Since I received some wonderful reviews for my first story, I felt inspired and decided to have another go at it. I also need the retreat, as I am in a severe hating-all-schoolwork phase!

Fluffy is what I do best right now, so here's the next shot! It's probably not a very surprising storyline, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyways.

A/N: This is my take on our favorite scene in Webb of Lies. (If you don't already, you'll know right away what scene I'm referring to, and if you don't know the ep, then a) you should see it and b) don't worry, the story will be just as understandable.)

A/N: Intended as a one-shot... but you'll never know... smile

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, 'cause I surely would not have treated them as badly as the writers did!

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Once Upon a Chilly Night

She wasn't surprised that she couldn't fall asleep, so she had sat back up on the couch and wrapped the woolen blanket tighter around herself in an effort to disperse the chills that shuddered through her. She tried to arrange her thoughts, but her brain was a mess. Yes, she was upset about Webb's death, but her past was making an appearance as well. Usually she could keep it all under wraps, believing that if she simply did not think about it, it would not be an issue. A therapist would probably tell her that she was repressing her feelings, but she filed it away under 'self-preservation'. Yet in times of turmoil, it all just bubbled up, unstoppable and overwhelming.

It was so quiet in the apartment that she could detect his regular breathing. Somehow, it was a comforting feeling to be up in the middle of the night and not find yourself alone. She started concentrating on the rhythmic sound, and it began having a peculiar effect on her. Gradually, she felt herself getting calmer inside, and at the same time, in search of an outlet, all her pent-up emotions crept out. The tears started flowing freely, and she felt unable to stop them. Annoyed with herself for letting her emotions get the upper hand, she rose from the couch and tip-toed over to the window. There she remained, trying to take deep breaths, watching the rain pour down the window panes just like the tears poured down her cheeks. Another violent shiver shook her body, and the blanket experienced another brusque tug in her effort to pull it more tightly around her body. When she sharply pulled the top corners, the bottom ones whipped around her legs, and one of them smacked a small metal casket off the low end table that she stood next to. She immediately tensed up when the loud clanking of the box hitting the floor assaulted her ears and pierced the silence of the apartment.

"Mac?" questioningly floated over to her. Darn, she didn't mean to wake him.

"Sorry," she softly answered, and turned away from the window and in his direction, "I just thought I heard something, outside." She couldn't help but sniff in between her sentences, but immediately regretted it. She didn't want him to know that she was crying. "But it was nothing. Go back to sleep," she added quickly. Her gaze turned back to the window. She felt torn by the desire to have someone, him, to talk to, and her urge to keep up her tough façade. Having him in the same room yet out of reach made her comprehend how painfully lonely she felt. Before she could stop herself, she spoke up again.

"Is it always this cold in here?" It was the first thought that tumbled out of her mouth, although she was fully aware that the cold she felt had nothing to do with the room temperature.

"Do you want me to turn the heat up?"

"Yeah, maybe a little." She sniffled again. She felt silly, yet at the same time strangely relieved as, from the corner of her eye, she saw him swinging his legs out of bed.

Still a bit drowsy, he made his way over to the front door where the thermostat was located. While walking, his eyes remained on her, taking in her presence. The closer he came, the more noticeable was the state she was in. She was clutching his blanket tightly, and her eyes were wide-open, staring out of the window into the rain. The eerie light that filtered in the room from outside gave her a back-lit glow that highlighted her shiny hair, the prominence of her cheek bones, the softness of her skin. Even in her disheveled state, she was beautiful. At work, he always tried his hardest to look at her as his partner, not as a woman. It seemed to be the only way for him to keep the attraction that he felt for her under wraps. Yet here she was, in his living room, wearing one of his Navy sweatshirts, and looking in desperate need of a hug, of someone to take all her worries away.

After having set the temperature higher, he took a few tentative steps closer to her. He could see the wet streaks down her cheeks and felt utterly helpless. What he wanted to do was wrap her into a tight bear hug so she could just let go and hold on. But that would have been inappropriate.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked instead.

'Yes,' it ran through her head, 'I want to talk and be held and be told that everything will be alright,' but instead of issuing these thoughts, she just shook her head, sniffing some more.

