Title: We've Got Tonight

Summary: The coin toss never happens, and Harm and Mac go their separate ways. But they run into one another over the years and find the spark is still there.

Part Eight

February 2011

London, United Kingdom

Home. Finally. I unlock my door and drop my duffel bag and kick it just enough that I'm able to shut my front door. I am so unbelievably tired of this job. I'm tired of this job; I'm tired of the constant travel, and I'm tired of being so far away from everyone I love.

Especially Mac.

I don't regret our decision to have whatever we can have – our decision to be exclusive, but I miss her and everything about her, and I'm so goddamned lonely I can barely stand it. I was alone ninety percent of the time before Thanksgiving, but that weekend made me want more. I stand by our decision – a little of her is better than a lot of everything else – but that weekend made me see how good we could have been if things had been different. Spending the past three months apart with that knowledge has been a hard pill to swallow.

I knew this would be a challenge. We both have important careers and busy lives, but I didn't think it would be this hard to get time together. Christmas and New Year's Eve didn't happen since I was in Germany. We had talked about a visit over the long weekend for the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday, but my commanding officer had a family emergency, and I was left in charge and unable to take leave. I know she was disappointed, but she claimed to understand. I hoped to make it up to her with a visit over Valentine's Day weekend, but then she told me that the local branch of the Boys/Girls Club she was volunteering with was taking a large group of girls on a camping trip.

So, here we are. Three months since I've seen her or touched her or kissed her or made her come with anything other than hushed dirty words.

I step over the bag, wander towards the bar cart by the fireplace, and grab a bottle of gin. I've never been much of a fan of clear liquors, but I must admit that a gin and tonic has become my drink of choice since I've been here. I fill a glass with the gin, some tonic, and ice, head back to the living room, and slump onto the couch.

As much as I miss Mac, I know missing her isn't the sole cause of my shitty mood - my job is. And it's not just the seemingly constant travel or the distance from everyone in this world that I love. I just don't like the job. People always told me I was being groomed for Admiral Chegwidden's chair, and I believed them. At least, I did until Singer's murder and then my resignation. I shake my head and take a sip of the drink. I can't go down that particular rabbit hole tonight, and I push any thoughts of Paraguay from my mind. Once upon a time, I liked the idea of one day being the JAG, and I thought I could see myself in the role. But I feel like I've changed since I've been here, and I can't see it anymore. And even if I could, I don't think I want it. I still love the Navy, but considering how much I hate my current role, I now know that being the JAG would be a terrible fit.

I'm just not cut out for it. I like to be where the action is. I want to mentor and shape young officers. I like having an active role, and my current role is anything but. I no longer feel like a Naval officer, a pilot, or a lawyer. I feel like an administrator, and I absolutely despise it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take another sip of my drink before setting it on the end table and pulling out my phone. The screen is lit up with Mac's photo and text:

Hey handsome - pretty sure you said you were getting back from Italy tonight. Call me when you can.

I scroll through our text conversation for a moment, marveling at how much easier long-distance relationships are with modern technology. She's better at selfies and texting than I am – she calls me a Luddite at least once a week. I may not send photos as often as she does, but I love the ones she sends me.

I click on her photo and then her number and hit the speaker phone button. She sounds harried when she finally picks up, and I frown while I mentally calculate the time difference. "Hey," I say when she picks up. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, why?"

"You sound…" I frown and try to pick the right word. "I don't know, you sound strange."

"I'm fine," she says. "I'm at the mall on a Saturday. And you'd think it was the day before Christmas with how packed this place is."

"Ah," I say. "Want me to let you go? I was just calling to let you know I'm home."

She makes an 'oof' sound and I hear her mutter apologies to the person she obviously just ran into. "No, but hold on one second." I sip my drink and wait patiently while she makes a purchase, and thanks the cashier. "I'm back," she says. "Sorry about that. Jen is having a baby shower tomorrow, and I finally found the time to enter the eighth circle of hell to buy a gift."

I laugh and feel myself begin to relax. "I thought you liked shopping."

"I do," she said. "I like boutiques. Coming to a mall that is probably bigger than the entire base makes my head want to explode."

I think about the weekend she spent here and the shops we wandered in and out of on that Saturday afternoon. She had no desire to go into Harrods or any of the big stores, and it was a much more relaxing outing than all the times Renee drug me through Neiman Marcus of Bloomingdales. "What'd you get?"

"Some kind of baby-wearing thing that honestly looks way too complicated, and baby monitors."

