Disclaimer: Don't own'em
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Harm's Apartment
1930 Local
Friday, Two weeks later...
Harm was sitting on one of the stools by his kitchen counter, reading a book as he waited for Mac so they could head out for dinner. She'd stopped at her place on her way home from work to check her mail since they'd spent this week at his apartment.
In truth, none of the words in Harm's book were registering. He was still, two weeks later, trying to recover from the abject failure of his master plan to propose to Mac. He thought maybe he'd just wait for the right moment: he'd feel it when it came. Maybe preparing with elaborate set-ups wasn't the way to go. He'd wing it...
He looked up at the sound of Mac fumbling with the door to his apartment. The door swung wide open to reveal a grinning Mac.
"Look what Frank sent me!" She held a rectangular box in her hands, very much like a pirate might hold war booty.
"What is it?" Neither his mother nor Frank had mentioned anything about a package to him.
"A branding iron!" She set the box on the kitchen counter beside him, pulling open the lid. "It has my initials on it!" She pulled it out to show him, her smile bright enough to blind. "So I can brand my own steaks!"
"A branding iron?" He sought clarification, certain he had misheard.
"With my initials!" She repeated.
She looked like a kid holding the branding iron, so full of a giddy, uncomplicated excitement that it took a supreme effort of will on his part to keep from collapsing into a heap of laughter.
It was all for nothing though, because her eyes narrowed. "Don't laugh at me, Rabb." She warned.
That was the proverbial last straw, and he almost fell off his stool as he gave into his laughter, erupting into loud guffaws. Crazy meat-eaters.
"You don't even own a barbeque, Mac!" He said between waves of laughter.
"I'm going to buy one this weekend," She was half-scowling, half-frowning at him. He just kept laughing – he really couldn't stop – which made her huff. "And you're not invited to help me pick it out."
"You don't cook!" He thought he ought to point out the obvious.
"Frank gave me tips when we visited." She looked from him to the branding iron, and back. "It's can't be that hard. You can do it," She added, as though that were all the empirical evidence she needed.
He leaned back against the counter, wiping the tears from his eyes, still breaking into sudden fits of laughter.
"I was going to brand you a salmon steak," She accused, sulking. "But now I changed my mind."
He started laughing again, so hard it gave him a stitch in his side.
"Whatever," She huffed. She turned on her heel to walk away, but he reached out an arm and grabbed her just in time. He pulled her into his arms.
"You are something else, Mac." He looked up at her.
She stood rigidly within his arms, and tried to move away. He ignored her, hugging her tightly.
"I love you, French fry." He'd learned what it took to thaw her stubborn anger.
As predicted, she melted completely, wrapping her arms around him, whispering into his hair, "I love you, too, Harm."
He smiled, arrogance patting him on the back. Way to go, Hammer.
"But you have to stop making fun of my branding iron." She warned.
He broke into renewed laughter.
"Oh, stop already," She muttered, but she didn't move out of his embrace. He calmed down after a few minutes, and tried to look apologetic.
"I'm not laughing at you, Mac ... it's just ... a branding iron?" He couldn't stop the chuckles that escaped.
She sighed, and perched herself on the stool next to him. Her fingers ran the length of the iron, tracing her initials. "Frank's really a good person. He's very sweet."
Harm had to agree.
"You know," Her tone was pensive, "The last time my dad gave me a gift was on my sixteenth birthday."
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. "What did he get you?"
"It was the first birthday after my mom left, so the first anniversary of her leaving..." She trailed off into her thoughts, and he waited for her to come back.
To his surprise, she broke the silence with a laugh and a soft smile. "He got me a teddy bear. You know, one of those stuffed animals. Didn't know what to get a girl my age, I guess. I was just blown away that he remembered, especially since I was so busy forgetting. He left it on my bed." Her smile faded. "I never knew how or when to say thank you. He was never sober enough to hear me when I was sober enough to say it; and I was never sober enough to tell him when he was sober enough to hear it. Deep down, maybe neither of us really wanted to talk about it."
He decided he was going to throw her the biggest damn birthday party ever this year. No, better yet, he'd take her to Gram's for her birthday – full with a homemade cake and enough food for her to drown in. And gifts. Lots of gifts.