"Alright," he answered, then reluctantly turned around.

Why had she said no? 'Don't go away,' she was crying inside her head, 'don't leave me.' She needed to say something, anything.

"I expected there to be death when I joined the Marines. Not when I joined JAG, not like this," she blurted out. That was really the crux of things with her, wasn't it? Maybe she was cursed. Death seemed to be at her heels all the time. Maybe she should just keep her distance from people. She kept her eyes trained on the window, but there was no more stopping the crying.

"It's like everyone around me keeps dying!" she admitted, dropping her head.

At this, he swiftly turned back towards her, and with a few quick steps had reached her, only stopping when he was right in front of her. She couldn't possibly believe that she was at fault!

"Hey, you had nothing to do with this," he uttered, trying to give his voice a forceful undertone, willing her to grasp their meaning. It finally made her look up at him, her amazing eyes, unguarded for once, broadcasting all she was feeling at that very moment, sadness, fear, confusion, loneliness.

"No?" she questioned. "Dalton would still be alive if he hadn't been involved with me. My ex-husband wouldn't have died if he hadn't come back to see me." She wanted to continue but she just couldn't admit that her biggest fear was because of him. 'Now you are in danger as well, Harm, and I am so afraid that something might happen to you and I don't think I could survive losing you!' But of course, she could not voice those fears out loud. That would have been inappropriate.

"You don't know that," he pronounced, "and you certainly had nothing to do with Webb."

She couldn't look at him anymore; all she could do was cry, so she dropped her head again, trying to regain her composure. This was not at all the behavior a marine should show.

"Look at me, I'm crying like a big baby. No wonder they don't want women in combat," she sarcastically added, giving him a slightly embarrassed sideward glance.

At this, he had come closer. "Hey, men cry in combat all the time," he said, his sweet smile and slight chuckle accentuating the tenderness he poured into the statement, "they just don't admit it."

At that, she felt his warm, dry palm on her cheek, softly running his thumb along her cheek bone, wiping away her tears. His touch was electrifying; every spot of her skin that came in contact with his fingertips started tingling. Only now did she become fully aware that he was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts. Looking up at his naked chest made her limbs go weak; it took all of her self-control to hide the fact that she had trouble holding herself upright. She leaned her cheek into his touches, while simultaneously bringing her hands up to encircle his forearm, as much to steady herself as to keep him in that position. She did not want him to let go, ever. That was the moment when realization hit her. She loved him. She was in love with him. Finally the feeling that had crept into her in the White House Rose Garden and manifested itself during the situation with the stalker had a name. He had always been there for her, a strong and calming presence.

So she held on to his arm, stroking her hands up and down, enjoying the raspy feeling of his hair under her palms. Suddenly, her worries ceased to matter and all that was left in her conscious thoughts was him. The intensity of the moment, of feeling him threatened to overwhelm her. She needed to react before she completely lost control.

"Hey, go on. Go back to bed. I'm supposed to be here watching out for you, remember?"

"Yeah, right, I almost forgot. Good night, Ninja girl."

"Good Night."

Yet belying both their statements, they had remained in the same exact position. Neither of them was moving. His hand was still stroking her face, and her hands were still holding onto his forearm. He was reluctant to follow her request as he somehow sensed that she wasn't yet ready. Instead he moved first to take another step closer to her. He raised his right hand, initially to stroke over her hair, then to swipe a few strands of it off her forehead, until he settled it in the same position as his other hand, holding her other cheek and swiping away her tears with his thumbs. His fingers could reach her ears, so he softly began outlining their rims with his index fingers. His eyes held her transfixed as he was trying to give her whatever she seemed to need at the moment. He tried hard to keep his own emotions at bay; she needed comfort and he was not even allowing himself to consider that he was more to her than her best friend whom she could rely on in times of need. Yet there was no belying the fact that their position was an immensely intimate one. He was acutely aware of only wearing his boxer shorts, thus he was practically naked and almost in her arms.

She was debating with herself. She knew what she wanted, but would she be brave enough to go through with it? He had her head cradled between his hands, and it would take all but half a step for her to be wrapped in his strong and comforting embrace. There was no knowing whether he was feeling even remotely the same way. But wasn't the fact that he was still standing here instead of being back in bed a good sign?