I think of her walking through baby stores alone, and it makes me sad. I hate that she'll never get to experience being pregnant or having her friends throw her a baby shower, and for the fifteenth millionth time, I wish I was with her. And I really wish I could have kept my promise and given her the baby she wanted. I imagine she doesn't want to talk about this while she's walking through a busy mall, so I shake my head and close my eyes. "We should have gone in on a gift together," I say. She doesn't say anything, and I pull the phone back to see if we've been disconnected. I see the timer is still going and frown. "Mac? You there?"

"I'm here," she says, and she sounds strange again. "I – I haven't told Jen about us."

That's surprising, and I frown. I figured Jen knew. I mean, I've called the office a few times, and even though Jen is her subordinate, I know they're friends. "Oh," I finally manage. "Is there a reason you haven't told her?"

"It's none of her business," Mac says and sighs. "I'm just trying to keep my personal life out of the office this time around."

That comment hurts more than it should, especially since my coworkers know about her and have met her. "Oh," I say again, feeling stupid by my lack of eloquence. "Should I not have told my coworkers about you?"

"Harm, it's different," she says, and I frown.

"How is it different? I brought you to my commander's home for Thanksgiving, and you haven't even told someone you work closely with that we're together." I take another sip of my drink and then push it away.

"It's different because it's Jen," she says softly. "She knows you and likes you, and honestly, she had a crush on you when we first met her. But she was there for so much of the bad stuff. Plus, she's my subordinate. It's not like I can confide in her about my love life. Do you think the Admiral ever did that with Tiner? Hell, remember how mad he was that time you and Sturgis and I tried to fix him up?"

I can't help but laugh at the memory of my disastrous attempt to set him up with Captain Fryar and Sturgis' attempt with the blonde architect. Mac was the only one who was smooth enough to be successful. "You have a point," I concede.

"I'm not hiding you, Harm," she says, and her voice sounds lighter. "I'm just trying to be appropriate."

"I understand," I say. And I do. I've never worried about keeping people at a distance, but her experiences are different from mine, and I know I shouldn't be offended.

"Good," she says. And then I hear car doors open and close, and then there's no background noise. "Finally, quiet," she says. "Now I feel like I can actually talk to you. How was your trip?'

"Long," I say. "It's good to be back."

"I bet," she says. "Take advantage of that glorious tub in your bathroom for me."

I bite back a groan as I think of her in that tub. "I'll see what I can do." She laughs, and I smile.

"So, when will I see you again," she says. "I know it's your turn to come out here, but I don't mind coming there if it's more convenient."

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I knew it would be hard to get time together, but I have to admit I didn't think it would be this hard."

She doesn't say anything, but I can hear her breathing, so I know she's still there. "Do you regret this; us," she finally asks.

"Of course not," I say. "I just miss you."

"I miss you, too," she says, and the tone of her voice makes me ache. "I was hoping I'd see you for my birthday."

Her birthday is just over a week away, and I wince. I requested leave but haven't gotten it approved yet. I haven't mentioned it to her since I didn't want to get her hopes up, only to dash them again. "I know, baby," I say. "I wanted that too."


We talk for a little longer, but then she needs to get home and get ready for dinner with some of her girlfriends – who do know about us, she assures me. We hang up; I put my empty glass into the dishwasher and head upstairs with my suitcase.

As I go through the motions of dumping my laundry into the washing machine and taking a shower, I think about how much I miss my old life. Not just her and JAG and my friends there, even though I miss that so much, it nearly hurts. I miss the camaraderie of being part of a team. Even though I was a higher-ranking team member, I was still part of the team.

I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to push papers and attend conferences. I need a more active role. The problem is, I won't have that in this job. I'm at a point in my career where the more I promote, the more mind-numbing the job will become, and I don't know how much longer I can do this.

Maybe I should have given up my commission six years ago and followed Mac to San Diego. But even before I can allow myself to think about what a life with her full-time would be like, I know it wouldn't work. I love her, but I love the Navy too. And I need the Navy and the sense of purpose that comes with it even more than I need her.

I pull back the duvet and crawl into bed, but instead of turning off the light and settling in, I stare up at the ceiling. I need to figure out what I want because I know I don't want this. I don't have to live like this because I'm fortunate enough to have options. I have connections at Annapolis – maybe I could teach. Teaching sounds a little boring, but at least I would be working with people and shaping young officers. Or – or perhaps I could try to get back to a carrier. And that doesn't sound boring. The thought of that gives me a rush I haven't experienced in too long. I know my time as a pilot is long gone, but I wouldn't be trying to recapture my youth this time. This time it would be different. This time it could be exactly what I need.

End Part Eight