Title: Cold Light Of Day
Chapter Three
By: LizD
Spoilers: Mid-Season 8
Notes: This is the sequel to Better Never, Than Late story (by request from a couple of reviewers – I got inspired). s/b humorous with lots of sexual situations.
Written: Summer 2006
Disclaimers: No disrespect to JAG's cast, crew or creators. With love and thanks.
Chapter Three
The sun was just breaking through her window as Mac woke. She felt Harm get out of bed. She dreaded his morning routine and cursed herself for not being able to sleep through it. The water noises alone were enough to drive her up the wall. Mac was not a morning person. She could get up and go to work and get things done all before the before crack of dawn without ever setting an alarm, needing a wake up call or resenting the hour, but she seemed to do it all with very little noise.
Harm's water noise was the worst. He was like a fire hose, Niagra Falls and the washing machine all at once. It was the same thing every morning, the same order, the same duration … everything was the same. It made her nuts. Not that she was counting but it was the 18th time in five weeks that she had to suffer through the routine: pee (1.45 min), wash hands (.5 min), brush (3 min), shave (8.5 min), shower (12.5), clean sink (1 min) – one towel, neatly folded. At first it was interesting, then it was amusing, then she teased him about it. After five weeks it was just down right annoying. If only she hadn't noticed.
Worse than all that water noise she could not abide the singing. It actually wasn't singing PERSE it was a combination (an annoying combination) of singing, humming and whistling – usually a tune that she could not determine. For the last five or six mornings it had been the same song; some candy-ass, bubble gum, English, teenie bopper, love song that he repeated OVER AND OVER AND OVER with a really wretched English accent.
"How do you do what you do to me?
… hmmm mmm hmm mmm
mm m mmmm how you do it to me
… I'd do it to you … hmmm mmm hmm mmm
… I'm feeling blue … hmmm mmm hmm mmm
But I haven't a clue …"
Then there would be long sections of whistling before he would repeat. She had to bite her pillow – literally BITE HER PILLOW – not to scream. Each night she vowed to be the first one up, but somehow he always beat her to the bathroom.
There were a lot of things that were annoying her recently. One thing that she kept forcing herself not to discuss with him was the care in which he took making sure he didn't leave anything behind in her apartment nor she in his. It was bordering on RUDE. At first she accepted it; he didn't want to 'get caught' (that was one thing she stressed in the beginning) but then she started to feel cheap and sleazy. She was not the OTHER woman; nor did she have to hide the affair from another lover. There was no reason she should feel that way. What would be the big deal if she left a toothbrush at his place or maybe a change of clothes? Hell, why did the condom wrappers have to be 'packed in and packed out'? She defied the combined teams from CSI Vegas, Miami and New York to find evidence that he was there. NCIS? Forget about it, they could find the hole in the donut.
The sex was good … consistently good – and satisfying … more than - consistently. Actually - if truth were told - it was fan-damn-tastic and not just because of the dry spell they had been living in for the past few years. However it was a far cry from love making, it was down, dirty raw sex. The 'fight for the top' took a whole new meaning with some pretty interesting results. The first couple of weeks it was enticing, erotic and even a little naughty. There was nothing consistent about when, where or how they would hook up. Sometimes she would 'make the call' and sometimes he would. Once it was after a day in court when they took bloody chunks out of the other and other was a day that they shared less than three sentences. One time on their way back from Norfolk after working a particularly brutal murder case, they checked into a hotel (three hours of amazing intensity). Another encounter was in the stock room at McMurphy's - tawdry and sordid but very erotic (if not physically satisfying) and something that neither one thought they were capable of. Coates very nearly caught them. Luckily Harm danced his way out of it by pretending to have had too much to drink and Mac escaped without notice.
That was in the beginning when it was still new and they were taking a few more chances, discovering, exploring, pushing their boundaries. Nothing like that was going on any more. It started to feel predictable, expected and stale. In fact the encounters were becoming fewer and farther between and sadly that was OK with her.
Mac was forced to accept that they were becoming – had become - fuck buddies (pardon the French). They were no longer friends, colleagues, or even adversaries. They barely acknowledged each other at work any more. That was by Mac's request and design. They had agreed to limit communication so that nothing was revealed to their coworkers. As typical with Harm and Mac, they took it too far and way to literally. They didn't talk about the weather or politics any more.
So they worked together and they DID IT. She couldn't call them lovers because there was never any talk of love or any of the other trappings that go along with people having an affair (i.e. love notes, romantic dinners with dancing, flowers, strawberries and cream in bed, weekend get aways, long walks on a deserted beach, etc, etc, etc). They rarely ate together, never ran together. If there were a social function, they would show up separately and not engage with each other much during the event.