Looking back, in all her previous relationships, she had always felt pressured to some extent, and only in hindsight had she been able to truly grasp how she had been forced to make certain decisions that she had not been ready to make at the time, hence many had turned out wrong.

Yet at this very moment, she felt in control. She felt that he was there for her in every which way, yet he did not expect anything, did not force her in any direction, and just gave her the comfort he thought she needed. It was her that recognized that she wanted so much more, and it was up to her to make the decision.

They had been routed immovably to the spot for what seemed like infinity, their eyes somewhat wondrously looking at each other, the only movement being his hands softly attending to her face, when he became aware of her moving. He held his breath as she, almost undiscernibly, brought their bodies closer together. While she never broke eye contact, she shuffled her feet forward, an inch at a time, nearer and nearer until they started touching, first at their thighs, then their hips. Upon the first contact with hers, his body violently reacted, desire running through him, desire for this remarkable woman that he had admired for so long. He could never even recall since when he had wanted her to be more to him than only a friend. Yet their first kiss definitely had something to do with it, that time at the dock when she was wearing the Navy uniform. The striking similarity had once again boggled his mind, but the moment their lips had touched, he had known. It had felt like a beginning, soft and sweet, innocent and promising. Thinking back upon that kiss now made him want to claim her lips again, but he felt that he should let her lead the way to wherever this was going.

While they were now joined up to midriff, she kept her upper body angled backwards, still holding onto his forearm, which had become the only means by which she could hold herself upright. Another 36 seconds ticked by in which she remained motionless again, reveling in the anticipation of the kiss that would now be happening. 'Now or never,' she thought to herself while she slowly but surely advanced towards him. Her eyes left his to travel south and gaze at his lips. Closer and closer she moved, she could already feel his breath, and then she finally touched her lips to his.

Their first contact was earth-shattering and spurred their simultaneous movements. She let go of her grip on his forearm and brought both her arms around his neck, twirling her fingers into his hair, while he slipped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, pulling her so close that not even a sheet of paper would have fit between their bodies. She continued kissing him, slowly and deliberately, her tongue sliding over his lips begging for entrance. When he admitted her, she reveled in his taste, his feel; everything about him was intoxicating. They discovered each other in a kiss that was tender, comforting, and full of promise.

Suddenly she pulled away. The unexpected movement and the loss of her body almost made him stumble, and he could only look at her, trying to decipher why she had broken their bond.

Her eyes serious, she returned the look. "Do you mind if I strip it down?"

He was so dazed by her statement that no answer made its way out of his mouth. He watched as she, continually holding his eyes captive in hers, took hold of the hem of her sweatshirt and slowly pulled it off over her head.

After she had taken the initiative, he swept her into his arms and carried her over to his bedroom. She had always found this rather cheesy in movies, yet now she could only sigh happily and sag against his strong frame. Carefully laying her down on his bed, he gazed deeply into her eyes, as if asking her whether she was sure. Seeing no objection there, he slowly undressed her.

Her beauty was breathtaking, and he was almost intimidated by the fact that she gave herself to him this uninhibitedly. On her right thigh, he could make out the faint scar that remained from their encounter with the poachers. With his index finger, he traced along the scar, and from there made his way up along her body. He could see her breath catching and her body squirming under his touch. He aligned himself with her and gently laid both her arms over her head, giving himself unobstructed access to her body. Every inch of her skin was given ample attention by his agile fingers and caressing mouth, until she felt like she was going up in flames. When she couldn't hold out any longer, she brought one arm around his neck and pulled him closer to her to claim his mouth in an intense kiss, whereas her other hand freely roamed his chest. While their eyes connected, he slowly entered her. And when they were gasping, dying together, it was the beginning they had both been waiting for their whole lives.

Later that night, she was cradled around his body, her cheek resting on top of his chest and her arms loosely draped around him on either side. The chills had dispersed and finally, she was sleeping peacefully.

When Harm woke up the next morning, Sarah was gone.

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A/N: Originally, this wasintended as a one-shot… but while writinga couple of ideas have crept into my head and I might continue this… Basically, it's up to you guys, so let me know what you think, is it worth carrying on?