NAVY LODGE
NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

Mac's knuckles were bone white as she gripped her car's steering wheel while waiting for Harm to pull into the parking lot. Had he changed his mind during the drive to the lodge? Was he delaying his arrival so that he could figure out how to let her down gently, could figure out how to tell her that this night wasn't going to happen for them? Calm, she told herself. If he'd been planning to put a stop to this, wouldn't he have done so on the beach, when the approach of a car had interrupted their interlude? Why not let her down then, when she'd been expecting and had been prepared for it?

Maybe they should have come in the same car from the Officer's Club, instead of each of them driving their own vehicles back. But then that would have led to the problem of having to pick up the other vehicle in the morning. Mac knew why they had driven separately, but that didn't mean that she had to like it. She feared that the longer they were apart, the more time Harm would have to come up with a reason to back out of this, the more time he would have to regain control.

As she clenched her left hand into a fist, she saw a glint out of the corner of her eye as her engagement ring caught the light from the overhead lights in the parking lot. She held up her hand and studied the ring, trying to figure out how she felt. Here she was, days away from marrying one man, and just a few steps away from falling into bed with another. Oddly, it didn't bother her the way she thought it should. It should have bothered her. She should have remembered her ultimately disastrous relationship with John Farrow and her marriage to Chris and what she was about to do should have been weighing so heavily on her mind that she was ready to restart her engine and drive as fast as she could back to Washington and to confess and to beg Mic's forgiveness for what she was thinking about doing. But the only think weighing heavily on her mind was how devastating it would be if she never had a chance with Harm.

With a sad sigh, she slowly pulled the ring from her finger and dropped it into her open purse sitting on the seat beside her. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. There was so much that she owed Mic and it wasn't quite that easy to walk away from that. For now, she didn't want to think about that. Even if only for a few hours, she wanted to step outside of her crazy, confused life and live out her fantasies.

From the other side of her car's rolled up window, Harm watched as she removed the ring and tucked it away in her purse. He wasn't optimistic enough to think this was permanent, not yet. Too much time had passed; there was too much water under that bridge. But maybe what was happening between them would prove to be strong enough to break whatever hold Brumby had held over her for the last fifteen months before it was too late, before he lost her forever. The little voice in his head told him that he should run, that he should save himself from the uncertainty of what this night would mean, of what this night might lead to, but he stood his ground. Even if this never happened again, even if he sat in a church Saturday morning and watched her marry another man, he wanted this. If nothing else, he would make himself live with the memories of what was sure to be one magical night for the rest of his life.

He hesitated another moment, then gently rapped on her window, pained more than he cared to admit by the surprised look in her eyes when she noticed his presence. Did she think that he'd planned to back out of this? Grabbing her purse, she stepped out of the car and made a great show of slowly turning around and closing her car door, making sure it was locked and the alarm was set. "Mac?" he asked gently.

She finally turned to face him, forcing a weak smile. "I'm….well, I don't know," she said softly. She looked down at her hands and took a deep breath. When she looked back up at him, she seemed steadier. "I was worried."

"You thought I had changed my mind," he concluded, making it a statement and not a question. Sadly, she nodded, forcing her gaze to meet his. She couldn't mask her surprise when he pulled her to him, pressing light kisses along her hairline. As he wrapped his arms around her, she felt something odd against her back. She pulled his right arm out from behind her back until she could see the brown paper bag he held in his hand. From the size and outline of the object inside, there was only one thing it could be. She gave him a questioning glance.

"I stopped on my way here," he explained, his voice betraying a hint of his nervousness. It wasn't an emotion he often let show and Mac found it oddly endearing. "I wasn't sure….I didn't want anything to, um…." She placed a finger over his lips to silence him.

"It's okay," she assured him, shivering as he took her hand in his and began pressing soft butterfly kisses over her palm. Her words came out haltingly as she began losing herself to the heat spreading throughout her body from his simple, tender touch. "I'm on the Pill, unless….well, you'd feel better…." She trailed off uncertainly, not sure how to proceed, what to say. She'd had lovers before, but this was different, for reasons she wasn't sure she was ready to admit. She wanted nothing to come between them, needed to feel all of him. For one night, she wanted no barriers between them, whether physical or emotional.

Fortunately, he seemed to understand what she was saying and nodded slightly as he pulled her back against him, holding her tight, letting her feel the proof of how much he wanted her, wanted this. Mac sighed deeply as she unconsciously rocked against him. As he groaned against her neck, they both marveled inwardly at how close they were to finally fulfilling a long-held desire which haunted them both. "We need to go inside," Harm murmured, knowing he couldn't hold out much longer against nearly five years of buried desire and suspecting that she couldn't either, if the way she was moving against him and the soft little noises she was making were any indication.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart and walked inside the lodge, Harm falling into step behind Mac, his hand resting lightly on her upper back, his fingers lazily playing with her hair. Mac leaned back slightly, enjoying the tender attention. There was something….she couldn't exactly pinpoint it, but she would do anything to hold onto that feeling for the rest of her life. She found herself wishing more than ever that she could make this last beyond tonight.

Pressing his hand against her, Harm guided her to the door to his room while he fumbled through his jeans pockets, searching for his key card. He bit back a sigh of frustration as he patted down all his pockets. So close, only to be held up by a missing key card. He contemplated heading to the front desk for another card when he glanced at Mac and remembered. With a grin on his face, he tapped her on the shoulder.

Mac turned to face him, immediately lost in his smile. It had been a while since she'd really seen that boyishly handsome expression. She just couldn't decide if it was because he hadn't smiled for her like that in a long time or because she'd stopped noticing. Neither explanation was very appealing and a brief shadow crossed over her features at the thought. Harm noticed and his expression grew more serious. Brushing his hand against her cheek, he asked gently, "Ma….Sarah?"

Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of her name coming from his lips. She never noticed before how much feeling he put into those two syllables, as if it was more than a name, as if he was conveying a hidden message meant for her ears alone. She smiled, a heartfelt one, and requested, "Smile for me again."

Harm couldn't help but respond to her smile and the grin returned to his face as he reached for the jacket she was wearing – his leather flight jacket. He slipped his hand inside the jacket, fishing through the inside pocket for the key card he'd deposited in there earlier, letting his hand linger a few moments longer than necessary, his hand brushing against her. Mac swayed slightly towards him, prolonging the contact, desperately wanting more. "Harm…." she murmured, gazing up at him, trying to convey every bit of aching need in her whispered tones.

Blindly sliding the key card into the lock with one hand, Harm wrapped the other around her shoulders, pulling her against him, his fingers tangling in her hair as his lips met her in a bruising kiss that left Mac weak-kneed and clinging to his shoulders for support. After a couple of tries with the card, he finally heard the click signaling the lock had disengaged and he pushed the door open, dragging her into the room, pressing her against the door to close it.

"Oh, God," Mac whispered on a gasp of breath as their bodies pressed together, hands moving roughly over exposed flesh, pulling at restrictive clothing. She managed to yank Harm's shirt free of his jeans, breaking off their kiss just long enough to drag it over his head and toss it away. She licked her lips as she pressed her palms flat against his chest and moved the slowly over his muscular torso, marveling at how wonderful it felt to finally touch him like this.

Harm's hands were busy as well, swiftly moving down the front of her shirt, unfastening buttons and soon her shirt and jacket joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He took a step back and his gaze traveled slowly over her body, trying to memorize her every feature.

Mac leaned forward into his touch, praying that he would never stop touching her. It was everything she'd imaged it would be and more. She'd known that he would be good with his hands, would know just how to touch a woman. But she still needed more and reached behind her to unfasten her bra, shrugging it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, her eyes locked on Harm's, reveling in his admiring gaze.

