Disclaimer: Just playing.

A/N: This here takes following the stuff that happened in Legacies – mainly Harm's found out he has a half-brother named Sergei. I figure I've built enough of a relationship between Harm and his mom and step-dad to justify a slightly different reaction. I also think I've developed Harm's character enough to justify a different reaction, not to mention his relationship with Mac is quite dissimilar from the one he had with Renée (shudder) at this point. I'm not going to write out what happened in Legacies for purely selfish reasons (I found even trying tedious and dull), so this here picks up two weeks after Mac and Harm return from Russia. You can pretend whatever happened there happened here, with the exception of the status of Mac and Harm's relationship, and the complete absence of Mic and Renée.

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Harm's Apartment
Wednesday
1805 Local

Mac waited, both impatient and worried, as the elevator in Harm's building made its slow climb to his floor. She'd barely been able to keep her head on straight at work today, too busy with her concern for Harm. She'd known that the news of his brother's existence would take time to sink in; she'd just hoped it would have been a gradual sinking in so she could at least help temper the worst of it. Instead, he'd returned from Russia armed with his new sibling's contact information and a glowing disposition that had thoroughly confused her for the last two weeks.

Following his reaction to the discovery of Jenny Lake, she thought he would've been more troubled than happy finding out that his father had a son and a ... lover? Wife? She didn't know what exactly to call the relationship between Sergei's mother and Harm Sr., but the woman had obviously been very important to Harm's father. Maybe Harm had figured that enough time had passed since his father's disappearance to justify his relationship with another woman, the existence of another son.

All Mac knew was that she was poorly equipped to understand Harm's reaction. Since their return, he hadn't talked about Sergei beyond giving her updates following his weekly phone calls with his younger brother. She'd thought that given his newly burgeoning relationship with his mother and Frank, he would've reacted ... well, differently.

Mac sighed. Little had she known that she wasn't too far off the mark: she had found out only this morning that Harm had been avoiding calls from his mother. Trish had tried to get in touch with him at work, and dialled Mac's extension when she couldn't reach Harm. Since their visit to La Jolla, Mac knew Harm had made a point of calling his mother at least once a week, and yet he now hadn't spoken to her since their return from Russia.

And then she'd found out that Harm had taken today off from work. He hadn't mentioned a thing to her last night – they'd spent the night apart since she felt she'd been neglecting Jingo too much recently, and Harm had mentioned something about ... come to think of it, she couldn't remember what his reason had been for spending the night apart. They rarely did that anymore, usually going to either of their apartments.

The elevator dinged, pulling Mac from her musings. She made her way to Harm's apartment, hoping that this didn't end in a major fight. The last time some major event had shaken Harm's life – Jordan's death – they'd both handled it badly. She promised herself not to walk out if he got mean or distant, which he sometimes did when he was hurting and reluctant to show it. And she wouldn't push either, just let him talk if he wanted, let him set the pace, as she'd been trying to do since their return from Russia.

At his door, she debated knocking instead of using her key, and immediately berated herself. They'd get nowhere if she knocked on his door whenever she wasn't sure if she would be welcome. So she used her key to unlock the door, and stepped into his apartment.

The lights were dim, his apartment even cooler than usual. He was sitting on the couch. A few empty bottles of beer were standing sentinel on his coffee table. He was holding a picture in his hands.

"Hey," She said softly, worried she'd startle him. He turned his head slightly to look at her, his eyes dark with emotion. She walked towards the couch, waiting for him to rebuff her. When no protest came, she sat down next to him.

"Missed you at work today," She eased them into conversation. "Did the day off do you good?"

"Mom called last night," He said slowly, as though she hadn't spoken, as though speaking to himself. "Left a message because I haven't called her in a bit..." He reached forward to press the play button on the answering machine, which Mac hadn't noticed was on the coffee table instead of its usual spot on his desk.

"Harm, darling," His mom's voice cut through the heavy silence. "Nothing important. It's been a while since we last spoke, and I wanted to make sure all was well. Frank says hi, and he'll be in touch with Sarah – something about her portfolio. I swear, that man offers investment advice like Gram bakes cookies. Now, don't work too hard, dear, and call me when you have a chance. Take care of you and give Sarah my love."

The machine clicked to silence. Mac looked at Harm, confused. He was staring at the picture in his hand. It was the one of Harm as a child seated in a cockpit, his father standing beside him. She smiled at the look of innocent happiness on his younger self's face.

"You look like him," She ventured, affection for the man beside her softening her voice.

"Yeah." His answer was noncommittal. She could see the hurt in him, the little boy who couldn't quite grasp the way of the world, how dreams sometimes ended where reality began.

She brushed her hand over his cheek. "You're a good man, Harmon Rabb."

He didn't respond.

She ran her fingers through his hair. His eyes fell shut with a sigh.