Finally, the sex was reserved for the post-midnight/pre-dawn hours and rarely on a weekend. So, they were fuck buddies – and that was all. Mac had no idea how things got to the state they were in. She had to believe they got there together – but she was sure it wasn't her fault.
That morning she couldn't help but wonder when and how this THING would play itself out. Not that that would have been the end of the world by any means. The hooking up was bound to happen – it was a foregone conclusion that they would find themselves making the beast with two backs. The 'breaking up' was just as predictable. Unfortunately they had probably – no they did wait to long to go down that road. They had skirted around all the relationship stuff for so long that it had just become distasteful and a real relationship was not even reasonable to expect. The only thing left to do was get it over with – do the nasty – and move the hell on. Once would have been enough – except that it sucked so badly. A second time to prove that the first time was a fluke. A third time for the whole two out of three decision making theory. And that would – should have been enough. It was five weeks later … it was time to move on. But who should make the first (or last) move and what move should that be?
If she really wanted to be hard on herself she would say that she never RUSHED into bed with Harm before because she thought she would never be able to get rid of him. Once he had had a taste of what she was serving he would have been like white on rice. She had only known – in the biblical sense – a handful of men in her life. Each one she had suspected would dump her butt as soon as a new piece of tail swished by – of course they would eventually come back for more – and they did, if they were still alive. For some unknown reason (call it her female intuition or that ESP thing she had when it was convenient or was needed as a plot device) she felt that Harm would not: not dump her, not die, not leave. Like gum on the bottom of her shoe, she would never be able to shake him off. Then it would come down to: how to dump him? She knew that he would always want a place in her bed. She also knew – and would be hard pressed to admit it out loud – she would always let him have that place. In a weird way, that comforted her and made her sad at the same time.
That morning – she wanted it to end but she couldn't 'break up' with him. It had to be something that he came to naturally – on his own. He had to think it was his idea. If he thought it was hers, he would revert to his petty, mean and nasty self to the nth degree. She sure as hell didn't want to go back to that kind of relationship. So she had to let it play itself out. That was going to be the hard part and getting through the mornings would be the WORST.
X X X X X X
Harm lay awake thinking in the dark. It was well after midnight and if she were going to come, she would be there any moment. The last time was days ago at her apartment. She was odd and distant that morning, but after five weeks it was hard to tell when her cycle was. Anything could have set her off. So he decided to give her some space. She would be the one to reconnect, she always did. And that night alone in the dark, he knew she would come. She always came. She was the one that could not hold out. He could go four, five or even six days …but he never had to because she always came to him. Harm had known some women in his life (more so from his younger days …but he could still turn heads) and he knew how to leave a woman satisfied yet wanting more. It was a source of pride with him that he never left a woman … unfulfilled … he usually tried to 'fulfill' them several times a night. It was never a 'wham-bam-thank you ma'am-goodnight' event. He was NEVER the first one asleep and always the first one up. That kind of pressure even imposed on himself was draining. A person can't consistently perform at that level without some prep and recover time; he needed to be in the right headspace
That night, he wasn't sure his head was in the right place. Don't misunderstand … he liked the sex and could always get up for it. He was grateful that he never 'saw her naked' in his mind when they were in court … but on more than a few mornings when he woke up alone, her nakedness was the first image he focused on; undoubtedly not the first man to do so. But there was something missing. Something big and he was beginning to be afraid that the end was near, and he didn't know how or if he should try to stop it.
He enjoyed sex with Mac – very much. She would often take the lead, take control, be the one in charge – or so he let her believe. After several weeks all it was, was sex. He had thought with Mac it might have been more – not so much. There was some weirdness thinking about her as his 'friend Mac', his 'colleague' Colonel MacKenzie and then thinking about her body in ways that men think about women's bodies who have a staple through their abdomen and bunny ears on their head. Something had to go – and because of the rules agreed upon, the friendship was completely taken out of the equation. He didn't want to believe that what had finally killed the friendship was the sex. How backward was that? Or was that normal? Did people really like each other less after they crossed that line? Was the 'friendship' just a cover for the unresolved sexual tension? Could men and women actually be friends? Once it was resolved was there nothing left say? And once the sex was taken out of it, what was left?
The problem with that theory was that he was still attracted to her and he still really liked her – admired her, respected her even when she was riding him like a rodeo queen. When they were in court her demeanor and the way she presented her case mesmerized him and it didn't matter what side he was on. He would listen to her talk to clients, fellow JAG-mates or witnesses and she was remarkable – riveting to watch even if he wasn't actually looking at her. He had actually stored up some pretty wild fantasies that he would have killed to realize; however given the parameters those were impossible to act on or discuss.