Is that a request?

Slowly, almost reverently, Harm dipped his head, brushing warm lips over aching flesh. She arched towards him, encouraging his tender ministrations.

She draped her arms over his shoulders, clinging to him as if her knees might buckle. And she wasn't entirely sure that they wouldn't, the burning arousal was so intense. Her entire body was on fire and she willingly surrendered herself to the flames. Just as she felt herself falling, he pulled his mouth away and she found herself being lifted up, securely held in a pair a strong arms and she buried her head against his neck, inhaling his strong male scent as he carried her across the room and laid her on the bed.

He stood over her, his hands reaching out hesitantly for the waistband of her jeans. His eyes met hers and she could see so clearly the unspoken question there. She was touched, in a way she never had been before. It was another piece to the puzzle that was Harmon Rabb. For all his flyboy arrogance, he could be such a gentleman. "It's okay," she said softly, taking hold of one of his hands and placing it on the button at her waist.

Finally, he unfastened her jeans and slowly pulled them down her legs, taking her lace panties with them as she kicked her shoes off, then removed his own jeans and boxers before stretching out next to her on top of the bed while Mac studied him up and down with an admiring gaze. She often imagined what he looked like and she admitted to herself that imagination paled in comparison to reality. He was….perfect, she thought, for lack of a better word. Her eyes traveled back up to meet his and their gazes held, their expressions speaking volumes, words which neither was ready, even now, to utter aloud. With a nearly inaudible sigh, Harm gathered her into his arms, holding her tight against him as one hand lazily stroked up and down her back. A thousand nerve endings tingled in response and Mac gripped his arm, needing to hold onto something.

"Harm?" Mac asked, her tone slightly nervous. What if he was having second thoughts, even now? She wasn't sure if she could take it, coming so close yet still so far away from what they both needed so desperately.

"I…." he began, his voice just as hesitant. Taking a chance, she lifted her head so that she could look into his eyes and what she saw both relieved and saddened her.

"I know," she assured him, pressing her fingers over his lips, her breath catching as his lips skimmed over her fingertips. "Promise me, for tonight, that we'll try not to think about that. For tonight, I want there to be just you and me."

Harm nodded as he pulled her hand away and lowered his mouth to hers, pressing her onto her back beneath him, his hand sliding down her body. She pressed against his hand, wanting more than just his touch, and he pulled it away, understanding the unspoken message, settling between her legs.

He couldn't take it anymore. In that last moment, so close to everything he'd only ever dreamed of, his control snapped and they came together with such force. He stilled, but she wrapped her legs high around his waist, holding him against her before he could pull away. Their eyes met and she felt tears forming at his obvious tenderness and concern. "It's okay," she promised softly. "I just never dreamed…."

"Neither did I," he replied, struggling to control his own voice. He wondered how he was supposed to go on without ever experiencing this again. He'd thought that he could. He'd told himself that, if events continued on the course they were on, he'd have no choice. Silently, he prayed that this would just be a beginning for them and not another goodbye, perhaps the final one. He reached for one of her hands and clasped it in his, entwining their fingers.

"Harm, please," she whispered, brushing her lips over his. "I need…." Her plea ended on a gasp of breath as they began moving together. She as if a missing piece to the puzzle that was her life had just clicked into place. She struggled to keep her eyes open, to focus on him as they moved together, their bodies matching rhythms perfectly, as if they'd been lovers forever. Her heart nearly broke at the expression in his eyes, at the intense sadness mixed with the passion and maybe even love. Hadn't that been what he'd told her on the Admiral's porch in so many words, that he loved her? Now she could feel it, her heart aching and breaking with every soft caress. God help her, she no longer had even the tiniest doubt about Harm's feelings for her and at just about any other point in time, the realization would have been a happy one. Now, it brought her even more pain and despair. She'd never thought that such an intense love could bring with it a heart-wrenching loneliness.

Harm noted a similar expression crossing her features, cursing himself for being the one to cause her such pain. If only he could have given her what she'd wanted that night in Sydney. If he'd known what it would feel like, inside and out, to be completely wrapped up in Sarah Mackenzie, to be a willing prisoner to her heat, he'd have swept her into his arms the moment they'd stepped off the ferry and carried her away, the consequences be damned. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. He wanted to concentrate on the here and now, on a few stolen moments which might have to last both of them a lifetime.

Mac tightened her fingers around his as they moved together with such force mixed with such tenderness. It was such a contradiction, she realized, but then again, so was Harm. But she still needed more, wanted more. "Oh….please," she gasped, fighting to get the words out. "Oh….more…."

He seemed to sense exactly what she needed, his free hand slipping between their bodies, sending shockwaves through her entire body. Her fingers tightened even more around his as she bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from crying out, tasting the bitter metallic sting of blood, as her body shook and trembled with an intensity she'd rarely felt.

Moments later, Harm was following her, his own cries muffled as he buried his face against the comforter, but Mac was sure she could make out a harsh 'Sarah' among his mostly incoherent cries. She wrapped her arm around him, gently stroking his back as he collapsed against her, his body trembling. She inhaled deeply, trying to commit it all to memory - the heady, musky scent, of what they had done, of all that this night would mean to them for the rest of their lives.

"You're trembling," Mac whispered after a moment, pressing a soft kiss against the top of his head, one hand continuing to move slowly up and down his damp back, in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. It seemed like an odd thing to say, but she couldn't think of anything else and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, about that and about everything else. When he didn't acknowledge her, she squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden pain in her heart. She didn't think that it would come this soon – the regret and the recriminations. She'd hoped that they would have just a little more time before the cold water of reality splashed on their fantasies….

….Until he turned his head to face her and she saw the truth in his eyes, along with the tears threatening to fall. "I….," he began, struggling to put it into words, fighting to find the phrases to make her understand what she hadn't understood in Sydney. And this was far too important for her not to understand.

"Shhh," she said suddenly, pressing a hand against his cheek, her thumb rubbing over his lips. "I know." And she did know, could see in his eyes the truth of what he'd tried to tell her all those months ago. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then his soul was laid open before her, naked and bare. When he'd said that he was that way only with her, it had been one of the most honest statements that he'd ever made. He had finally let go, even if only for a few brief moments, of the lifeline that she'd accused him of clinging to and had let her see a Harmon Rabb, Jr. whom she was sure no other woman had ever seen. Instinctively, she knew that he'd never let himself be so open, so naked and vulnerable, not with anyone. He'd always kept these carefully constructed walls around his heart, even with those closest to him. But for her, for just a moment in time, he'd let the shields down and exposed the very depths of his soul.

She recognized the truth because she'd done the same. For a brief moment, they had both found the meaning and the gift of true intimacy, a merging not only of bodies, but of souls. She'd finally found everything that'd she'd ever been looking for from a man and a relationship, but unfortunately, it might end up being one of the saddest and loneliest moments of her life.

With Chris Ragle, she'd been too young and often too drunk to understand that there was more to making love than just the physical act of sex. While it had usually been pleasant enough, it had satisfied her body in much the same way that the fiery smoothness of the alcohol sliding down her throat had. There had been no emotional connection, only an empty place in her soul where love should have resided.

Her relationship with John Farrow, although better in many ways, had still been lacking something fundamental. She'd been a lost young woman, looking for someone to guide her. She'd been Eliza Dolittle to his Henry Higgins, someone to be molded and shaped into some womanly ideal. She'd been like a college student with a crush on her older, more worldly professor. Although she could say that she'd had strong feelings for him, she had to admit that it had mostly been gratitude for all that he'd shown her. But even that relationship, the first adult one she'd had and probably the closest she'd come to a stable romantic relationship up to that point, had been built on a lie.

