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.

Notes: Everything I know about the (real) Navy comes from Google, Reddit, and a friend from my old apartment complex. I'm sure a lot of what I learned is inaccurate or may be different than it was in 2011. But for the sake of this story, let's pretend that Carrier deployments are anywhere from 6-9 months and occur every 18-24 months (per Google). And yes, I know an XO position still has administrative responsibilities. Much as he tries, Harm will never completely escape paperwork.

Part Ten

February 2011

San Diego

I'm unsure how long I stand in my kitchen and stare at the door. I can't wrap my head around what just happened. And how fast it all happened. One minute I was undressing, and the next, we were breaking up, and he was gone.

I think we broke up. Was that a breakup? I honestly don't even know.

There's a beeping coming from inside my apartment, and the noise is enough to pull my attention from the closed front door. I look around and realize it's coming from the kitchen, and I remember that Harm had been making me dinner. Braised short ribs, he said, and I slowly head into the kitchen to turn off the stove. The food smells fantastic, but I can't bring myself to eat this dinner alone, and I leave the pot in the oven and pick up a phone to order a pizza.

Twenty minutes till pizza. I set the phone down and close my eyes, trying to think about anything other than what just happened. I run my hands over my legs and frown when I feel coarse fabric. I look down, and I'm surprised to see I'm still in most of my uniform. I finish unbuttoning my top as I head back to the bedroom and toss it in the hamper. The skirt and stockings join it, and I pull on a pair of black leggings and an oversized OCS t-shirt that's seen better days. I start pulling pins out of my braided bun, and, like I do every single day, I take a moment to miss how easy my short hair was. But when I run my fingers through my hair, separating the braid into loose waves, I remember how good it felt when Harm would run his hands through my hair. I think he likes it long, and I feel an ache in my chest.

There's a knock on the door, and I pause and glance at the clock on the bedside table. Has it really been twenty minutes already? And now, in addition to the (maybe) breaking up and the (definitely) storming off, I find I'm mad at him for throwing off my internal clock. Men never throw off that clock, and I'm fucking annoyed that he has that kind of power over me. I grab my purse, pull a few bills out, and open the door.

It's not my pizza, however. It's Harm. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes fall on the money in my hands, and he frowns.

"I thought you were my pizza," I explain.

"I made you dinner," he says.

I roll my eyes and turn away from him. "Sorry if the idea of eating your dinner alone didn't appeal to me." I drop the cash on the table and turn back to Harm. He's still standing at the threshold, and I cross my arms over my chest. "Are you coming in?"

"Do you want me to come in?"

I shrug, and he frowns. "Do what you want, Harm. You always do." He sighs but seems to ignore the dig and steps into the apartment. He pushes the door shut and moves past me to the stove. I watch as he grabs two potholders, pulls the pot out of the oven, and sets it on the stovetop. "Did you come back over just to take care of the food?"

Now it's his turn to roll his eyes. "Mac, come on." We stare at each other for a moment, then he sighs again and shakes his head. "I'm sorry." I stay silent, and he sets the potholders aside and comes closer. "I'm sorry I left like I did, and I'm sorry for just dropping the news on you like that. I didn't mean for it to happen like that."

His sincerity weakens my defenses a little bit, and I nod. "It's not your fault," I say. "I had a feeling there was something you weren't telling me, and I pushed."

He smiles and reaches for me. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, and his fingertips linger on my jaw. "You know me really well, Mac. You know me better than anyone."

I nod, and for a moment, I allow myself to be captivated by his delicate touch and his beautiful eyes. Then, when he looks as if he's going to kiss me, I take a step back and break the spell. "I need to tell you something," I say. He nods, and I take a deep breath. "I wasn't exaggerating or being dramatic when I said I didn't know if I could do this. Harm, I know we agreed to have whatever we could have. But it's been three months, and we've had one weekend together. And I was hoping – I was hoping that since you were so unhappy with the job, you'd eventually get tired of it and just retire." He raises an eyebrow, and I swallow. "I kept telling myself that you'd retire and come to San Diego, and we'd finally have a life together."

He sighs and turns away from me. I watch as he straightens magnets on my fridge and sets an unused lemon into my fruit bowl—that poor lemon. I'm sure Harm had plans for it in a vinaigrette or something healthy. Now it'll probably sit there long enough that it'll shrivel and eventually mold.

"This is why it took us so long to try, Mac." He turns back to me, and I can tell from his face that he's hurting as much as I am. "Neither of us wanted to sacrifice our careers, so we stayed apart."

"We're trying now," I argue. "Or at least we were."

"I know. But you just said you hoped I would say 'fuck it' and retire. Let's pretend tonight never happened, and I planned on staying exactly where I'm at. How long would you be able to keep this up?"

I shrug because I don't know. I've meant everything I've ever said to him. I meant it when I said a little of him is better than a lot of anyone else, and I meant it when I told him I didn't know why we were putting ourselves through all of this. I meant it when I told him I loved him, and I meant it when I told him I didn't want to have a baby with anyone else. Everything we've said and done since that night in Boston is swirling around in my head, and I realize that, once again, we're back at the beginning. We're on the same precipice as our last night in DC.