She kissed his chin suddenly and stood up with decisive purpose, breaking him from his thoughts.
"Stores are still open, Flyboy. Want to help me buy a grill?"
He grinned, "Only if I get a branded salmon steak out of it."
"Deal." She was beaming. He was going to thank Frank himself. Why hadn't he let himself see the man behind his stepfather all these years?
She put out a hand, and he gladly took it to stand up.
"You are going to take the branding iron with you, right?" He teased. "It wouldn't do if the grill didn't match your only accessory."
She whacked him on the six with the iron, though she was giggling. "Next time, Rabb, the iron won't be cold when I do that."
He laughed as he watched her head towards the kitchen to put away the branding iron. Although, he thought, branded by Sarah MacKenzie ... he could think of worse things. As long as the brand came in the form of a wedding ring on his left hand.
--
Hardware Store
Friday
2003 Local
"This is a good one," Mac commented, eyeing a foldable grill. "We could use it on the roof."
"Better than using an electric grill on your balcony," He started saying, but was distracted by something that caught his attention. His eyes went wide, his jaw dropped. "Mac!" He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the tools section of the hardware store, across the aisle. "Look at that drill!"
"Drill? What on earth..." She pulled her hand out of his grasp and tried to protest, but he clearly wasn't listening to her. He was too busy falling in love.
"You think they'll let me test it?" His excitement was reminiscent of AJ's rapture with Cheetos.
Mac could only watch in amazement as Harm walked towards the power tools in a trance-like state. She'd thought that thing about men and hardware stores was a false stereotype.
"Harm!" She called after him, but he was blissfully oblivious. Mac rolled her eyes. Fine. She'd just pick out her own grill. She headed back towards the one she'd been eyeing earlier. Living in an apartment meant no grilling on her balcony, but the roof did have a makeshift courtyard where she could set up her grill. A portable one might be best for that reason. And then they could even carry it around to parks and the like for picnics.
"That's a great BBQ for smaller spaces."
Mac looked at the man who'd addressed her, and who was standing next to her.
"You're looking for a small grill, too?" She asked him.
He grinned, the light in his eye much like the one Harm had been sporting when she'd seen him last heading towards the power tools as if pulled by a superhuman gravitational force.
"Actually," He told Mac with barely suppressed excitement. "I'm upgrading. I just moved to a suite on the top floor of my building, huge balcony. I'm finally allowed a grill. I dream about that one," He pointed towards a gargantuan, rather menacing looking grill. "But I'll likely get that one," He pointed to a more modest and much friendlier looking grill.
"It's probably for the best," Mac advised. "That first one looks like it could eat you."
He laughed. "First time buyer?"
Mac nodded. "I'm learning to appreciate the art of grilling."
"That's a good model," He indicated the foldable grill she'd been considering. "I have one of those for picnics, days at the beach... that kind of thing."
"You'd recommend it, then?" She read through the specs on the grill, even though they meant nothing to her. She wondered what Frank would think of this one.
"Mac."
She turned at the sound of Harm saying her name in a proprietary tone she hadn't heard from him since the Mic fiasco. He was eyeing her grill advisor with a surprising degree of hostility.
"Hey, Harm." She tried valiantly to nip his adverse reaction in the bud. "This gentleman was saying he owns a grill just like this. Recommends it."
"Harm." He held out his hand to the stranger, sizing him up. Mac frowned at his antagonistic behaviour.
"Garrett." The man took Harm's hand, but was quickly distracted by the box in Harm was holding under his arm. "Is that a Makita drill?!"
Harm lit up. "The LXT BDF 451! Four-pole motor, 18-volt lithium battery, three speeds, 560lbs torque," He lifted the box for viewing, practically gushing with pride.
"How heavy?" Garrett was apparently as excited by cordless drills as by mean-looking grills.
Mac could smell the testosterone. She shook her head and decided she shouldn't bother trying to get Harm's attention back to the issue of buying a grill.
"4.6 lbs!" She heard Harm tell Garrett as she headed off to find a sales associate. She'd do this on her own.