Dalton Lowne – another unequal relationship, but one which sadly had threatened to bury her spirit. For him, she'd been the ultimate accessory, something good-looking on his arm who could stroke his ego by adoringly following his lead both in public and in private. She should have known that relationship was doomed when she'd been unable to force herself to fit into his corporate world. She'd thought she'd been in love with him, but hindsight taught her that he'd been a master at seduction, saying and doing all the right things to draw her into his web, where she would have remained trapped had the Marine in her not finally exerted herself and forced herself free. She remembered sitting in McMurphy's with Bud and Harm, having booted Dalton from her life, and feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Yes, she'd been saddened that it hadn't worked out. She'd invested a lot in that relationship. But at the same time, she'd felt a tremendous sense of relief.

She still hadn't quite figured out her relationship with Mic Brumby. At times, he seemed to exhibit some of the traits which had doomed her previous relationships. There were times when she was nothing more than an accessory on his arm, someone to show off who stroked his ego. At others, he expected her to be molded into his image of the ideal woman, subservient to her man and accepting his word as law. It would seem that he didn't have much respect for who she was or what she'd gone through to become that woman. At times, it had been painfully obvious.

In his favor, he seemed to truly love her and he'd come along at a time when she'd most needed to know that she was worthy of love, when she thought that she'd been shot down by the man she'd really wanted. He'd bolstered her up when she thought she'd had little self-worth because the man she'd wanted didn't seem to want her. Any woman would love to have a man as obviously devoted to her as he was.

She'd come to the conclusion that true intimacy was little more than a fairy tale, something to be found only in romance novels where everyone overcame their problems to live 'happily ever after', that she had to be satisfied with less than everything she'd dreamed of, that her dreams had been folly….until tonight, when a few stolen moments had turned out to be so much more. She'd finally found a man who respected her and treated her as an equal.

Or rather, she finally acknowledged that he'd been right in front of her all along. Although there were times when he could be arrogant and seemingly put her down, he knew when he was wrong. Although rare, his apologies were treasured because they came from the heart and he never expected one in return for infarctions real or imagined, nor did he expect her to apologize while failing to recognize his own shortcomings. The perfect relationship for her might just be the one she could never, through life's bitter circumstance, ever have.

It was rare that she found a man who was as concerned with what she was experiencing and expecting from their lovemaking as he was with his own pleasure. It had touched her, more than she'd ever thought anything like that ever would, when he'd been worried that her gasp as they'd come together had been one of pain, that he'd inadvertently hurt her in some manner. His tenderness had only enhanced the pleasure she'd found in his arms. Then, when she'd made a request of him, he'd shown her that he truly cared that she was getting what she wanted and was not just happy to accept what he was offering merely because he was offering it.

But it was now, at the end, when she recognized what intimacy truly was, when he'd held her hand as she'd fought against crying out and shook with her release, when he let her hold him as he was overcome by what they'd just experienced, when he'd let go of his lifeline and had let her see deep into his soul. For a few moments, they'd stepped outside of their tired, painful, lonely reality and created a magical fantasy that few people could ever hope to experience.

Harm started to divert his eyes, slightly uncomfortable with her acknowledgement of his emotional struggle, but then he forced himself to meet her gaze unflinchingly. "You do?" he asked softly, fearing that he would have to try to find the words which had so often before eluded him, afraid that he wouldn't be able to find the right words to express the pain and joy fighting for a grip on his heart.

"I felt it too," Mac answered simply. "This is what you meant, when you said you're this way only with me." It wasn't a question, but a statement which he acknowledged with a slight nod of his head. She closed her eyes, wishing she could have seen the truth before everything had spun so far out of their control. Now, no matter what happened, people would be hurt – maybe themselves, maybe others. But people would be hurt. There was no stopping that now.

"Hey," he said softly, propping himself up on an elbow as he pushed her damp hair off her face. His touch was so soft, so tender and she sighed softly at the attention. She forced herself to open her eyes, meeting his gaze. "It's not your fault."

"As you pointed out more than once," she reminded him, "I'm the one who ran to him very quickly after…."

"And I thought we had both acknowledged that there's plenty of blame to go around there?" he pointed out. "It takes two people to make a relationship and two to screw one up."

But unfortunately, in this case, only one person can fix it, she reminded herself. That was another thing about Harm. No matter how much he wanted her, he would never pressure her. Tonight had happened because they'd both wanted it. But she knew that if she told him that it was what she wanted, this is where it would also end. He wouldn't blackmail her into staying with him over Mic. He wouldn't threaten to take away his friendship if she didn't chose him. She wouldn't have to worry about him ever using this night to destroy her relationship with Mic out of spite or a need for vengeance. He would walk away because he cared more about her happiness than his own. It was just another thing that she had to consider, on top of about a million other things that had happened during the last five years that made it feel like the weight of the world was resting on her slim shoulders.

But she didn't want to think about any of that right now. She wanted to hold onto the magic for as long as possible. She lifted their still joined hands to her lips, pressing light kisses against his fingers. There was so much she wanted, so many questions that she needed to find the answers to. Try not to think about that now, she admonished herself again. Everything will still be here in the morning, unfortunately. Just concentrate on the here and now.

Harm watched her, studied the emotions playing across her face in the pale moonlight streaming through a crack in the curtains. He would have given anything to make this easier for her. There was a part of him that even wished that this had never happened, only in that it was causing her pain. For himself, he would never be sorry. His only regret was that this had not happened sooner, before things had spun too far out of their control. "Sarah?" he asked.

She managed a smile at the concern she heard in his voice. She could imagine what he was thinking, probably many of the same things that were going through her own mind. But now wasn't the time. They still had hours before dawn came and reality intruded again on their fantasies. "Do something for me," she requested softly.

"Anything," he vowed ferverently. Mac didn't know whether to laugh or to cry at that.

"Hold me," she said, her voice trembling just enough that he could hear it. "I just want you to hold me."

"I can do that," he replied, rolling onto his back, pulling her with him. She settled against him, her head resting on his chest. She closed her eyes, trying to let the now-steady thumping of his heart beneath her ear lull her into peaceful rest.

Harm lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, even after Mac had fallen asleep, her hand still clasped tightly in his, as if she would never let it go. He'd wanted very much to assure her that everything would work out, but he'd stopped himself from uttering the words, knowing they would be a lie. No matter which way this ultimately worked out, someone – more than one person most likely – would be hurt. Nothing could stop that now. It was too late. It was just too damn late.

-----

Harm looked down at the pad of paper in front of him, reading over what he'd written. There was so much that he wanted to say to Mac and he felt this was the only way – to put it all in a letter which she probably wouldn't even see until after he was gone. It would be easier….if anything about this whole tormenting situation could ever be termed easy. The last thing he wanted to do was to pressure her. He didn't want to risk pushing her even further away. He knew it would be hard, but if he wasn't her choice, he wanted to do everything he could to try to hold onto their friendship. He just hoped that if it came to that, they would not find that they had moved too far forward to ever be able to go back to what they were.

As satisfied as he could be given the circumstances, he slowly and carefully tore the single sheet of paper from the pad and folded it. With a strong, steady stroke, he wrote her name on the sheet – not 'Mac' but 'Sarah'. For some reason, it was harder now to think of her as 'Mac'. In his mind, it had been Sarah, possibly the most beautiful, most desirable woman he'd ever known, who had opened herself up to him, trembling beneath his touch, her eyes blazing bright with passion as they'd moved together in a lover's dance as old as time.

Grabbing her purse off the table in front of him, he opened it up and slipped the letter inside, silently praying that she wouldn't have a reason to go into her purse until after they had parted in the morning. He wasn't sure that he could face her as she read over the letter. He needed time to prepare himself for her reaction, time to accept the reality he would be forced to face if things did not go his way.