"I don't know," I finally say.

He nods and opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by a knock at the door.

"That's probably my pizza," I say.

"Yeah, probably."

I pick up the cash and move past him to open the front door. The young man holding my rebound dinner smiles widely, and I take the pizza with one hand and hand him the bills with the other. "Keep the change," I say.

"Hey, thanks!" He shoves the money in his pocket and turns to leave, and I push the door shut and set the pizza on the counter. It smells good, but I don't think I can eat this either.

I look up at Harm, and I absolutely hate what I'm about to say, but I know that I need to say it. "I'd like you to go," I say softly. His eyes go wide, and I bite down on my bottom lip. "Not for good. We can talk more later if you want. But right now, we're going round and round, and we're getting absolutely nowhere."

"I want to get… somewhere," he says.

I want that too. I want to start the whole night over. I want to come home; I want him to undress me and make love to me. I want to have the dinner he's made, and then I want to spend however long he's here for in his arms.

"I know," I say. "But… I need space. We've both pushed each other in the past and ended up pushing each other away." I look up at him and take a few deep breaths to steady myself. "I don't want that to happen. I want to think about everything, and I don't want either of us to say something we can't take back."

His jaw is clenched, and I know he wants to argue with me. And I'm surprised when he relaxes and nods. "Okay," he says quietly, and then he glances at my bedroom. "I need to get my bag." I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to comfort myself while he gets his things. He returns a minute later with his leather duffel slung over his shoulder and hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. "I guess I'll be at Mom & Franks."

"When do you go back to London?"

"Monday."

I nod. "I'll call you," I promise. "I just need to think."

He turns the knob and then stops and turns to me. He walks to me, and before I can say anything, he places a hand on the curve of my waist and leans in for a gentle kiss. "I love you."

I let out a shaky breath and nod. I know he does, and I love him, and that's the hardest part. How can two people who feel this much for each other not be able to get their shit together? "I love you, too."


I barely slept that night. My thoughts are so full of Harm and the possibility of a future with or without him.

The list of reasons we shouldn't do this - shouldn't go any further - is long: I don't want us to be apart for nearly a year at a time. I've never wanted to be the woman standing at a dock, watching her man sail away while waving a tiny American flag. I don't want to lose him. If I'm being honest with myself, I think that's what I'm most afraid of. His family doesn't have the best record, and even though he wouldn't be a pilot anymore, the man is still a magnet for trouble. I imagine it would only be a matter of time before I get a call saying he's in critical condition at a hospital in Germany. Or worse.

But I can't forget about the reasons we should do this - keep doing this. And the biggest one is that we do love each other. I love him in a way I've never loved anyone else, and I know in my soul that he feels the same.

I know if I keep laying here and thinking, I'll go insane, so I toss the covers back and roll out of bed. I shower, brush my teeth, pull on jeans and a lightweight sweater, and head out for a walk.

Of course, everything I see makes me think of Harm, but I come to a screeching halt when I pass a small restaurant specializing in Paraguayan food. The scents take me back to that miserable night all those years ago and the conversation we had standing by the taxi.

"Things are never going to work out between us."

"Why not?"

"Because we both want to be on top. And that's physically and emotionally impossible."

I don't know what I meant, then. I don't know why I said it. I don't understand why one of us couldn't stop what was happening and say, 'let's take turns. Or, 'I don't need to be on top all the time'. Or, 'you mean more to me than winning'. Why have we always been so goddamned unwilling to compromise or meet each other halfway? Instead, we get scared; we shut down, and push the other person out of our life.

And I don't want him out of my life. I want as much of him as I can have.

I need to talk to him.

I turn around and head back to my apartment and my car. I look up a listing for Frank Burnett in La Jolla and plug the address into my GPS.

Their home isn't far, and I pull into the driveway of the house I've been to once before and turn off the ignition. I pick up my purse, but then I go still. I don't know how to do this - how to be this vulnerable with him. I stay in the car for a bit longer, trying to work out exactly what I'll say. But then there's a knock at the window, and all my practiced thoughts scatter. My cheeks heat as I roll down the window and offer Frank Burnett a nervous smile.

He raises an eyebrow, but his grin is genuine, and he leans in. "Everything okay?"

I nod. "Yeah. I'm here to see Harm."

"I figured." He winks, and I relax a bit. I unbuckle the seatbelt, and he opens the door for me. "We were both fairly surprised when he knocked on our door last night." My blush deepens, and he places a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "Relax, Mac. Trish and I are on your side. Come on in." He holds the door open; I step out of the car and follow him inside. Trish looks up from her book when we step inside, and her eyes immediately widen.

"Mac," she says and quickly stands. She walks over to me and surprises me by wrapping her arms around me in a firm hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to talk to Harm," I say.

"Of course," she says. "He's right-"

"Here." We all turn to look at the figure at the top of the stairs, and I step away from Trish. "Hey," he says, looking directly at me.