Half an hour later, she returned to find Harm and Gareth in the exact same spot, now discussing electric saws. She was gratified when Harm broke off mid-sentence just as she approached them. At least she wasn't still invisible to him.
"Where did you go?" He asked, frowning with curiosity.
"I bought that grill," She pointed to the grill on display. "We have to go to the storeroom round back with the car to pick it up. I also got a grill set and," She dug through her shopping bag and pulled out her prized purchase, grinning with satisfaction. "A camouflage apron!"
Harm and Garrett both looked at her for a moment, before Harm burst into laughter. Garrett smiled, looking both confused and amused.
"Great meeting you, Garrett," Harm shook his new friend's hand. "Here's my card. Call me when you want to come out and get your hands dirty on Sarah."
Mac hoped Harm was referring to his biplane.
"Great!" Garrett enthused. He turned to Mac. "Have fun with the grill."
"Thanks," She smiled at him. "Enjoy yours, too."
"C'mon, Sweet thing," Harm took the bags from Mac and led her towards the cash so he could pay for his drill. "You owe me a steak."
"Made a new friend?" She teased as they walked, still marvelling at his 180 from hostility to amiability when Garrett complemented his tool.
He grinned. "He's a good guy. Flies a Cessna – 400 Corvalis TT," His eyes glazed over with admiration.
"That's amazing," Mac replied, even though she had no idea what he'd just said.
He gave her a sideways glance. "Are you humouring me?" He asked, still smiling.
"Of course not," Her expression was pure innocence. "And thanks for all of your help in picking out the grill."
He laughed sheepishly, "Well, I, uh...." He looked at the box in his hand. "I needed a power drill."
"Right," She shook her head. "Can I take you to the grocery store to pick out your salmon steak without you ditching me for the first person who starts talking greens with you?"
"Get the car, Smart Alec." He wryly raised one eyebrow.
"Are you sure I can leave you here all by yourself? What if you get distracted by the self-flushing toilets?"
He heaved a long-suffering sigh as he silently succumbed to her teasing. Mac laughed delightedly; she could have such fun with him.
--
Mac's Apartment
Sunday
1304 Local
Harm sat back comfortably on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He divided his attention between the documentary on wolves playing on television, and Mac. She was working on the Sunday crossword, her feet drawn up on the couch, her head resting on his lap. She was idly petting Jingo with one hand, the crossword puzzle resting against her legs.
His fingers absently played with her hair while he listened to the narrator explain wolves' mating rituals. He was waiting for the documentary to get to the good stuff: hunting in packs.
"Hey," She said, nose still buried in her paper. "U.S. president after Grant. Five letters."
Harm went through the presidents in his head. "Hayes." He replied.
"Way to go, Flyboy." She scribbled down the answer.
"I'm not just a pretty face, you know." He teased.
"And barely that, as it is." He arched an eyebrow at him.
"Funny." He tugged on a lock of her hair before turning his attention back to the documentary, which was now following a pack of wolves closing in on their prey.
"Oh, I meant to ask you." Mac said suddenly, looking up at him from her vantage point on his lap. "Frank sent a card with the branding iron, but there's something in it I don't understand."
"What?" Harm looked down at her. "What does it say?"
"Well, of course that he hopes I enjoy the gift, but he signed off by saying that if I was ever looking for investment tips, or wanted to revise my portfolio, that I shouldn't hesitate to let him know."
Harm looked down at Mac in confusion. Her expression mirrored his, which made him smile.
"Frank offered you investment advice?"
She half-nodded, half-shrugged. "I wondered if it was just normal, if that's what he usually writes in greeting cards."
Harm frowned in thought. "Well, he did set up a trust for me when I graduated from high school."
She cocked her head as she looked at him, eyebrow raised as it usually was when she wanted to make a point. "That was nice of him."
He grinned at her, knowing exactly what she was doing. "That's an understatement, Mac," He tapped her nose. "But I appreciate your tact."
She laughed, knowing he could see right through her.
"Anyways," He said, shaking his head at her in amusement, "He's offered to have someone manage my investments a few times, but I haven't taken him up on it."
