Stranded for Christmas
Summary: A freak snowstorm strands Harm and Mac together. (This would replace 'The 4% Solution' in the JAG timeline.)
Notes: This is my entry for the "I'd Like You For Christmas" challenge and inspired by the song "I'd Like You For Christmas."
Part Four
Christmas Eve, 2004
He's watching me, waiting for me to delve into our past one more time. I think back to the JAGathon, and the days leading up to the race. He had been a condescending asshole, and I had responded by acting like a petulant child. I had been hurt by what he had said to Sturgis, annoyed by the case, and absolutely crushed when I learned he and Renee had broken up, and he hadn't told me.
I know 'Where does that leave us?' is the question I'm supposed to ask, but the answer won't work. Our relationship has evolved since that hot, humid day in 2001. We've grown closer, and we've been torn apart. Instead, I ask a different question – one I really wanted to hear the answer to.
"Why didn't you tell me you and Renee broke up?" His eyes widen, and I shrug. "I think that's the question I'd rather get an actual answer to."
He puffs out his cheeks and slowly exhales. "It wasn't so much that I was afraid of looking foolish, but I was ashamed of how that whole thing ended. First, I cheated on her that night we kissed. And I don't know what would have happened between you and me that night her father died, but when I fantasized about that night and how it could have gone over the following days and weeks, my fantasies weren't anything Renee would have been okay with." My face reddens, and he shrugs. "I was ashamed of so much when it came to her, and then I was ashamed that I didn't get the chance to do the honorable thing and end it. She started having feelings for her ex, and she ended it with me immediately. I hated that I obviously wasn't as good of a person as she was."
He takes another breath and sits down on the edge of the couch. I want to sit next to him, but I need space for the sake of my sanity and move across the room to the fireplace. "So, you didn't tell me because you were ashamed?"
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I was ashamed, and…." He trails off, and I can hear him sigh. "And, god, I was so mad at you."
I spin around to face him, and my eyes go wide. "Mad at me?" He nods, and I frown. "Why? What did I do?"
"You blew me off on the Guadalcanal." I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up his hand. "I know you needed space, and it wasn't an appropriate place to have the conversation. But you still blew me off."
I shake my head. "No," I say, sounding much calmer than I feel. "I told you that Mic gave up his country and career to have me and asked if you were willing to give up your girlfriend." I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat. "And instead of just answering the question, you got pissy and accused me of testing you and then asked me a question. Why couldn't you answer, Harm?" My voice cracks, and he stands like he wants to come to me and comfort me, but I shake my head. "No," I say. "Why couldn't you just have answered the question? Why can't you ever answer a goddamned question." I begin to cry and bring my hands up to cover my face. I don't see him approach me, but I can feel his nearness and smell his cologne, and when he pulls me into his arms, I don't fight it.
He holds me close while I continue to cry but doesn't say anything until the sobs begin to subside. Then he bends his head, so his lips are near my ear. "I'm so sorry," he says. He takes a step back, giving us both space, and I rub my face with the back of my hand.
I step away from him, trying to calm my emotions and steady myself. "Next question?" He nods, and I swallow. I'm pretty sure I know the answer to this one, but even now, I don't know if he'll ever manage to answer it honestly. "You flew 5,000 miles and resigned your commission to find me. Why?"
He lets out a breath and looks up at the ceiling. "I knew you were in trouble, Mac. And I need to find you. I needed to make sure you were safe, to keep you safe." His eyes meet mine, and it feels like we were both holding our breaths. "I needed one more chance to fix everything that had gone wrong between us."
I'm both disappointed and relieved at his answer at the same time. I had expected him to tell me that he loved me. And as much as I've always wanted to hear those words from him, this isn't how I would choose to hear them. "But we didn't fix things," I manage to say. "Everything got worse."
"I know," he says. "And I'm sorry about that. I was just-" He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. "I was so pissed off to see you with him. You were closer to him than it seemed like you and I had ever been. And I was jealous and hurt and so damned angry."
"I wasn't with him," I repeat. "Not like that. He was just a friend, Harm." He clenches his jaw, and I lean against the wall. "That night… that night was my breaking point. God, you were so cruel." His face flushes, and I know that hurts him. "The comment about my exes was bad enough the first time you said it, and you knew how much it hurt then. You seemed ashamed of saying it the first time. But that night…." I shake my head and bite my lower lip, "you only wanted to hurt me."
"I apologized for that," he says quietly.
"It didn't matter," I say. "You knew how to hurt me, and you did it. And I even told you what I wanted. I told you that it was nice that Webb stated his intentions and followed through. And you still couldn't do it."