"I don't know, Mac." His hand dropped, the picture hanging limply in his grasp. "Anything."

She just listened, waited.

"I don't ... Sergei's this link to my dad, you know."

"I know."

"But, my mom ... she..." His voice cracked.

"I know," She whispered, her heart aching for him, for Trish.

He turned to look at her, the intensity in his eyes made her pulse thrum, put her on her guard. She couldn't breathe.

"I would come back to you, Mac." His words were measured, and trembled with restrained grief. "No matter what, I would do everything I could to come back to you. I wouldn't stop trying."

No. This was the last thing she wanted him to torture himself over. She was quick to intercept.

"Harm," Her fingers didn't cease in their ministrations, "Don't do this to yourself—"

"No, Mac." He caught her hand in his, "I'd do everything, anything," He spoke in a fierce whisper, conviction chained to his every word. "To come back to you."

The tears in his eyes, the way he was looking at her filled her throat and drowned her heart.

"Harm," She wrapped her arms around him. "I know, sweetheart." She told him what he needed to hear, and wondered how to tell him that she wouldn't expect it of him. And yet, this was so characteristic of who Harm was. She was sure he wouldn't stop, wouldn't give up no matter how temporarily, no matter if it was expected.

He pulled her onto his lap, buried his face in her neck, and just held on. "I wouldn't give up, Mac."

"I know." She felt his tears hot against her skin, and shut her own eyes tightly.

"He moved on, Mac. He moved on. He let go and I couldn't. All this time..."

"Sergei doesn't mean he moved on, Harm," She said softly, trying to soothe.

"Then what?" His voice shook, with anger or grief she couldn't tell. "What?"

"We can't imagine what he went through, Harm. All those years imprisoned, we can't know."

"I know. I know." Repentance thickened his words.

"He loved you and your mom."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and her heart constricted as fresh tears fell on her skin. She ran her fingers through his hair, rubbed his back, and wished she could climb inside him and just take all the pain away.

"How am I going to tell her?" He whispered. "I don't want to be the one to tell her."

She tightened her hold on him.

"Better me than someone else, right?" He was trying to convince himself. She smoothed her hand over his tear-stained cheeks.

"That doesn't make it any easier for you."

He shook his head, face still buried in her neck. "But it's my responsibility. My ... duty."

"No, Harm. It's not." She assuaged, but she was so incredibly angry at this moment, at Harm's father for putting him through this. Rationally, she knew it wasn't his father's fault. But she hated he was hurting so much. "You're not responsible, not for any of it. It's okay for this to hurt."

He shook his head more vigorously. "No. No, it's not okay."

She hugged him tighter. She fought her own tears at his distress, at his stubborn refusal to acknowledge that he could feel like this. All she could do was hold him, put all her love in her touch, and offer him comfort for as long as he'd let her.

Minutes passed in silence, until she felt a slight shift in him as he collected himself. She loosened her hold, but he didn't move from her embrace.

"I'll have to go tell mom in person." He said, his voice practical, erased of hints of grief. "I'll ask the admiral for some time off and book a ticket. Head over for a weekend."

"That's a good idea." She nodded, and wondered if she should offer to go with him. Better not. It was a private affair, and Harm wouldn't want his hand held. Even more rarely would he acknowledge needing anyone's support.

He released his hold on her, hastily wiping his eyes, looking anywhere but at her. She could've smiled at his embarrassment, he was so ... himself at times. He cleared his throat as he straightened his clothes.

"You must be hungry." He said, fumbling for something to say to cover his unease. He looked at her, his eyes slightly red. She'd never really seen him cry before, beyond the tears in his eyes when he'd finally learned of his father's fate. It was true, she thought, what people said about love. What she felt for him, it couldn't be put into words.

She decided to take his lead, knowing he would see letting out his stress as he had just done as a weakness on his part.

"A bit." She acknowledged. "What about you? We could go to that noodle place on 19th," She offered, knowing that Tofu Pad Thai did for him what ice cream did for her, knowing also that he'd feel better if he got out. Especially since she guessed he'd been cooped up in his apartment all day.

He nodded briskly. "Alright. Sounds good." He stood up. "Why don't you change? I'll just ... freshen up." He said uncomfortably.

"Sure." She stood up as well, and made her way to the bedroom. He caught her hand before she got very far. She turned to find him looking down at his feet.

"Mac." He looked into her eyes for a moment before looking away. "I, uh..."

She was charmed by his uncharacteristic awkwardness, and stepped towards him. She put her hands on his shoulders and stood up on her toes to kiss him.

"Always, Harm."

He grinned at her, a slow unfurling of affection, and pulled her into a tight hug.

"How about ice cream after dinner?" He asked. "My treat."

She nuzzled into his shoulder, admiring his courage in facing his mother with this, aching for his hurt, thinking she had never loved him more. "How could I refuse an offer like that?"