Disclaimer: Don't own'em
A/N: Thank you for your reviews and comments!
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Fresh Start 6
That Monday...
A knock sounded on Mac's office door. She scowled with impatience. All she needed in the middle of this insanely busy day was another interruption.
"Enter." She called curtly, head bent over the file in front of her.
"A package just arrived for you, Ma'am." Jen said, stepping into the office.
Mac looked up, her curiosity overcoming her irritation at the interruption. "A package?"
"It's from a bakery in La Jolla, Ma'am." Jen set a bright green box with a yellow ribbon on her desk.
"A bakery..." Mac trailed off at seeing the envelope taped to the box. Her name was written in a blocky script. She'd recognize that handwriting anywhere.
"Ma'am?"
Mac realized she was smiling. At the expectant look on Jen's face, Mac cleared her throat and put her poker face back on. Best to cut Jen's naturally 'healthy' curiosity at the bud. "That will be all, Coates."
"Yes, Ma'am." Jen straightened and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
"A bakery." Mac repeated to herself. She slit open the envelope with her nail and removed the card to read it.
Just the way you like it. H.
Mac grinned. Simple, to the point and very, very sweet. Not bothering to contain her excitement, Mac opened the box. Inside, nestled in paper, was a large chocolate cupcake with a pink sugar heart resting on top. And extra icing.
Mac laughed at the heart, feeling giddy. This was just perfect. If Harm was here, Mac would have kissed him. Just as well, she thought, that he was miles away.
With only a slight bit of guilt, Mac consulted her internal clock. Ten minutes of hedonism was acceptable, she told herself, given the delectable cupcake sitting in front of her. And she had worked hard this morning, had been very productive ... Mac hit the intercom button. "Jen, no calls, no interruptions for the next ten minutes."
"Yes, Ma'am," Came Jen's prompt reply.
Mac toed off her pumps, picked up the bakery box and settled herself comfortably on the plush couch in the corner of her office. She was going to enjoy this cupcake, and then she was going to call Harm to thank him.
--
Ten minutes later, at an airfield miles away...
Harm eyed his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. The cupcake should have been delivered to Mac by now. He wondered if she liked it. Or was he pushing too hard? He'd berated himself enough since Saturday night for pushing things too far, too fast. He hadn't called her yesterday, and resisted the urge to pick up his cell and call her now. He didn't want her to feel pressured, it was the last thing he wanted.
God, he hated waiting.
His cellphone rang, causing him to jump. He fumbled to grab the phone.
"Rabb." He sounded more harried than he would've liked, and told himself to calm down a bit.
"Harm. Hi."
"Mac," He grinned widely. He liked hearing her voice over the phone. After seeing her again, he was realizing that he'd missed the most seemingly trivial things about her. How her voice sounded over the phone figured prominently on that list. "How's your day going?"
"Much better as of ten minutes ago."
He patted himself on the back, feeling a bit smug and very relieved. He'd done it right.
"I usually hate Mondays," She continued, "I'm always buried under paperwork, and everything seems to go wrong."
"Yeah?" He played along. "What's different about this particular Monday?"
"Nothing really." She was smiling, he could hear it in her voice. "But it's surprising how a cupcake can change one's outlook."
He laughed. "I suspect it's the extra icing. All that sugar."
"Thank you, Harm." There was something in her voice, an inflection he hadn't heard from her before.
He stored this moment away for safekeeping. "Anytime, Mac."
"Are we still on for tomorrow?" She asked.
"Definitely. I'll bring dinner."
"Okay." She sounded pleased. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." He didn't want this call to end. Which, he thought, was rather adolescent of him. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Mac."
"I will, and it'll be thanks to you and the cupcake."
He was smiling long after he disconnected the line.
--
The next evening...
Mac sighed as she shut the door behind her. She was tired. Today had been long day. She was very tempted to just put on pajamas, pop some popcorn, shut her brain off and watch an action movie. But she'd offered Harm Russian lessons ... or rather he'd asked to take them. Mac sometimes let herself indulge in the daydream that Harm was less interested in actually learning Russian, and more interested in spending time with her. But that was just a fanciful thought she wouldn't let herself take too seriously. After all he did have a brother whose native language was Russian and she couldn't impose on him by taking flying lessons and offering nothing in return. Especially since she was finding herself increasingly excited at the prospect of learning to fly. So she had taken the time to put together lesson plans. They would start with the basics and work their way up, depending on how adept Harm was at learning languages.
She wondered how long she had before Harm came over this evening for his lesson. Maybe enough time for a quick nap?
Her cellphone rang as soon as the thought of a nap formed. Must be Harm, she thought as she dug through her purse in search of her phone.
"MacKenzie." She answered, unbuttoning her jacket and removing her shoes.
"Hey, Mac."
"Harm." Mac smiled into the receiver. "I was just wondering when you were coming."
"Exactly the reason I'm calling, Marine. When works for you?"
"Anytime, really." Mac answered, "I'm home, so-"
Her doorbell rang. Mac frowned, opening the door. She wasn't expecting anyone except-
"Hey, Mac." Harm stood there, a bag in his hand and a huge smile on his face. "How about now?"