She gave him that look again, her eyebrow inching even higher, and he had no choice but to kiss that upside-down-exasperation right off her face.
When he was sure he had kissed it away and replaced it with something much more pleasant – plus a few seconds for the sake of indulgence – he pulled away. She was smiling up at him, amused, and he knew she could see right through him, too.
"It's not like I have investments, Mac." He said to defend himself.
"You should." She exclaimed, surprised.
"I'll have my pension." He shrugged. "And I have assets."
"A military pension is all good and well, but you can't predict the future. And Sarah is not enough to retire on. Besides, it never hurts to have a nest egg."
"I do have that trust. What about you? Talking from experience, here?" He teased.
"I am, smart ass. Growing up with most of the only source of our family income keeping the local booze store in business made me see the value of investing part of my paycheque."
He wondered if a wedding ring would count as investing part of his paycheque. He wondered if she'd say yes if he asked right now. Or would his lack of an investment portfolio make him bad husband material?
"So are you going to talk to Frank?" He said instead.
"I'm not going to impose," Mac shook her head. She frowned in thought. "He probably just said it ... well, I don't know why he said it."
"Mac." He wondered if her opinion on Frank had somehow been formed through his own attitude towards his step-father. He hoped not. "Frank wouldn't offer if he didn't mean it."
She eyed him, unsure. He realized that maybe it wasn't just Frank she was unsure of.
"I promise, Mac. He, mom and Gram would never say something unless they meant it." He didn't think he'd convinced her. "Would your Uncle Matt say something he didn't mean?"
"Never." She responded unequivocally, without hesitation.
"Same goes, Mac."
"But you're their son. I'm just..."
"The most important person in my life, Mac. Talk to Frank."
She still wasn't convinced.
"Think about it." He offered.
"I'll think about it." She conceded, and then picked up the newspaper.
"Good." He gave her a full smile. He liked this, just sitting here with her, doing nothing with her. A lazy afternoon, comfortable in each other's company. He could see them like this years from now, her head on his lap, their dog sitting on the rug. Or maybe even a kid. Whichever.
And then it hit him with sudden clarity.
This was it. The moment. This was the moment. He could feel it. The moment he was meant to ask her to marry him.
"Mac." He cleared his throat.
"Hm?" She asked, her attention once again occupied by her puzzle.
He wished she would just look at him. His palms were starting to sweat, his heart was beating furiously. He swallowed heavily and he would have loosened his collar except he was wearing an undershirt so that would just be silly.
"Mac." He took a deep breath, and she must've noticed his sudden nervousness, because she looked up at him in question.
He stared at her, his words caught in his throat. Oh, this was not going well.
"Did you know wolves mate for life?" The words tumbled from his lips; it wasn't what he meant to say.
Her frown deepened, and she glanced at the TV. "Well, according to that," She nodded at the TV screen, "The male can mate polygamously if he's unrelated to the female or prey is plentiful," She pointed this out conversationally, already turning back to her paper.
"Oh." This wasn't going as he'd thought it would. Now what?
"Black vultures, though are a different story." She said, perusing the crossword clues.
"They mate for life?" Maybe there was hope.
"Nope ... well not quite. But they do discourage philandering. All nearby vultures attack any vulture caught straying."
He wondered if she was trying to tell him something, but she just sounded like she was doling out trivia that was never handy unless she was watching Jeopardy.
He decided to try again to direct the conversation where it was supposed to go.
"I'm monogamous."
That didn't come out right.
"Serially monogamous." She said absently, not removing her eyes from the paper.
"What?" He thought he should be offended, but he wasn't sure.
"Serially monogamous." She finally put down the paper and looked up at him. "You've had multiples mates, just one at a time – at least so far as I've known you. Hence: serially monogamous."
This was going horribly wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. Time to change the subject and regroup.
He looked up at the TV. "Ooh. Look at that wolf attack the deer."
She turned to watch the TV screen just as the wolf in question leaped at a deer, jaw open wide. At the last possible moment, the deer jumped down a slight embankment, and disappeared in a thick thicket of trees, while the wolf lost its footing and howled in frustration.
"Poor guy." Mac commented.
Harm decided he could relate.