"Hi." Everyone is quiet as he comes downstairs, and the awkwardness of this moment is almost unbearable. "Can we talk?"

He nods, and we pretend not to notice Frank and Trish silently leaving the room. "Want to take a walk?" I nod, and he looks toward his parents. "We're going to take a walk," he calls out. He starts to rest his hand on the small of my back but then thinks better of it, and his hand falls to his side. "This way," he says, and I follow him to the kitchen and out the French doors.

There are about a million steps down to the beach, and we're silent as we slip off our shoes, roll up our jeans and start walking. We're both waiting for the other to go first, but after a few minutes of silence, I can't take it anymore and stop walking. "I'm sorry," I say.

He stops and turns to me. "What are you sorry for?"

I swallow and shove my hands in my back pockets. "I feel like I was a little unreasonable. For months I've been holding on to hope that you'd give up the Navy, and I got so upset that you weren't willing to." I lick my lips and shake my head. "But I don't have any right to be mad when I'm still unwilling to give up my career for you."

"I'm not asking you to," he says.

I nod. "I know. But even if you did, I wouldn't be able to do it." He nods and starts walking again, and I hurry to follow him. We fall into a comfortable step, and I take a deep breath of the salty air. "The Marine Corps isn't just a job to me," I say. "It saved me. Without the structure of the Corps, I'd probably be dead or drunk right now. It gave me purpose and a future; more than that, I love what I do. I don't want to walk away from it, not yet." I place a hand on his arm, and we stop again. "And I know it's for different reasons, but I know you feel the same about the Navy."

He sighs and covers my hand with his. "I'm glad you get it, but what does all of this mean for us?"

I shake my head and bite my lower lip. "I honestly don't know," I say.

"Mac," he starts, and I throw up my hands.

"I'm not being difficult or stubborn, Harm. I don't know. I don't know if I can handle the anxiety of you being on a carrier. I don't know if I want to be away from you for six months, nine months, or maybe even a year. But I know I don't want you to give something you love so much for me."

"You've never asked me to give up anything for you."

"I know," I say. "And I never will. I did a lot of thinking last night, and I realized that if you ever sacrificed something that important to you for me, we wouldn't work. You'd come to resent me. Maybe not right away, but at some point, you'd realize you gave up a huge part of yourself to make me happy, and you'd resent me." He doesn't say anything, and I know he knows I'm right.

He turns to face me, and I'm surprised by how much emotion is on his perfect face. This is a man who has always kept his feelings hidden, and it's incredible to see so much hope in his eyes and worry etched in the lines of his face. "I'm asking you again, Mac, what does all of this mean for us?"

"My answer hasn't changed in the past five minutes," I say, and his eyes narrow. "I still don't know."

He reaches for me, and I willingly go to him. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close, and then lifts me enough that our faces are level. He kisses me, and it's such a good kiss. When he sets me back down, he takes a step back and places his arms on my shoulders. "Give it a chance, Mac. Give me one tour."

"Harm," I start, but he shakes his head.

"No, you've had your chance. Now it's my turn." I press my lips together, and he smiles. "One tour. One tour to see if this is something we can deal with." A gust of wind sends my hair flying, and he smiles as he smooths it down and brushes a strand off my face. "A typical deployment is six months. It's already been three since we've seen each other with the incredibly boring administrative job I have now. So, six months at sea and then at least a year on land. And I will do everything possible to get assigned to a carrier in San Diego."

I feel a rush at the thought of him here – in this place I've grown to love so much. I look up at him with wide eyes, and he bends to give me another kiss. "One tour, Mac. Please give me that." He swallows and takes a breath. "And if you're miserable and unable to live like that, I'll give it up. I'll give up my commission and move here for you."

"No," I say quickly. "I won't ask you for that."

He shrugs. "You're not asking; I'm offering. And I'll do it." I feel like I'm on the verge of tears, and he kisses me again. "I did a lot of thinking last night, too. And I kept going back to Paraguay, and you telling me 'never.' And I realized that we're still stuck in the same patterns. We both want to be on top, and as you said, it's not emotionally or physically possible. This is my compromise. Give me this, Mac. Please. It'll work for us, or it won't. If it doesn't work, and I resign, it gives me a chance to end my career on a carrier, which is what I've always wanted."

"You can't give up the Navy for me," I say quietly. "You'd resent me."

"I wouldn't be giving it up for you, though. I'd be giving it up for us." I'm no longer on the verge of tears – they're now freely falling down my face, and my heart swells at how gently he brushes them away. "I love you, Mac. I've loved you for a very long time. I want you and the Navy. I'd like to try to have both. But if I can't, it's you. I choose you."

And I know I'll give him whatever he needs. He's loved me for a long time, but I've loved him for much longer. It's been nearly fifteen years since we first met, and I've been in love with him for almost that entire time. "Okay," I whisper. His eyes light up, and before I can say anything else, he's pulling me close and kissing me again.

End Part Ten