The rules of engagement have changed.

He stared up at the ceiling, sighing deeply as the memory replayed in his mind. That had been the moment, he realized, even more than their awkward conversation on the ferry, when everything had started spinning so far out of their control, when he'd stood in her apartment and told her that he'd submitted his request to leave JAG. A single moment in time which had completely and irrevocably altered the direction of their lives. He wished he'd had the strength and the courage when they'd stood in his office a couple of weeks later, as she'd cried in his arms, to tell her how he felt about her and to ask her to be the one he would return to.

What had stopped him? He wasn't sure. Maybe it had been fear. Not fear of her and their feelings – no, that had come later, he was sure of that. Perhaps it had been fear that if he let her in, if he let her get too close, that he would ultimately be taken away – just as his father and grandfather before him had been – leaving yet another woman alone to mourn her Navy man and to try to live with only memories.

So he'd made a choice, whether conscious or unconscious, to let her believe that flying was more important to him than….everything, even her. And he'd paid the price for that choice the last two years – had paid a higher price than any person should be expected to pay. Who could have known that such a tiny judgment call would extract such a heavy price from his soul?

His eyes widened as an idea came to him. He wouldn't pressure her. Never. But he wasn't going to let her slip away without making her fully aware of the price that would be paid. She had to know that if she did chose him, it wouldn't be leaving behind a certain future with a home and family for an uncertain one with him. That's what he'd tried to tell her in the letter, but could he do more, short of falling onto his knees in front of her and begging her to stay? He could and he would. If flying had been the thing that had torn them apart, maybe there was a way that it could be the thing that would heal their wounds and bring them back together.

Reaching behind him for his travel bag sitting on top of the dresser, he felt inside his bag until his fingers closed around a familiar object. Pulling it free, he studied it for a moment in the moonlight before pulling the letter from her purse. Unfolding the letter, he carefully laid the object in the middle and started to fold it again, then stopped. Picking up the pen again, he added a brief postscript to the letter. He read back over two sentences, feeling the weight that the words carried, the weight that was resting on his shoulders. Those two phrases could make all the difference – or they might not mean a damn thing. He wished he could know for sure.

Trying to be content that he'd done all he could, he folded the letter closed then picked up her purse again. As he placed the letter back inside, he caught the glimmer of her engagement ring and pulled it out, studying the diamond. That ring had been the bane of his existence for fifteen months. But now they were at a crossroads. In a few days, she would either agree to give them a chance and take the ring off forever or it would remain on her hand, joined by a band of gold signifying her vow to love, honor and cherish another man, as long as they both lived.

Damn it, Rabb, he berated himself. Do you know how many chances you've had to change the course of events? Hell, she even asked when you returned from Australia if there was something you needed to talk about and you turned and ran. Or what about when Mic returned at the Surface Warfare Ball? You could have said something then. Or when Harriet announced in front of the entire bullpen that Mac had finally moved the ring over? Hell, even Kate saw it, saw the pain that you tried so hard to hide. Or when Mac announced they'd finally set a date, then just two short months away? You could have told her what you were feeling, that you couldn't get her off your mind.

No, he reminded himself, you just stood by and said nothing until the last minute, when she'd pressed you again, on the Admiral's porch at her engagement party. You could have backed away then, just like you had in Sydney, but you couldn't, could you? You'd never thought it would get that far, thought that you would have more time. The knowledge that you were on the verge of losing Mac forever weakened you, causing cracks to develop in the shields you'd carefully constructed around your heart and when she pushed, you couldn't stop yourself from responding, from giving her a glimpse of the feelings you kept locked carefully away in your heart.

He clenched his hand into a tight fist, ignoring the pain as the diamond's setting dug into his palm. That little bit of physical pain was the least of what he deserved for letting things go as far as they had without saying anything, for letting her breach the walls surrounding his heart. He just wished that he knew what to do to make everything better. He wished that he knew that he was doing the right thing by stepping back and giving her the room to make her decision. He wished that he could be sure that his heartfelt letter would be the key which would unlock the door imprisoning him, releasing him to a life of love with the woman who haunted his dreams.

His head jerked up at the sound of a soft moan coming from the bed and he glanced in that direction. Mac was shifting in her sleep and he hurriedly stuffed the ring back in her purse just in case she woke up. He didn't want to explain everything running through his mind, wasn't sure that he could, to his satisfaction or hers. Then of course, there was the idea of exerting pressure on her, which was anathema to him. He'd rather cut off one of his own limbs first than force her to do anything she wasn't absolutely sure of. If he did, he was sure that he would be no better than Mic Brumby.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he leaned back in his chair and watched her sleep. Oddly, he thought, she looked so peaceful and relaxed. He'd tossed and turned once he'd fallen asleep and his restlessness had eventually driven him from the warmth of her arms, to the table where he'd tried to lay out all his thoughts and feelings in the letter he'd just stashed away. He couldn't make himself stop thinking about the uncertain road ahead of him while he waited and hoped for Mac to think about what was happening and to possibly change her mind.

But she looked so untroubled that a part of him wanted to wake her and ask her how she did it, how did she manage to put their troubled reality aside, even if only for a few hours. He wanted to know how she managed to find peaceful refuge in sleep when all he'd been able to manage had been snatches of slumber, tormented by her touch, her taste, her scent, by her.

Still caught up in the cobwebs of sleep, Mac rolled over, the sheet tangling around her limbs, her hand automatically reaching out for the empty space beside her. "Harm?" she murmured sleepily, his absence pulling her towards wakefulness. She wasn't sure why. Harm's presence wasn't one she was used to in her bed, but she felt an emptiness inside at his absence. Was this what it was going to be like if she married Mic, an aching hole in her heart because Harm wasn't the one lying beside her? Could one night mean that much in the grand scheme of things?

It also registered in her sleep-clouded mind that she'd called the correct name. Silently, she thanked God or whoever might be listening for that. She would have hated to see the look in his eyes if she'd inadvertently called Mic's name in her sleep. As she thought about it, she realized that it hadn't even occurred to her to think about whose name she was uttering. She'd just known. It had felt so natural, so right.

Mac lifted her head from the pillow, blinking in an effort to focus her eyes in the dark room. "Harm?" she asked again, finally catching sight of him in an armchair next to the circular table at the other end of the small room by the window, the curtains parted a few inches, casting an dim light over the table and over his features. "Are you okay?" She unconsciously held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied, studying her from across the room, committing it all to memory. Would this be the last time he would see her like this, her eyelids heavy, her hair tousled from sleep? He thought she'd never look more beautiful and he wondered how he could ever look at her again – in the office, in court, in a car on the way to interview someone – and not immediately think of this moment.

Silently, Mac slipped out from under the covers and began searching the piles of clothes littering the floor for something to put on. She wasn't sure why it was so important. He had already seen all that there was of her to see earlier, including the tattoo she'd once teased him with. As she'd drifted off to sleep, she'd felt his hand gently massaging that spot. A part of her was a little disappointed that he'd yet to make a comment about it or to ask her what it meant. Finally, she found a shirt – the one Harm had been wearing earlier – and pulled it on over her head, inhaling his scent as the soft cotton slid down her body.

She perched herself on the arm of his chair, afraid to get too close for now. He placed a hand on her knee, idly tracing small circles on the side of her knee with his thumb. "Can I ask you something?" she asked after a long moment of silence.

He nodded, his eyes focused on a distant point across the room. Was this how it was going to be, the two of them not even able to look at each other? Maybe it would be better that way, she mused silently. Could they ever look at each other again and not remember how it had felt? Could they ever look at each other again and not want more? Taking a deep breath, she summoned all the courage she possessed and asked, "Do you regret what happened? Are you sorry?"