She laughed, moving aside to give him entry. "Come on in, Harm. Make yourself at home. I was just about to change."
Harm stepped in and as Mac shut the door behind him, he leaned in and gave Mac a kiss on the cheek. "It's good to see you, Mac."
She blushed and then was flustered. He looked really good this evening. His cologne was different from the usual ... Mac fumbled the lock shut. "Um, you too." She replied, thrown off kilter by her sudden, overpowering awareness of him. She didn't know what to do now that she didn't really have a reason to fight this attraction. He made it clear he wanted her, and yet ... "I'll just, uh, change."
"I can help you with that," He offered, a twinkle in his eye.
She didn't even bother responding to that. Some things never changed.
"Alright fine," He said, and Mac could hear the laughter in his voice. "I'll be in the kitchen getting dinner together."
Mac made a quick escape to her room to regroup. They needed to take it slow and she needed to make sure they did. She also needed to remind herself why they needed to take things slow, because at this moment she couldn't quite remember her reasons.
--
In the kitchen...
Harm set the bag of take-out on the kitchen counter. He was really looking forward to this evening with Mac. Well, except for the bit where he would have to learn Russian. Not that he didn't want to learn. It would undoubtedly be useful and would please Sergei immensely. But he could think of much better ways to spend an evening with Mac than learning a language. As it was, he could do many things and most of them well, but he just plain sucked at learning languages. Spanish had been his worst subject in high school. He'd fumbled through it, mostly by cribbing notes off Alanna Cole - a passably cute girl who'd had a crush on him - and developing rather impressive skills at forging doctor's notes. Not that Mac needed to know any of that. Verb tenses and grammar and syntax ... He hated it. He also knew Mac well enough: she'd be a taskmaster of a teacher and would take this very seriously. He should have asked her to join him on morning runs rather than teach him Russian if she felt indebted to him for the flying lessons. Even though he loved flying and he loved her, so really what reason was there for her to feel indebted? The idea of Mac flying a plane, sitting in the cockpit, powerful machinery thrumming under her no doubt skillful hands, the stick responding to her slightest touch ... Harm shook his head to dispel the fantasy. How could Russian lessons even compare to that image?
"What's for dinner?" Mac asked, entering the kitchen. She'd changed into a deliciously tight pair of jeans and a light sweater.
He busied himself removing containers of food from the bag. Perhaps learning Russian might not be that painful with a teacher that good-looking. "Thai. I also brought you sticky rice with mango for dessert."
"Yum," She enthused, removing plates from her cupboards and chopsticks from her drawer. "Did you get me curry?"
"Of course I did, Mac." He removed a lid to show her, and then proceeded to scoop the curry onto her plate.
"Perfect! Thanks," She replied as she poured them each a glass of water. "I figure we could eat dinner and then get to work on the lesson. I made you some study sheets to take home."
Study sheets. Good lord, this master plan of his was turning out to be rather costly. "Homework, Mac?" He didn't mean to whine, really.
She laughed. "I bet you were the kind of kid who only learned on his own terms. Must've given your teachers a hard time."
"I was a very assiduous student," He protested, even though Mac had him pegged. "Punctual with my assignments and always following the rules."
She snorted her disbelief. "Sure."
"How was the rest of your day?" Best to change the subject now. It seemed he might just have to bite the bullet and learn Russian.
"It was great actually." She paused in her movements to look at him. "Thank you, Harm." After only a slight hesitation, she reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
He grinned. "I'd buy you an entire cupcake factory for that kind of thanks."
"A cupcake factory?" She laughed, crinkling her nose at the absurdity of his declaration.
He wished he was allowed to kiss her.
"Probably an unsound investment," He spoke to distract himself from thoughts of kissing her. "You'd eat all the cupcakes before they were even boxed for shipping."
"And die of a sugar overdose."
"Not quite the blaze of glory against impossible odds that you're looking for," He commented, hopefully reminding her of a much better time in their relationship.
"Maybe my outlook has changed." She gave him a sidelong glance. He saw her trepidation, the one that had always presented itself before she revealed a part of her heart to him. "Sometimes we only think the odds are impossible." She smiled, and he decided he would learn every Slavic language ever spoken if it earned him just one of those smiles. And perhaps another kiss.
"You want to eat in the living room or the dining room?" She asked, pulling him from his admiration of her.
"Whichever," He shrugged, and immediately rethought his answer. "How about the living room? We could watch a movie."
"What about your Russian lessons?"
"We'll just watch the movie while we eat. Then you can start the lesson."
"Alright," Mac nodded. "How about an action movie?"
Action movies meant she'd had a long, mostly dull day. He'd wager she was tired. All he had to do was offer her a massage once she was done with dinner, and the Russian lesson would be all forgotten.
Just as Harm picked up their plates and headed towards the living room, Mac's doorbell rang.
"I'll get that," She said, heading towards the door. He watched her walk, and added that graceful step of hers to the list of things he'd missed this past year.
"Sarah MacKenzie?" A delivery man stood at the door, holding a rectangular box.
"Yes," Mac replied. Harm entered the living room and watched with barely concealed curiosity as the delivery man handed Mac the box.