What he missed the most was kissing. He couldn't really remember when it stopped, but they stopped kissing - really kissing. He could have spent all night just kissing her – not really, but he liked to imagine that he would (one of his fantasies was making out in the back of a theater – a double feature). He knew he should talk to her about it (not the fantasy, but the kissing), but she had made it pretty clear that there was nothing else for them. They either had this bit or nothing at all. He had no hope that they could go back to being friends. Anything more was KIBOSHED by career aspirations and the fact that neither of them wanted to leave JAG.
So he had to ask himself, was it worth it? At that moment, in the dark, anticipating and fearing her knock on the door … he had to think it wasn't.
Shortly after 0100 the knock came on his door.
He didn't move.
It came again.
Again he did not move and held his breath.
It was the first time since they started, that someone didn't answer the door.
She knocked one more time.
He stayed put.
He heard her on the stairs. He tried to feel badly about it (at least about sending her home at such a late hour – that had to be an ego hit); he thought about calling her, running after her or driving over to her place, instead he took a 'cold shower' … a long cold shower and resigned himself to the fact that he had just put the first nail in their coffin. Someone had to.
X X X X X X
It was an ego hit for Mac. It was also the only nail she needed to seal the coffin.
X X X X X X
It was a week before they saw each other again. He had been sent to the Seahawk to do an investigation. When he arrived back at JAG it was early afternoon. The bullpen was nearly empty. Most everyone was in court.
He went to the break room to get some much needed coffee and literally slammed into her.
"Hey," he said once he steadied them both and recovered from the bolt of desire that coursed through him. He hadn't realized how much he had missed her.
"Hey," she responded. Mac had also felt her body betray her resolve. "How did it go?" she couldn't help but look at his mouth. She was trying not to look into his eyes; she didn't want to give away anything that she was feeling. And his nose was just too close to his mouth. Damn he licked his lips.
"Fine … good … everything went well."
"So the Petty Officer was guilty," she stated. "You lost the case."
"Justice was served Mac," he reached around her to get his coffee. "I believe I was able to keep the situation in perspective," he smiled. "Didn't allow a railroad job on a kid who screwed up."
"Right, right … I guess I am always surprised when you lose a case … you usually find some way to --- I don't know --- pull a rabbit out of your hat and convince the members that the guilt should be shared and they go easy on your client."
"What makes you think I didn't do that this time?" he stuck the stir stick in his mouth.
"Nothing … I don't know … never mind," she started to move around him. There was an ache in her body that she was finding it hard to control.
"How are things here?" he asked not wanting to end the tête-à-tête.
"Fine … everything is fine," she looked up at him. "Getting a lot of sleep."
"Are you?" he wasn't sure if she was happy about that fact or not. All he really knew was that he wanted to kiss her … he wanted to kiss her A LOT.
He was just about to lose his battle and lean down and claim his desire, when Turner walked in. "Rabb!" he barked.
"Turner … what's up?" he snapped back.
"So you are on for tonight, right?" Turner asked.
"Tonight?" Harm had no idea what Sturgis was talking about. He was still too focused on Mac.
"Tonight … dinner … drinks … dancing … with Varese's friend … Tessa."
Harm shook his head.
"We talked about this … the e-mail … I told you she was Varese's friend from college, she was moving to DC … come on man!"
"Right," Harm remembered something about making a commitment to a double date or something with Turner. "Does it have to be tonight?" he stole a glance at Mac who was only staying there to witness the exchange because both Turner and Harm were in her way.
"Don't break this date Rabb," Turner warned.
"Fine," he said.
That was when Mac made her move. She slipped out between them.
Behind her she heard: "You are picking her up at 7 and the reservations are at 7:30 at Black's Bar and Kitchen. Don't miss the oyster bar."
"I thought I was meeting you there," Harm protested.
"Varese got a gig," Turner stated easily. "It will just be the two of you. Don't want to be a third wheel."
Mac slipped into her office and closed the door. She didn't notice that Harm was seeking her out but got caught by the admiral before he had a chance to get to her office. She also didn't notice the look exchanged between Turner and Harriet. If she had, she would have suspected something was up.
X X X X X X
Mac sat with William Makepeace Baltimore (his friends called him Lord) at a little bistro in Georgetown. He was a DC police detective that she had met a week or so ago when she was investigating a case. He was her age, handsome, funny, kind, polite and a very good conversationalist. He was also an ex-marine and a semi-pro kick boxer. He didn't drink, smoke or bite his nails. He had never been married but wasn't against the idea, he hadn't found the right woman. He was at a point in his life where dating and serial monogamy were becoming distasteful. He was looking to settle down, start a family – make a commitment. He was quite literally the man Mac had been looking for.