Harm whipped his head around to look at her, his eyes wide with shock. How could she even think….? Well, maybe if you would tell her, the voice inside his head pointed out derisively. "No," he replied, "not in the way you think."

Mac waited patiently for him to explain that cryptic remark, opening her mouth to speak when it appeared that was all he was going to say. She closed it again when he began speaking, the turmoil in his mind and heart evident in his soft tones. "A few minutes ago," he began, his fingers moving idly over her knee, "I checked my messages on my cell phone. There was one from Renee and….well, it doesn't matter what she said. But I realized something that I've been avoiding thinking about since I first saw you in the O Club earlier. It doesn't bother me. I've been seeing her for over a year, but I spent tonight making love to another woman and it doesn't bother me, not like it should. I'd even told her that I didn't want her to accompany me to Norfolk, when she'd suggested it. I told her that I needed a good night's rest before I flew out to the Patrick Henry in the morning. But it was a lie. Even if I'd been alone tonight, rest would be elusive. I wouldn't have been able to stop thinking…."

"I see," she said softly, reasonably sure that she did understand. She knew that Harm prided himself on upholding the standards of a Naval officer, on being the epitome of 'an officer and a gentleman', to fall back on cliché. No matter how much he'd wanted what had happened between them – no matter how much they both had wanted it – he saw it as a personal failing that he was relatively untroubled by what had happened. She could understand because the same thing had occurred to her, as she'd waited for him in the parking lot of the lodge. She was more bothered that she didn't really feel guilty about what had happened, what she'd done, than she likely would have been by the guilt itself. "I can understand that, but at least you're not just a couple of days away from walking down the aisle with someone else."

"Maybe I should be asking you the same thing," he said, his gaze steady on hers. She forced herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly, although she was uncomfortable with facing the answer to that question, for many of the same reasons – and more - that everything was weighing so heavily on his mind.

"How did we get to this point anyway?" she mused, her eyes widening as she remembered hearing those words before, when they'd been fighting on board the Watertown. She lowered her gaze, sorry she'd asked the question. Would it really accomplish anything to rehash all of that here and now? She shook her head. "I'm sorry. We've been over all this before."

"Yes, we have," he agreed. But maybe the more they acknowledged the questions raised, the more they would be forced to think about the answers and the more hope that would exist for their uncertain future. "But it doesn't make the questions go away, even if we already know the answers. And maybe now there are even more questions."

Mac lifted her eyes to meet his. They both stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to cross the line, to give voice to all those new questions which their actions were raising. After a long moment which seemed to stretch into an eternity, they both started to speak at the same time, then broke off with light laughs, shaking their heads.

"Ladies first," Harm said graciously, his eyes studying her face while, without conscious thought, his hand moved up her thigh, his fingers still lightly caressing her soft skin along the hem of the shirt she wore. Mac found herself reacting to his caress and she slid off the arm of the chair into his lap, his hand moving up even higher on her leg, her sensitive skin tingling beneath his light touch. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again as she lost her train of thought as his hand brushed against her. She pressed against his hand, but he pulled it away to skim over her thigh again.

She laughed, burrowing her face against his neck, her lips moving lightly over his ear. "I think you should put that hand back, Commander," she whispered, pressing a hand against his chest, her fingernails scraping over his skin. She could feel how much he wanted her as she pressed closer, making sure she rubbed against him just enough to elicit a low growl of need from him.

"Actually," he replied in a low, sexy drawl, "I have a better idea." Before she had a chance to ask what he meant, he slide out from under her and stood, pulling her out of the chair to stand in front of him. He held her hands while his eyes traveled over her slender form, his eyes clouding over as it occurred to him that this might be the last time he got to look at her like this, her skin glowing, her eyes alight with passion. She noticed the look in his eyes and pulled one of her hands from his, pressing her palm against his cheek, sighing as he pressed a kiss against the heel of her hand.

"I know," she whispered sadly. For one of the few times in her life, she cursed her perfect sense of timing, all too aware of the hours and minutes steadily ticking away until the inevitable moment when they would have to part. For once, she wished that she could forget the clock and everything else that was working against them. She's always prided herself on her ability to know the exact time, no matter where she was. But tonight, time wasn't her friend. Time was the enemy, ready to tear them apart. She stood up on tip toe and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his neck, willing the tears not to fall.

Harm wrapped his arms around her slender form, holding her tight as he rested his head against hers, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain threatening to overwhelm both of them. He would never have her sense of time, but he too was all too aware of how little time they had left. Every tick of the clock as the second hand swept around the face was like a countdown towards the moment when they would have no choice but to part.

For some odd reason which he couldn't fathom, something his grandmother had once told him floated to the surface of his memories. 'Harmon,' she'd said, using his full name as she usually did when she wanted to have a serious discussion with him, 'none of us knows how much time we have for anything. Life is full of uncertainty, so the best any of us can do is to make the most of what time we do have.' It had been one of those typically wise statements that his grandmother was known for, but he'd paid it little attention at the time, preferring then to let self-pity consume him in the bleak, dark days after his accident. He had a feeling that this was hardly the type of situation she'd had in mind when she'd uttered those words, but that was what he would do. He would make the most of the precious hours and minutes he had left in the arms of the woman who held his heart. All he could do was pray that it would be enough.

Pulling back slightly, he opened his eyes and studied her, his fingers skimming lightly over face, trying to commit the feel and look of her to his memory. Her tortured expression softened under his caress and she opened her eyes, her gaze locking with his. They found themselves mesmerized, falling and falling through the windows that laid bare their souls to each other. They leaned closer, their lips brushing together, just the barest whisper of a touch, but one which hinted at a barely concealed passion, bubbling just beneath the surface, just aching to be released.

"Harm?" Mac asked softly, her eyes moving over his features. Like him, she was desperate to commit it all to memory. If fifty years passed from this moment to the last breath she would ever take, she wanted to be able to look back and to remember everything, to be able to see all of this, to see him in her mind's eye as if he were standing right in front of her. If nothing else, she wanted to hold onto these moments, to be able to look back and to say that for just a brief moment in time, she'd had everything that she'd ever wanted.

"Shhh," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers as his hands traveled down her body and over her hips, pulling her up against him. Instinctively, Mac lifted her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, moaning softly, reveling in the soft moan coming from his lips. "No more talking. Just feel."

"Yes," she agreed softly before his mouth found hers. She wove her fingers through his hair as his mouth ravaged hers, his tongue delving deep to taste and to explore. Dimly, she became aware of him moving her across the room, the movement of their bodies against each other causing a delicious friction which threatened to overwhelm them both.

Harm realized that this was swiftly spiraling out of his control and he didn't want that, not this time. He set Mac down on the edge of the bed, breaking their bodies' contact, kneeling on the floor between her legs, his hands resting on the tops of her thighs. She looked at him questioningly and opened her mouth to speak, until he pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. "I just…." he began, glancing away as he found himself uncustomarily at a loss for words. Taking a deep breath, steeling his resolve, he turned back to her, determined not to waste the precious little time they had left together.

Slowly, almost tentatively, he raised his hands to her face, his fingers tracing her features. Mac's eyes widened in amazement. This was yet another piece of the puzzle that was her best friend, now her lover. Her lover. She never thought she'd ever be able to use those two words in conjunction with Harmon Rabb. The thought brought a soft smile to her lips as his fingers moved over her full lips. She closed her lips around a single finger, her tongue swirling around the tip as her eyes fluttered closed.

Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, she thought as she sensed his reaction in the feel of his hot breath against her cheek, the sound as his breathing became slightly erratic and uncertain, as if he was trying to remind himself how to breathe. She sighed with disappointment when he withdrew his finger from her mouth, the sound turning to a murmur of approval as she felt his breath against her lips, as if his mouth was just barely hovering over hers.

Then she felt it – just the barest hint of a touch, of his lips brushing against hers. Then it was gone, replaced by the sensation of light kisses over the satin smoothness of her cheek. Slowly his mouth moved over her entire face until she was convinced that there wasn't a single square inch which his mouth hadn't touched. Then his lips were back on hers, his kiss harder, more insistent. He tugged on her full lower lips with his teeth, nibbling and tasting.

While his mouth was busy plundering hers, his hands weren't idle, sliding languidly down her back and slipping under the hem of her shirt. His fingers unerringly found the tattoo she'd teased him with so long ago, rubbing around the spot in slow circles. Earlier, as they'd settled together in the afterglow of their hurried, heated lovemaking, he'd sought out the tattoo, fully intending to make some flip comment about it – until he'd managed in the darkness to make out the shape branded on her flesh. The teasing words he'd thought to utter had died unspoken on his lips. He couldn't say if she'd found a particular meaning in the image when she'd had the tattoo done, but he'd found an eerie symbolism in the blood-red rose with thorny stem now.

When he'd first spied it, a couple of lines of an old song had drifted through his head. 'Every rose has its thorns. Every night has its dawn.' He couldn't have found a more applicable symbol of them or their relationship than that image. If their feelings for each other were like a rosebud, sweet and full of promise, then the thorns on the stem were every hurtful word said and unsaid between them, their significant others and every event and happenstance which was conspiring to keep them apart. Tonight they were inhaling the fragrant scent of the flower, but when dawn came, they would find themselves caught in the prickly, thorny hands of fate. Quite appropriate for two people who'd met just outside a rose garden.

"I got that before I met you," Mac whispered against his mouth, vaguely aware through the heady passion enveloping her of just where his hand was lingering. "It reminded me of something my uncle had said when I was drying out. I'd just never imagined…."

"I know," he replied raggedly, not allowing her to complete the thought. His hands moved up her back as he resolved to put it out of his mind for now. Morning would come soon enough, and with it the pain of the prick of those thorns. But for now….his hands slid back down and he grasped the bottom of her shirt, pulling back from her as he lifted it up over her head and tossed it away.

Mac's eyes fluttered open when she realized that he'd stopped touching her. His eyes met hers and she thought she'd detected the slight flush of color to his cheeks when he'd realized that he'd been caught staring. Or maybe she'd just imagined it. It was so easy to imagine anything she wanted in the darkened room.

"You're beautiful," he whispered and this time, she was the one flushing pink. It was an odd think to blush about. She knew that she was good looking, not that she flaunted it. It was simply a fact of her existence. But this was Harm uttering those complimentary words. He'd called her desirable before, but she'd been too busy at the time forcing him to open himself up to her to think about her response to his statement. But now, it was all she could think about. It brought a heady sense of power, knowing that he found her attractive and desirable, but such power came with a price. She just prayed the price wouldn't be too costly.

Harm rested his hands on her shoulders and slowly began exploring every plane and contour, moving down her arms, paying special attention to the sound of her breath catching in her throat when his fingers danced across her collarbone, the barely noticeable trembling as his fingers lingered on the insides of her elbows or the shiver which seemed to sweep her entire body as his thumbs traced lazy circles on the palms of her hands.

Mac wondered if this was what was meant by simmering passion, what was meant when people spoke of the slow burn of arousal. Had any man ever paid this much attention to her body before, practically worshiping her? She decided that it didn't matter. All that mattered was the man kneeling before her, as if at an altar.

Then it wasn't his hands, but his mouth moving over her, following the same path his hands had, first down one arm, then up the other. She exhaled a long, slow breath, imagining him repeating the same actions over other parts of her body, first his hands starting the fire, then his mouth continuing on to fan the flames until they burned blindingly bright.

As his hands returned to her body, fingers skimming over her flat stomach, Harm lifted his head so he could watch her eyes. He'd always thought her eyes so expressive, whether darkening in anger or alight with amusement. Now he wanted to memorize the barely concealed passion lurking in their dark depths, the way they sparkled in the pale light as his fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot, the way her lids fluttered half-closed as she struggled to draw ragged gasps of air into her lungs as his hands skirted around her to dance across her upper chest.

Her mouth was fascinating to him as well, her lips slightly parted as she fought for breath, releasing a soft moan of pleasure as his fingers moved over her, varying his touch, light one moment, just a little more pressure the next, Harm always alert for any sign that it was too much.

He was really good with his hands, Mac decided. Too good. Surely there was a law somewhere against someone being that good. Of course, leave it to Harm to have hands which ought to be classified as lethal weapons. Now she was sure of one thing. If he were to ask her at this exact moment to run away with him, she'd do it without a second thought, Mic and all she owed him be damned. She was convinced that she'd be lucky to remember her own name when he was finished with her.

They were combustible together between the sheets, like throwing gasoline on a fire. But was it enough? Was there more than blindingly white hot passion between them, enough to sustain a relationship in the long term? Could they survive the everyday ups and downs, the roller coaster that a committed relationship could often be? Was this enough to overcome all the hurt and the lure of wind and the sky which still called to him? Could she ever be first in his life? Could anyone?

She lost her train of thought, gasping louder as his mouth again replaced his hands, his tongue dipping into her navel and circling around it. Who cared about tomorrow at a time like this? The fire burning in her, the desire only he could satisfy was all that mattered right now.

If what he could do with his hands could be termed lethal, there wasn't a word strong enough to describe what he could do with his mouth. She'd known he'd be good there, too. How many times had she watched him in court, eloquently swaying judges and juries with his impassioned pleas, imagining what else he might be able to do with that mouth of his? Anyone who could use words with such finesse and flair surely knew how to use his mouth in other ways.

Bowing her head, she struggled to focus on the man in front of her, carrying her to such dizzying heights. He had such an intense look of concentration on his face as his mouth teased and taunted her flesh. Again, it wasn't really a surprise to her. Of course Harmon Rabb would bring the same intensity to this as he did to everything else he did. It was a quality which made him one of the best in the air and in the courtroom. As for in other areas, she didn't want to think about that. Not now. Maybe not ever, for that question might end up haunting her.

Harm just happened to glance up at that moment and noticed the haunted look in her eyes. What was she thinking? Was she wondering how they could go on without experiencing this ever again? Was she comparing him to others, to….?

You think too much, Rabb, he berated himself. Even if it would only ever be for a few stolen hours, right now Sarah Mackenzie was all his. That was all that mattered. Trying to distract her – and, if truth be told, himself – he let one hand move down her stomach as his mouth continued moving over her.

Oh, God, it was almost too much, Mac thought. She slid forward slightly, wanting more. But he was slow to comply, opting instead to press the palm of his hand against her as he used his mouth to torment and tease.

"Tease," she murmured, leaning forward to rest her head against the top of his, her hands gripping his shoulders. He glanced up, breaking off his mouth's contact with her, to a moan of disapproval from her. His familiar, cocky grin was in place, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, she noted. She bit her lower lip, drawing blood. Even in the heat of long-suppressed passion, he couldn't let go enough to forget about the possible consequences. God help her, neither could she. No matter how many times she told herself that none of that other stuff mattered – not right here, not right now – she couldn't make herself put it aside. A thousand nerve endings were all jumbled and humming, charged with electricity, she was achingly desperate for him and she still couldn't make herself forget.

"Try not to think about it," he whispered, trying to follow the same advice himself. He'd expected the cold light of reason to blanket them in the morning, when they couldn't hide from the light of day, not in the dark, as they gave free reign to all the desire and desperate need.

