Title: Static

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: R

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Wow. JAG is definitely not mine. It wouldn't have run 10 seasons if it was.

Author's Note: You guys, this is in response to the last two episodes of JAG. I'm so sad that it's ending. It seems so final. Well, it's the END, so that's probably why. Anyway…this came out of me saying that I couldn't write a JAG fic. You see, my muse works backwards. Anyway…so (x Avogadro's Number) thankful to Sara for helping me fix it up. If she didn't, it would have been a pile of OOC-ness. Anyway, I apologize if any OOC or uncharacterization or something slips through the cracks, but please…enjoy. Review. Rejoice.

He sits, letting the news sink through his thick cranium. It couldn't be true. Could it? His musings are nothing but white noise in the background of his mind. There are too many thoughts colliding with each other mid-sentence, there are too many ideas getting scrambled in his brain. The only thought occurring to him multiple times right now is Mac. She was leaving too. She was going to San Diego. And he was going to London. Opposite sides of the globe there. Usually, his sarcastic side would be caustic, would reply with a quip that stung. He was overshadowed tonight. He was overshadowed by the thoughts that mattered. He was leaving. Mac was leaving. And what would happen to Mattie? He brought a hand to his temple as it began to pulse loudly and dully. He could hear the blood pumping. And suddenly, all he wanted to do was to be young again. He didn't want the pressure of making a decision about Mattie. And he didn't want the pain involving Mac. He loved her. He still loved her. But fate was intervening. Fate was stretching her damn hand into the pot and breaking them up. And suddenly, he wished he believed in something strong enough to overshadow fate. His mental sarcasm slipped through. Yeah. Like they have military hierarchies with the Gods. To add to the mess, he wished he didn't think all the time.

He had not moved, but he still was animated. He animated himself enough to receive congratulations properly. He had forced a grin, but it wasn't real, and Mac saw that. She knew him. That was what was so frightening about the whole situation. His eyes darted to her, as she was caught mid-conversation. She smiled with genuine gratitude and it lit her whole face. Well, the side he could see anyway. He assumed her whole face lit up. With that, a small smile pried its way onto his lips. Her chestnut hair moved gently with her motions, swaying to accompany them. He was sure that if he could see her eyes, they would sparkle with genuine interest and fascination in the opinions of others. She genuinely cared about people.

He could see them in a mental fantasy. There would be a fireplace. Yes, a fireplace. And a fire would be lit. There would be a gray mantle, seemingly unadulterated with pictures of obscure relatives and adopted pets. Two half-full champagne flutes would rest next to them, and they would be there, lying on the floor, heads propped up on hands, speaking to each other in their own environment. Yes, because the attraction between you two practically calls for a separate room. He would brush a strand of hair behind her ear and they would recoil from the touch. Not out of disgust, but rather, out of surprise. Yes, they had always known this had existed between them. But to exist in physical form was surprising in itself. He would lean forward, his lips surprisingly moist with the anticipation of a kiss. And not just any kiss. It would be a kiss with Mac. His Mac. Not your Mac if you haven't kissed her yet, right? But he didn't want to argue semantics. No, he wanted to kiss his Mac, kiss her until she couldn't breathe. He wanted to diffuse all the passion that had been collecting over the years into their first real kiss. A kiss she wouldn't mind participating in. A kiss she wouldn't regret later.

Her voice brought him back to reality. "Harm?" His head tilted, dark eyes still shining from the glazed look of a daydream.

"Yeah?" His voice seemed gruff and scratchy to him, almost as if it was unused for a long period of time. Her eyes absorbed a mood. Oh, can eyes do that now? What was it? Concern?

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?" She brought a hand up to feel his forehead, almost in a maternal fashion. He grinned.

"Yeah, I'm sure." She smiled in response to his own, but the smile quickly faded.

"You're leaving."

"So are you."

"You're going further."

"Some might argue that you're traveling farther."

"I'm not the one crossing an ocean." All eyes were directed to them, speech seemed to stop. Nothing in the world seemed more important to them, or others, apparently, than, well, them. A silence fell between them, dominating the conversation before he decided to say something.

"Let's talk about it in my office." Her head tilted a slight fraction of a degree and she rustled by him, the green hue of her uniform making her visible. He smiled and followed her to his office. Well, it won't be your office any longer, will it? It'll belong to someone else. Just like her office won't belong to her. It'll belong to some green lawyer who thinks he's a bigshot.

He walked into his office, shutting the door behind him. He offered her his seat. She took it, thanking him with her eyes. "Do you deny that you're crossing an ocean?"

"No."

"What's going to happen to us?"

He walked over and crouched to meet her eye level. "Nothing's going to happen to us," he reassured, although not quite believing the words that were tumbling from his mouth. "We'll stay the same. We'll still be Harm and Mac ten years from now." She smiled at his effort. She brought a hand up to his cheek, and held it there. He realized, albeit slowly, that their heads…were slowly approaching each other. Before he could do anything, her soft lips met his, and he was surprised at the contact. His tongue swept into her mouth, stealing the scene, capturing the moment. He pulled away, restraining himself. She seemed surprised.

"No," he whispered.

"What?"

"I…was going to do this right. Not…in my office."

She embraced him. "Harm, this may not have been the right way, or the way you wanted it to be, but it's…real. And…to me, it seems more like us anyway." And before, he could raise any objections, she crushed her lips to his in a swift gesture. Marines and their lack of subtlety. For this one moment, he could care less.