Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: Hey, all. I realize I've been pretty silent on the author's notes, but I've honestly been crazy busy and squirreling away time just to put the posts up. So let me take the time now to thank you for your reviews, I am so pleased that you are enjoying this. You make writing and posting these stories incredibly rewarding.
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Burnett Residence
La Jolla
Saturday
1448 Local
"You look nervous." Mac commented to him as he was getting dressed. She was sitting on the bed flipping through a book on contemporary American artwork Trish had put in the room.
"I do not." Harm protested. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked perfectly normal. He may have felt slightly nervous, but it did not show.
She studied him for a moment. He could see the indulgence in her gaze. "Okay. You don't look nervous. But it is okay if you are."
He sighed deeply as he buckled his belt. Time to move this along. "Have you seen Frank?"
"He's in his study."
"I shouldn't disturb him." Harm said immediately, relieved to have found an excuse to put this off.
"You wouldn't be disturbing him." She replied. Her full attention was on him, the book forgotten. She was frowning in worry, but her eyes held her confidence in him.
He looked away. He felt a bit ... lost. Apologies weren't his thing.
She moved off the bed, standing up to face him. With a warm smile, she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him gently.
"Thanks, Mac." He said quietly, returning the hug, savouring her touch. A few moments of silent enjoyment later, he told himself he shouldn't put this off anymore. He kissed her forehead, and then her lips.
"Alright." He looked in her eyes for reassurance. Not that he needed any, "Here I go. Wish me luck?"
"Good luck." She said, smiling up at him.
"Good luck," He repeated.
--
Harm knocked on the study door, and waited for Frank's response.
"Come in."
He pushed open the door and found Frank sitting in one of the leather armchairs by his bookshelves.
"Hey, Frank." Harm hid his nerves as he'd been trained to do. "I hoped we could talk."
Frank looked up in surprise, but waved Harm over to the chair opposite him without hesitating. "Of course, Harm. Anything to drink?"
Harm thought chugging a bottle of whiskey straight up would be just the thing right about now.
"No, thanks. Maybe later." He rubbed his palms over his pants and took a seat.
"Frank," He began, looking his stepfather in the eye. His heart was beating furiously in his chest, but he knew he was projecting the outward image of calm. Or so he hoped. He didn't know what to say to the man sitting across from him.
"Harm, wait." Frank folded his newspaper and set it on the table, giving Harm his full attention. "You and I, we've had a ... difficult relationship. I won't deny that. But you don't need to say anything. All I ever wanted was to make your mother happy and give you a home."
Harm felt even more ashamed. He was having a hard time telling Frank he respected him without actually saying the words and ripping open a time in his life he'd always tried very hard to forget.
"I shouldn't have been so unforgiving towards you, Sir," He settled for a respectful appellation.
Frank smiled affectionately. "Frank is fine, Harm."
Harm grinned, rubbing the back of his neck to hide his embarrassment. He really wasn't very good at this.
"You know, when I first asked your mother out to dinner," Frank said, "She told me she didn't think she was ready to date. I eventually wore her down. When I asked her to marry me, she said she wasn't sure if it was the best thing for you. I wore her down there, too. And you remember when I promised you I wouldn't take your father's place, and you could trust me to be a friend whenever you needed one, you weren't convinced. Well," Frank smiled widely. "It seems I finally wore you down, too."
Harm laughed at his stepfather's statement.
"How about that drink, Frank?" He asked. Another dark band loosened from around his heart. He smiled brightly, feeling lighter.
"I have a bottle of single malt that's been waiting for an occasion like this," Frank replied grandly as he stood up.
"Perfect." Harm wondered how Frank felt about cigars. Well, why wonder? There was no time like the present to find out. "Do you smoke cigars?"
Frank glanced at Harm, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "If your mother asks: no."
Harm grinned. "Me neither, if Mac asks."
They shared a laugh.
"I'll send you a box when I get back to D.C.," Harm offered, "I got my hands on some Cohiba's not too far back."
"I haven't tasted a Cohiba in years." Frank said. He handed Harm a glass of whisky. "A business associate gave me a box of Montecristo, though. They're in the drawer." He nodded towards his desk.
Harm looked from the desk to the study door. He caught Frank's eye, feeling slightly guilty though even more tempted. Mac would kill him if she caught the smell of cigars on him. Harm frowned. Since when had he become the kind of whipped man he used to mock mercilessly?
He raised an eyebrow at Frank, breaking into a slow smile.
"I'll get the cigar cutter and the cigars," Frank said, his expression mirroring Harm's. "You lock the door and crack open the windows."
Harm grinned as he stood to lock the door. A Cuban cigar and single malt; heaven on earth.
--
Burnett Residence
La Jolla, CA
Saturday
1823 Local
Harm and Mac made their way to the kitchen for their last dinner here. Come morning, they would be on their way back to DC.
An older woman whom Mac had not seen before – she was perhaps a decade older than Trish – was puttering about the kitchen.
"Marla!" Harm exclaimed warmly, "It's great to see you. How are the kids? And Cliff?"
The woman turned, her face lighting up at the sight of Harm.
"Harm! It's great to see you! I'm doing good, dear. Lucy's pregnant with her third, and Sam started his own business, bless him. Something to do with the internet. I tell you, I don't understand him half the times he talks."
Harm laughed, and Mac's curiosity increased.
"Marla, this is Sarah MacKenzie." He placed his hand on her back. "Mac, this is Marla. I've known her for years. Since I was a teenager."
"Thirteen," Marla supplied, "And as contrary as I've ever seen them."