"I'm sorry, Mac." I know by the tone of his voice and the look in his beautiful eyes that he means it, but his remorse doesn't make it okay. I've been hurt a lot over the past few years, and the way he treated me in Paraguay comes second only to finding out that it's unlikely I'll ever have children.
"I know," I say. He nods and bites at his lower lip, and I know we're both thinking about the third question I wanted to ask him. I don't want to ask it anymore. I don't want to open yet another can of worms, and I don't know if my heart can take another break. "Final question?" He nods, and I watch him for a moment before opening my mouth. "If you've wanted me over the years, why have you always pushed me away?"
He settles on the arm of the couch and fidgets with the band of his watch for a moment before turning his attention to me. "You're forever, Mac." My eyes go wide, and he offers me a sad smile. "You're my forever, and I've always, always known that." He shakes his head and looks away. "I've always known it, but I was never really ready for it."
"Ready for it?"
He nods and looks at me. "Yeah. It. Marriage, children, a house, a dog. All of it. I wasn't ready. So, I pushed you away." I stare at him in silence, and he sighs and leans back, propping himself up with his hands. "Mac, I want you. I have always wanted you. And if it had just been about sex, it would have been easy." The thought of sex with him causes a traitorous throbbing between my legs, and I turn away. "But it's never been just about sex," he continues. "I knew that if we were together before I was ready, it would end badly. It'd start out great, but when it started to get serious, I'd do something idiotic to push you away. I'd do something to hurt you, and I knew that breaking up or breaking your heart would end us forever. So, I waited. I kept you at arm's length – kept you as a friend – because I wasn't ready for more."
Goddamn him. His words make me angry. What did he want? For me to be single and alone until he had finished sowing his wild oats? I spin back around and shake my head. "So, what? You just planned on fucking every pretty woman you met until you finally had enough and were ready to settle for – excuse me – down with me?"
He winces and shakes his head. "It wasn't like that!"
We both realize that we're yelling and breathing hard, and I head back to the kitchen and pour myself another glass of water. I keep my eyes on the door and set the glass down when he walks in. "It wasn't about other women," he says.
"Then what was it about?" His gaze is heavy, and so many feelings are tumbling around in me, fighting for control. I hate him; I love him; I want him.
"I wouldn't have been good for you," he says softly. "I was emotionally closed off and ill-equipped for a meaningful relationship, especially until I, we actually, found out what happened to my dad. I was selfish and shallow and dated women I knew I would never even want to settle down with." He steps closer to me but is careful not to touch me. "You're forever, Mac. With you, it needed to be meaningful. And I didn't go around trying to sleep with every woman I met, and I didn't expect you to sit around and wait for me to get my shit together. You dated, I dated, and it was fine. It was a decent way to pass the time while I grew up and got ready for the real thing. It never seemed like those other people were serious for either of us. Not until Brumby." He takes another step toward me but still keeps his hands by his side. "You coming to the airport with that ring on your finger was one of the worst moments of my life. But I think the worst was the day you switched it to your left hand, and I realized I had waited too long."
My throat feels thick again, and I know I'm on the verge of tears.
"Mac?" He cocks his head to the side and looks at me like he did after our kiss at my engagement party. He looks lost and sad and a little bit shell-shocked. "Sarah?"
Hearing my given name causes something to shatter inside, and I start to cry. Yet again. I hold out a hand, needing him to keep his distance, and I rush past him into my bedroom and shut the door behind me.
I sit on the edge of my bed and let the deep, racking sobs consume me.
I hate him. I love him. I want him.
I hate him. I love him. I want him.
Those words play over and over in my head while I cry. And when the tears finally begin to subside, my head begins to clear. And I don't know what to do or where we go from here. I think about the fact that we could have been together for years, and I want to be angry at the time we lost – at the chance for children that we lost.
I hear the front door open and close, and I go still. Did he leave? Did he actually leave without saying goodbye?
I stand up and hesitantly make my way back to the living room. He's not here, and I suck in a breath. He actually left. I head to the couch to pick up the phone, trying to decide if I want to call him now when I know he's not home and leave another message for him to ignore or if I wait. But then my front door opens, and it's him. He didn't leave.
"I thought you left," I say quietly.
He shakes his head. "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye." My cheeks heat, and he gestures to the trash can. "I took out your trash. I didn't want to leave it with the broken glass."
"Ah," I say, feeling like an idiot.