"Just make love to me," she pleaded softly. Just five simple words, but they made him all come undone for reasons he couldn't begin to comprehend or explain. Perhaps it was simply the verbal acknowledgement of how she wanted him, needed him as much as she needed her next breath. Then his fingers were moving over her again until Mac was sure the only thing keeping her upright was her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

Pressing his other hand against her stomach, he pressed her back, forcing her to let go of his shoulders, until she was lying flat on her back, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. "Oh, yes," Mac breathed, realizing his intent. Her entire body tensed in anticipation then she felt it. Breathe, she told herself. It's easy. Just inhale, then exhale. But she couldn't seem to remember how to do it.

"Oh," she gasped as her fingers curled around the bedcovers, her hands tightening into fists as her body tightened and she tried to fight off the release just barely contained. She wanted this to last forever. It had to last forever.

Listening to her gasp and moan, Harm wondered if she was a screamer. If they'd had more privacy, if there'd been more than thin walls separating them from occupied rooms, would she scream his name as he pushed her over the edge? He'd nearly screamed hers earlier, before he remembered that the walls have ears. He prayed that someday he'd have the opportunity to test that theory. He prayed that someday he'd have the opportunity to do so many things with her, to her.

Too much, Mac thought, as her body shook as her world spun and shattered around her. She lost awareness of all but the blinding light surrounding her.

It could have been seconds or it might have been hours later when her eyes fluttered open to find Harm stretched out beside her on his side, propped up on an elbow as he looked down at her, a satisfied expression on his face. She vaguely remembered something she'd thought earlier, about how he'd taken care to ensure that she was receiving the most pleasure from their lovemaking. He was satisfied because he'd satisfied her. Or maybe he was that confident in his ability to drive her mad. Perhaps it was a little of both. She chuckled softly at the thought.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, drawing a finger along her jaw, his gaze openly admiring. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her chest heaving with every uneven breath she drew. This was the moment he would always remember, he decided. So strong and vulnerable at the same time. Maybe a contradiction, but one which seemed to fit with who Sarah Mackenzie was.

She blinked, trying to focus her thoughts. A penny for her thoughts. Not here, not now. There were some things she wanted to keep to herself, some things she wasn't ready to share with him, even after everything they'd shared this night. Maybe it was selfish, but there were some things which would simply have to remain locked away in her heart. They would have to if she were to survive this.

Her gaze traveling over him, the corners of her mouth turning upward, hinting at a smile. "I was just thinking….that one of us is a little overdressed," she murmured. It wasn't a lie. But if it wasn't the entire truth, that was for her alone to know. "I want…." she trailed off, suddenly self-conscious, although she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the newness of all this, at least with this man. Yes, that had to be it.

"Tell me," he requested, his eyes steady on hers. If he sensed that she wasn't revealing everything, he kept that to himself. He understood that there were some things that, even now, they didn't yet have the courage to say to each other.

Taking a deep breath, she replied, her voice quiet, "You….I want you." She swore her heart stopped at the look in his eyes as she uttered those words, the intense need she saw. Before she could squash the thought, she wondered if he'd ever looked at another woman like that. She wouldn't ask. Maybe she could imagine that it was a look for her alone, never to be bestowed upon another.

Swallowing hard, Harm nodded, rolling onto his back, pulling a couple of pillows under his head to prop himself up. He wanted to watch her, yet another memory to be filed away. So many memories, maybe all he would ever have of her.

Mac hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers and slowly drew them down his legs, as if unwrapping a present she wanted to savor. She'd only had a moment or two earlier to look at him, so she took the opportunity to study him as she positioned herself at his side, propped up on an elbow. Damn, no wonder the man was so cocky, she thought. If there was any such thing as the perfect male form, Harmon Rabb had been blessed with it. Everything was in perfect proportion. She glanced up, surprised by the look now residing on his face.

She thought he'd look smug, well aware of how good he looked. Instead, he looked shy, almost humble. The expression tore at her heart. Yet another contradiction. Damn, she thought. This would have been easier if he'd been smug. Then maybe she could convince herself that this was just a romp, a roll in the hay that didn't mean anything in the larger picture. Then maybe it would be easier to convince herself that she had no choice but to walk away from this, from him. Damn him. Damn her. Damn it all to hell.

Carefully masking her expression, she didn't acknowledge the expression. Instead, she returned her focus pleasuring him, her eyes on his. She wanted – no, needed – to see his reaction, to see what she did to him. He bit down on his lip, his eyes glittering dark and smoky. Or maybe that was a trick of the darkness.

Harm reached out, finding one of her hands and curling his fingers around hers, tightening his grip as the tension coiled in him like a spring, ready to snap. "No….Sarah," he managed to gasp between ragged breaths. "Not like this…." Summoning the strength from God knows where, he pulled away from her, sitting up as he pulled her into his lap.

Startled by the sudden change of direction, Mac didn't even have the presence of mind to think as they came together. Her head fell forward against his shoulder as he whispered against her hair, unrealizing, "Next time, I'll have to let you finish that."

The statement didn't even have time to register with Mac before they were moving together, again their bodies finding the perfect rhythm. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she tugged on an ear lobe, delighting in his harsh moans.

"This isn't going to last long," he whispered against her shoulder, where his own mouth had been busy, pressing open mouthed kissed against damp skin.

"I know," she replied in a ragged whisper, not just talking about the impending explosion threatening to engulf them both. That was the curse of this night. It wouldn't last. It couldn't last.

"Sarah." Through the clouds draping her mind, she dimly heard him say her name. She struggled to focus on the sound, then she heard it again, more insistent. Gasping for breath, she lifted her head and forced her gaze to meet his.

"Never be sorry," he whispered, his tone pleading.

"No." Whether agreement with his statement or not, even Mac wasn't sure as she uttered the single word just before his mouth crashed down on hers, muffling her cries as she fell over the edge, followed closely by him. She tore her mouth from his and let her head fall against his shoulder as she struggled to regain control over her breathing, dizziness overwhelming her. She felt his head resting against her, his lips nuzzling the nape of her neck.

As reason slowly returned, his earlier words finally registered with her consciousness and she clamped her lips together to keep from crying out. 'Next time, I'll have to let you finish that.' Had he realized what he'd been saying or had it been unconscious, a result of the fire engulfing him? Her eyes burned with unshed tears at the statement and the meaning behind it.

I will not cry. I will not cry. She repeated the four words in her mind, like a mantra. If she repeated them enough times, maybe she could make herself believe them. But nothing could stop the single tear that fell from her closed eyes to splash on his shoulder.

Harm felt the tear fall and opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again as he realized that he'd been about to say her name – her real name. Taking a couple of breaths to steady himself, he forced himself to begin again. "Mac?"

Mac. Not Sarah. If he'd called her Sarah right now, she didn't think she'd be able to keep her emotions in check, to stop from giving the tears free reign. Steadier, she blinked back the remaining unshed tears and lifted her head. "Yes?"

He turned his head towards hers and captured her lips, slowly and tenderly moving his mouth over hers. It felt like….their kiss on the Admiral's porch, which she'd tried to pass off as a goodbye kiss. It was nearly time. Dawn would soon be breaking and with it, their lives would move forward – toward what, neither knew. But if it wasn't toward each other, it was time to start trying to cut that cord, to begin putting all that had happened this night behind them.

As they broke off the kiss, their eyes met and both could see so clearly for just a moment. This was goodbye, maybe for now, maybe forever. They both nodded slightly in silent acknowledgement. As they settled back down for the few precious snatches of sleep they could find before morning, a single thought went through both their minds. In a contradictory way, they were closer, yet farther apart than they'd ever been.