"Nice to meet you, Marla." Anything further Mac could've said was cut off by Trish's voice, as she entered the kitchen.
"Marla. You must tell Cliff what a wonderful job he's done with the bougainvillea."
Mac watched the exchange with interest. Apparently, Cliff was the Burnett's landscaper, and Marla was...
"Marla's been with mom since very soon after she married Frank." Harm said in her ear, in a low voice. "Regular cleaning stuff and house-sitting. Comes to help clean up after dinner parties, things like that."
Mac nodded. The world could be a strange place, she thought, wondering at where she was standing. And where she'd started out. She remembered her mom had spent one summer cleaning for a rich ranching family on the outskirts of town, a way to make some money to compensate for part of what her father spent on supplying his addiction.
"Rich folk with their damn silver spoons and noses in the air," Her father used to slur, sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, the harsh light of the television flashing over his face. A bottle or glass of some drink in his hand. "Think they're better than the rest of us. God gave women two hands to cook and clean; two legs to spread. Mrs. I'm-better-than-that, wasting her husband's hard earned money having someone else do the cleaning. Damn lazy bitch."
"Mac?"
She started from her thoughts, and found Harm watching her with concerned curiosity.
"Where were you?"
She shook her head, trying to smile through the fading wisps of memory. "Nowhere important."
He ran his thumb over her jaw, just looking at her with that familiar tenderness, and her smile turned genuine. He grinned in response, and tapped her nose with his forefinger.
"Dinner's being served, c'mon." He took her hand in his, to lead her back out to the porch.
"It was nice to meet you, Marla," Mac smiled warmly to the older lady.
"You too, dear," She grinned back.
Harm tugged Mac to the back doors. They stepped onto the deck, and Mac was again surprised by how happy Trish, Frank and Harm seemed. There was a notable difference in their demeanours from just this afternoon, following Harm's talk with Frank. The two of them had emerged from Frank's study smelling faintly of cigars and looking nonchalant in a way that only meant they were guilty of something. It was very cute, she thought, though she wasn't in the least likely to get upset about Harm smoking a cigar if he'd been doing it while mending long-abandoned fences with his stepfather. She just didn't think she could kiss his cigar-smelling self tonight without feeling sick.
Mac took the seat Harm pulled out for her. She watched the family in front of her as they sat at the table, passing around dishes of food and refilling empty glasses for each other.
She couldn't help the slight melancholy that dragged her down at the sight of it.
She was proud of Harm for being able to take the first step on what would undoubtedly be a long and tentative road with Frank. She was amazed at Frank's ability to simply forgive Harm's behaviour. No, she thought, not even forgive; Frank had just accepted it without holding it against Harm.
She knew her Uncle Matt had done the same with her, but seeing it here just pushed home the full wonder of what family could be.
It was remarkable, and she wished she'd had something like this growing up. Even more than that, she wished Uncle Matt wasn't in jail at the present, so she could have dinner with him and share fond memories and laughter. Mac sighed. She'd felt the same way near the end of her last visit with Harm to his parents'. This kind of attitude wouldn't do, she berated herself. Sometimes, wishing wasn't enough and no matter how badly you wanted something it just didn't happen. That was the truth, and she knew she'd just have to live with it or she'd ruin everyone's dinner with her pitiable mood.
"Sarah," Trish's voice pulled her back to the dinner in front of her and the company around her. "You haven't eaten a bite. Are you alright?" She asked with concern.
"I'm fine," Mac smiled at Harm's mother. "Thank you. My mind just wandered." She dug into the food on her plate to prove her point.
"You know, Frank, Mac's been cooking up a storm on the grill since our last visit," Harm said, looking from Frank to his mom. "You two should come visit us just to taste the salmon steak she makes."
Mac laughed, nudging Harm in the side. She knew he was trying to draw her back into the conversation. He could be so sweet.
"My ribs are a lot better than my salmon steak," She told Frank while giving Harm an indulgent glance. "He just refuses to taste them. And," She added excitedly as she remembered her forays into the culinary world, "I found this recipe for an incredible tandoori chicken. I have you to thank, Frank. It all started with the branding iron you sent."
"I'm glad you put it to use." Frank beamed. "I have a fantastic recipe for a steak rub I'm sure you'd love."
"That would be great!" Mac enthused. "I've actually been experimenting with making my own BBQ sauce—"
"See." Harm said, sharing an amused look with his mother. "You and I can play tourist in DC while these two make us dinner."
"We'd love to come!" Trish cut in before Mac could respond to Harm's teasing. She seemed very excited at the prospect. "Frank and I were planning on going to Venice around Thanksgiving. We could stop by D.C. on our way back."
"That would be great! Harm and I could probably get extra time off." She looked to Harm for confirmation. He nodded, looking pleased with the idea of a visit himself.
"We'll send you the dates." Trish replied. "I'm in the middle of a procurement for the gallery, but I hope to wrap it up in this coming week. We'll finalize our plans then."
"It'll be great," Harm was grinning ear to ear. "You haven't been by in ages, Mom. And Frank," Harm turned to his stepdad, "I can show you the, uh," He hesitated, casting a quick glance at his mother, "The custom work in my apartment we'd talked about earlier."
Mac looked at Harm, enjoying seeing the first genuinely contented smile on his face since his return from Russia. She was pretty sure 'custom work' meant those cigars he kept hidden in his closet. He gave her a warm wink, knowing that she knew. Mac could only laugh in response, and promised herself she'd try even harder to climb out of her funk so she could enjoy her time with Harm's family.