"But I'll leave if you want," he says. His tone and eyes are sad, and I feel a twinge in my chest. "I know this year has been especially hard, and I never meant to make it worse." He shrugs and looks away. "That seems to be what I do best, though."
"It's not," I say softly. Our eyes meet, and I take a deep breath. "And I don't want you to leave."
"You don't?" I shake my head and see some of the tension leave his face.
"I don't," I repeat.
"Why?" The question throws me, and he frowns. "I mean… after all we've said tonight, I'm just surprised you haven't physically thrown me out yet."
"It's Christmas," I say. He nods, and I shrug. "I don't know." We stare at each other for a moment, and I think about all we've been through over the past eight years. I lick my lips and look up at him. "Where does this leave us?"
He smiles softly at the question he had expected earlier. I partially expect him to answer with another question, but he surprises me. "We're at a crossroads, Mac. I don't know which path we'll take or which path you even want to take. But I can't be your friend anymore; I can't do it. And if you don't want more than friendship, I'll respect that and be your colleague."
I feel queasy at the thought of him no longer being my friend, and I can't imagine just working together. "Which path do you want to take," I ask.
"The one that leads to us," he says simply, and I marvel at how easily he managed to actually answer a question.
"Even with everything that's happened? With the endometriosis?"
"You're forever," he says, and my heart starts to beat faster. "That's never changed." He steps closer to me, and he finally touches me.
He's holding my hands, and his thumbs are stroking my fingers. I enjoy his touch for a moment and then pull back. "I want to take that path, too," I say. "But, Harm…" I shake my head and wrap my arms around my middle. "I'm not ready. Things have been so bad over the past few years. I want to – I need to take things slow."
He nods, and I let out a breath. "We'll go slow," he says and leans in to place a gentle kiss on my forehead.
Harm is singing softly when I come back to the kitchen, and even though I don't recognize the song, his voice makes me smile. "Something smells good."
"Nice shower?" He says and dumps a pot of boiling water into the colander.
"Yeah," I say and pull out a chair at the table. "You didn't need to make dinner."
He shrugs, and I watch him plate the drained pasta. "I didn't mind. Besides, I was starving."
"Thank you," I say.
"Anytime," he says, setting a shallow bowl of pasta and sauce in front of me. He grabs his own dish and settles across from me. We don't talk much while we eat – we've talked more tonight than we have in years, and I think we're both emotionally drained. I know I am, anyway. He offered to call a cab and go home, but the roads are an absolute mess, and I mustered up the courage to ask him to stay.
I clean up the kitchen after dinner while he takes his turn in the shower, and I'm wiping down the counters when he returns. "Thanks for letting me stay," he says.
"You're welcome," I say. "Want to sit by the fire for a while?"
"Yeah," he says. "How about some tea?"
Tea actually sounds nice, and I nod. "Is everything in the same place?" I nod again, and he smiles. "Good. I'll make the tea. Go get comfortable."
"You sure?"
"Yes," he says and gestures to the living room with his head. "Go."
I linger for a moment before heading to the living room. I eye the couch for a moment but instead settle on the floor. I pull down a few of the throw pillows and lay down. Between the crying and the fighting and the stress from the snow, I'm completely spent. The room is warm and cozy, and I cannot help it when my eyes drift shut.
I'm half asleep when Harm comes in and sets both mugs of tea on an end table. "You awake?"
"A little," I say. I turn on my side and watch him settle on the floor next to me. He blows on his tea, takes a delicate sip, and then looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "What were you singing earlier," I ask. "In the kitchen."
He frowns and then nods a little in recognition. "Oh, that. A Christmas song my mom always liked." He sets the tea down, then lays his head on his own pillow and rolls on his side to face me. "Mom used to wander around singing it after dad went missing."
"What are the lyrics?"
He hesitates for a moment, then hums a bit of melody before starting to sing.
I'd like you for Christmas
Please make my wish come true
'Cause I'd dream trees and deck the hallways
If I knew you'd be mine for always
I won't be blue on Christmas
If old Saint Nick comes through
And he remembers that I'd like you for Christmas, New Year's, Easter too
The lyrics make my heart flutter, and his soothing voice makes me feel even drowsier. He trails off when my eyes close, and he reaches over and brushes the hair off my face. "Merry Christmas, Mac," he whispers.
I try to respond, but my words come out as a mumbled slur, and his fingers trail over my face. I fall asleep surrounded by warmth, and I'm filled with hope for the coming year. I know we have a long road ahead of us, but for the first time in a long time, I think we may have a chance to finally get this thing right.
The End