"Could you sign here, please?"
Mac complied, and absently shut the door behind the man, more intent on reading the label on the box. She was frowning, her curiosity evident. He set their dinner on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen to fetch their glasses of water and cutlery, giving her time to open her package.
When he came back to the living room, he found that she hadn't moved from the entrance.
"What's in the box?" He finally gave voice to his curiosity. She didn't answer, didn't even seem to notice him. "Mac?"
No response.
He set their glasses on the table and walked over to her. She was staring at a wooden box held in her hands. He caught sight of a piece of paper lying on top of the discarded packaging she'd placed on the side table by the door. He shouldn't read it, he knew, probably none of his business. But he couldn't help himself.
Sarah. I started working on this not long after that first Saturday we spent together in February, for your first surfing lesson. These are not the circumstances in which I wanted to offer you this, but I made this with only you in mind, so you should have it regardless. Consider it as a part of my apology for the way I behaved. You've told me you admire my honesty, but I think I suffer from the noted affliction of speaking before thinking, of reacting before processing, and then regretting my words and actions. I am truly sorry. Please, consider this also as a token of our friendship. Our relationship may not have gone in the direction I intended, but I will treasure the months I had with you.
All the best, Sarah.
Ethan.
Harm stared at the note and then at the box, a noxious mix of emotions welling in him. The wooden box she was holding had an elegant pattern carved on the lid. Her name was also carved in a flowing script. She slowly traced her name with a finger and then opened the lid. Soft strains of music floated through the air. He looked up at Mac, trying to get his bearings. He saw tears in her eyes as she looked down at the damn box in her hands.
Of the mess of emotions frothing in him, anger and frustration surged their way to the surface: she was slipping away from him, had been this past year, and because of what? Because she hadn't understood where he'd been coming from, because she'd insisted on kissing godamn Webb in Paraguay, telling him never and thinking that he didn't want her.
Harm turned away from her and that damned box. He took a long, slow, deep breath, trying to regain his control.
All he could think was that Ethan had taught her to surf, had made her a music box, and had somehow gotten her to be open and honest with him in ways Harm envied. How many regrets, he thought, could he crowd into a room before there was no room left for him? He could see in Mac's eyes that Ethan held a part of her heart, a part that Harm knew belonged to him, that would've belonged to him if he'd done things differently. She'd spent a year thinking he'd seen her as a burden while building what was obviously an important relationship with Ethan. All because he'd been too damn afraid, a coward, to find her. All because she'd left him behind, just like that after almost eight years together. Because he didn't pass some damn test of hers.
Mac's light sniffle caught his attention. She was wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. Forget anger, he was downright pissed off.
"Do you want me to go?" He ground out, his jaw clenched, his hurt hidden from her.
"What?!" She looked at him in confusion, startled out of whatever reverie that box had steeped her into.
Harm shook his head with impatience. "I can go. We can do this," He waved his hand over their dinner, now rapidly cooling on the coffee table, "Some other time."
She stared at him with that piercing stare of hers that always made him feel that he was being put on the spot and made him want to push back.
"Is that what you want?" She asked. Her challenge was crystal clear and there was something else...
"If you love him," He replied , "It doesn't really matter what I want."
Her entire demeanour hardened, her eyes narrowed. "That is not what you indicated on Thursday. I thought you were serious about this. You said you wanted this, wanted me." Her voice faltered near the end, but she pulled herself together so quickly, he could've imagined it. When she spoke again, her tone brooked no nonsense. "If you're going to let this-" She thrust the box out towards him, her voice rising, "Get between us before we even get started, then I'm glad I learned now what you understand by serious." She scoffed, not even looking at him, "I should've known you couldn't commit."
"And I should've known you would never trust me," He pointed a finger at her. "This is just like with Lowne and Brumby. You always get involved with assholes so you can't blame yourself when things fall apart."
Her eyes widened, and he almost regretted what he said - even if she needed to hear it - until her next words: "How dare you! You don't even know Ethan!"
"To hell with Ethan!" His anger was so overpowering, it blurred his vision. "I know that he's sending you this," He indicated her stupid music box with the all the contempt he possessed, "So that he can be sure you keep thinking about him, so he can take advantage of you and your heart!"
"Funny." She was lethally calm, her contempt matching his. "He said the same thing about you."
The gall of that jackass.
"I would never take advantage of you! What does Ethan know about me?" He threw back. If he ever saw Ethan again, he'd reward him richly for putting such ideas in Mac's head.
"Then what exactly is the difference between this," She waved the box in front of his face, "And sending a cupcake to my office after lunch?"
He stared at her, the floor slipping away from beneath his feet. Is that what she thought? That he was stringing her along? His contempt shifted from the music box to the woman in front of him. "You wouldn't understand," He shook his head at her. Her accusation cut him to the bone. So he pushed back. "You haven't even trusted a man enough to even know what love is. Did you ever think that you spent all those years telling yourself I didn't care for you, because that gave you an excuse to blame me?" He couldn't even look at her. He turned around and opened her door. "I don't even know why I'm bothering wasting my time on you."
And he left.
--