Mac had learned all of that over dinner just that night. He had asked her for a date when the case was over, but she had turned him down. For some reason he was coming back to JAG often after the case was over. He said that Harriet had more paper work for him. Anyway, he asked her two more times before she finally accepted. That was the day that Harm returned from the Seahawk.
Mac had been a little distracted through dinner and it did not go unnoticed. She forced her self to accept his invitation for coffee and dessert. She would have preferred to have gone home and waited up.
She looked out the window of the bistro and saw Harm and his date strolling toward the door. The woman was tall, blonde and very well endowed. She had her arm though Harm's and was leaning in laughing at something. Harm seemed amused. They entered and asked for a table.
With a quick turn of the head Harm and Mac's eyes locked. There was no way to get out of the situation. The hostess was walking them right by the table.
"Hi," Harm said quietly to her.
"Hi," she responded.
They both realized at the same time that they were with other people and that explanations and introductions were in order. It wasn't either Harm or Mac but it was decided that the four should have coffee and dessert together.
An amazing amount of small talk ensued. Tessa was an artist and graphic designer. She loved to fly and was looking forward to moving to DC. She was born and raised in California, but felt that the east coast was a better fit for her. Being an artist she admired and respected the discipline it takes to be in the military (though she herself would not have made a good soldier, sailor or marine), and while her politics were not the same as the current administration and she wasn't for the war, she knew enough to know that she didn't have all the information and trusted that responsible decisions were being made by the people she elected. She was very engaging and was as interested in Lord and Mac as she was in Harm.
The conversation soon turned to relationships and dating.
Lord started by saying that he didn't feel that dating was the best way to get to know someone. "On a date you are always on your best behavior," he laughed. "How can anyone get to know anyone else if they are always putting on a Sunday face?"
"How do you suggest that people get to know each other?" Tessa asked a little suggestively.
"I think working together is the best way to get a real feel for the other person," he submitted. "You get to see someone at their best, at their worst, you know their work habits and if you don't like them, nothing is lost."
"How do work habits let you know about whether or not someone is a good match?"
"How they treat their coworkers or the people they meet and how they handle the responsibility of the job are both indications on how they will be in a relationship," he laughed. "I am talking about a committed relationship, not just some affair where the parties are only interested in one thing."
Tessa laughed too. "And that one thing would be?" she goaded him.
"Sex," Lord said easily.
"You think sex is bad for a relationship?" she pushed. "Or unimportant?"
He smiled. "I didn't say that at all … I like sex," he blushed a little and glanced toward Mac. "But great sex is not all it takes for a relationship …it has to have love and honor and ---."
"Respect," Harm added.
"Exactly … respect." Lord finished. "If you don't respect your partner – be she a lover or a wife – there is nothing for it."
Harm posed a question. "Don't you think working with your lover or your wife can lead to complications both professional and personal?"
"I think that depends on the couple, the nature of the relationship and the profession," he equivocated.
Harm hated debating with people who wouldn't take a side.
Mac spoke up. "What if you have all those things … honor, respect and sex … and yet there is still no relationship – or not one to speak of?"
"What do you mean by 'no relationship'?" Lord asked.
Before Mac could answer Tessa asked, "Is there a desire for a relationship?"
"Maybe," Mac answered cryptically and then shrugged. "Maybe not … probably not."
"You didn't mention love, Mac," Lord pressed.
"Love is a nebulous thing," she explained. "It ebbs and flows. You can both love and hate someone at the same time. But there is no way you can respect and disrespect someone at the same time."
"I can't agree with that," Harm stated under his breath but Mac heard him.
"It's a matter of degrees and timing," Lord supposed ignoring Harm's comment. "Maybe the love, honor and respect are more on one side than the other as any given point in time."
"So after if it has been years of this ebbing and flowing," he stole a glace at Mac. "You would have to believe that the 'relationship' is doomed," Harm submitted.
"I wouldn't say doomed … I would say … and I know this is cliché … but a relationship of any kind is a two way street and the parties involved need to be traveling the same speed."
Harm laughed. "Very cliché … but what if only one of the parties has set the speed… to extend your metaphor. What if changing speeds is required to push the relationship along and switching gears - if you will - is not an option? Should one other party just pull over and stop? Or should he keep going hoping that it will change? Or should he risk forcing the speed to change; taking the risk of crashing into a brick wall?"
Both Tessa and Lord shared a look. Tessa answered. "Are you speaking from experience?"
"Just supposing," he said quickly making sure not to look at Mac.
"The real issue is …" Mac stated. "Not the speed, but the direction. Maybe the relationship is as a result of a head on collision … on your two way street? And is the best that can be hoped for are that the airbags deployed and everyone got out alive?"
Tessa laughed nervously. "We have beaten this metaphor to death."
"Anyone for more speed?" the waitress laughed nervously when she was met with four blank stares. "It's what we call coffee here."