch her attention as Mac jogged towards him, with Harm following close behind, carrying her shoulder bag with him.

Harm's apparent 30-minute 'shortcut' ended up taking and hour, and they had no time to check in her baggage.

"Go on," she breathed, shuffling through her purse for the boarding pass. "I'll meet you inside."

Troy nodded and eyed Harm with surprise. "Commander Rabb?"

"Lieutenant," Harm nodded, placing Mac's bag to the floor and watching her as she frantically searched for her things. "I'll see you soon at JAG."

Troy nodded and smiled knowingly, letting his gaze linger on his two superiors before turning around, giving his pass to the attendants, and disappearing into the corridor leading to the plane.

"I swear I put it in here…" Mac muttered.

Harm suddenly fished through his pockets and pulled out a long slip of paper. "This?"

She snatched it from him, examining it closely. "How'd you get it?"

"You left it on your table," he shrugged and picked up the bag once more, handing it to her. "Dinner when you get back."

She nodded and stood awkwardly, waiting for him to make a move. He rubbed his chin distractedly, glancing in both directions before reaching out and shaking her hand. She shot him a pointed look but made no move to correct his ridiculous behavior.

The man in front of her made her feel frustrated, amused, furious, and absolutely wonderful all at the same time – the myriad of feelings would then bring about a tornado of confusion. She had never experienced such a thing.

"Goodbye," she said as she took an uncertain step back.

"Colonel," Harm replied as stoically as possible. He watched as she ran in the direction of Troy.

"Last call for the boarding of flight 325, non-stop to Beirut. Last call for boarding."

Harm shook his head with a laugh and started outside. He went into the Lexus and starting in he direction of the Wall; it was an almost robotic action. But for the rest of the night, not for one moment did her forget her.

As she made it to the safety of the plane and stashed her luggage in the compartments, she realized that what had just happened wasn't exactly the romantic farewell she had expected, but she loved it anyway.

TBC...