-----

THURSDAY MORNING
24 MAY 2001
AIRFIELD
NORFOLK NAVAL STATION, VIRGINIA

"Commander Rabb?" a man wearing petty officer's chevrons asked, walking up to Harm and Mac as they stood on the tarmac, close but not quite touching. Harm was dressed in his flight suit, Mac in a t-shirt and jeans. To anyone looking from a distance, they looked like just another couple facing a forced separation courtesy of the military. But if one looked closely at their eyes, at the hesitant way they touched each other, one would have realized that there was more to the story. At Harm's slight nod, he continued, "The helo for the Patrick Henry will be taking off in about ten minutes."

"Thank you, Petty Officer," Harm replied, his eyes on Mac, who was busy looking down, studying her bare hands, her ring still tucked away in her purse. If….when she put the ring back on, it wouldn't be in front of Harm. She couldn't make herself hurt him like that, at least not right now. She couldn't hurt herself like that. The memories of their passionate interlude were still too fresh, too raw. Her soul was aching and bleeding. She needed to find a way to bind those wounds first. If she had to hurt them, it would be later, when she'd regained some semblance of reason. "I'll be right there."

"I guess this is it," Mac said once the petty officer left them alone again. She looked down at the ground, studying a crack in the pavement, not sure what to say. For not the first time, she was uncertain about her decision to accompany him to the airfield. They could have just as easily said their goodbyes at the lodge. But she needed this, needed to prolong their time together, to hold onto the memories which just might have to last her a lifetime, even if it meant prolonging the goodbye.

"Yeah, I guess," he said, tilting her head up with a finger as he brushed away the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. She smiled weakly and lifted her hand, clasping it around his wrist.

"I promised myself that I wasn't going to do this," she said, her voice trembling.

"It's okay," he tried to assure her, his voice sounding uncertain even to his own ears. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and beg her to leave Mic and give them a chance. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't take the choice away from her. All he could do was make sure that she knew the choice existed. "Mac….Sarah, I want you to promise me something."

She nodded, unconsciously holding her breath as she waited for him to continue. If there was anything which had the power to make her come undone, it was the sound of her name coming from his lips. If he were to beg her to run away with him, to give them a chance, she wasn't entire sure she could deny him that when he said her name like that. 'I love you' couldn't have sounded more beautiful and more heartfelt coming from his lips. "I made you a promise," he began, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently, "and I intend to do everything in my power to keep it. I will be at the wedding, if that is what you want. But I want you to promise me something in return." He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, then continued, his gaze steady on hers. "I want you to think about….everything and I want you to think about whether or not you're absolutely sure about what you want to do."

"Harm, I…." she began, but he held a hand up to silence her. She quieted, nibbling on her lower lip nervously.

"Please, let me finish," he requested. "This is probably one of the hardest things….if you think about it and you decide that Mic is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, then I will be at the wedding, ready as your best friend to wish you well on your new life together, in spite of everything that has happened. On the other hand, if maybe you decide….I don't know, that maybe there is something between us and you would like to explore that further…."

Mac sighed sadly, brushing more tears away with her free hand. His hand replaced hers on her cheek, her falling tears gathering on his fingertips. "Do you know what I would have given to have you say something like that back in Sydney?" she mused.

"I know that," he said quietly, studying her bare left hand for a moment. He'd noticed that she still hadn't put the ring back on and every minute that went by without it on her finger gave him just a little more hope for the two of them. He hoped that when she read the letter which he'd slipped into her purse, when she saw the small gift which he'd left for her, she would think even more about what was happening between them and decide that it was something worth hanging onto, that giving up a certain future with Mic was a chance worth taking. "I just wanted you to know that if you do decide to take a chance that you won't have to wait for me to be ready."

"What about Renee?" she asked. She wasn't sure that she had the strength after all this to face a fight and that's what she would face with Renee. There was no way in hell Renee would willingly walk away. In a way, Mac could understand and sympathize. If Harm were hers, she'd feel the exact same way. But he wasn't hers. Right now, he couldn't be. "She does love you."

"I know," he replied after a moment, "and I know that she wants a future for us. But I don't love her and I think she knows that deep down. I'm….pretty sure she does. She knows that….there's something between you and me. I know it would be hard, telling her once and for all that we don't have a future, but I would do it….for us. I can't imagine it would be any easier talking to Mic. It would probably even be harder."

"Yeah, since he's expecting me to walk down the aisle to him in two days," she pointed out. "That's why I can't just…."

"Walk away from him?" he finished sadly. She nodded reluctantly. "I know. All I want is a promise that you'll think about it. I promised you that if you walk down that aisle, I will be there to wish you well."

She nodded again. If Harm was going to promise that he would be there to wish her well, no matter how he felt about her or her impending marriage, then surely it wasn't too much for him to ask what he wanted in return. It wasn't that she wasn't already having doubts. God, she'd just spent the night making love with a man who wasn't her fiancé. If that wasn't a sign that she needed to do a lot of thinking over the next two days, she didn't know what was. It couldn't have been more clear if it had been printed in six-foot neon letters on top of aircraft hanger behind them. "I will," she promised, her tears falling freely.

Her gaze met his and she was mildly surprised to discover that his eyes were suspiciously moist as well. How many times had she seen him cry before? Twice that she could recall, both in connection with his father. Then she remembered another goodbye, when she'd wanted so much to pour her heart out to him and had damned him for not sharing her tears, for not being as tormented as she'd been by his departure. He had eventually come back, but nothing had been the same. No matter which way things went, when he came back this time, nothing would be the same again.

"I have to go," Harm said softly, noticing the petty officer motioning to him out of the corner of his eye. "I'll see you in a few days."

"Yeah," she whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers. She swayed against him, convinced the only thing keeping her upright was his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight against him. She could feel that he was pouring everything into this kiss, every feeling he'd ever felt for her, and she eagerly accepted and returned it all, wishing that this could last forever.

But it couldn't and all too soon, they slowly pulled apart. Without a word, Harm gave her a quick, heartfelt hug then pulled completely away, heading for the helo standing by to take him to the Patrick Henry with strong, steady steps. Mac watched him leave, not even trying to keep her tears in check, envying him his apparent control. At the last moment, as he prepared to step onto the helo, Harm turned and gave her one of his 'flyboy' grins. Despite the distance separating them, she could see that it wasn't that easy, that there was a bit of hesitancy behind the gesture. Once again, she thought she was getting a glimpse into the depths of his soul, at the turmoil within he kept carefully hidden from the rest of the world.

Her heart melted and she tried her best to return the smile, even through her tears. Their eyes locked across the tarmac and Mac had to force herself not to run into his arms, to capture just a little bit more of the feelings that wouldn't go away between them. She had to let him go for now, until she knew for sure.

Harm understood her struggle, for the same one was going on in his own heart. He wanted nothing more than to run back to her, take her into his arms and beg her to give him, to give them a chance. But he loved her enough to let her go if that was what she wanted. He loved her. How he wished he could say those words to her. He had come close in the letter. He just had to hope that it was enough, that she understand everything which he'd said and everything which he hadn't.

He gave her a thumbs up sign before turning and climbing aboard the helo. As he settled into his seat, fastening himself in, he caught sight of her through the window, still standing on the tarmac. Mac remained there, holding Harm's leather flight jacket tight around her to ward off a non-existent chill in the air, watching as the helo lifted off from the ground, her hair ruffling in the breeze. She stood there, looking like just another woman saying farewell to her Navy man, until the helo disappeared from sight. Only then did she force herself to put one foot in front of the other and walk back across the tarmac to her car in the parking lot, praying silently for the strength to face the choice that she now had to make.

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To be continued…