Disclaimer: Don't own'em
--
Harm's Apartment
0229 Local
Harm woke up, jarred from sleep by an unsettling dream he was already forgetting. He reached for Mac, for the steady comfort her presence in his bed afforded him. It was amazing, he thought, how the soft warmth of her skin against his did so much for him. He forced his eyes open when his arm met nothing but cool bed sheets. He let out a groan of dissatisfaction, debating whether to try and find sleep again, or set out in search of her. Where was she anyways. He couldn't hear any sounds coming from the washroom, no sounds from his apartment in fact. He glanced at his clock – 0230. Where on earth.
With monumental effort, Harm tossed the warm sheets from his body and sat up on his bed, his feet planted on the cool hardwood of his apartment. He blinked once, twice. Rubbed a hand over his face. Convinced himself to wake up.
He heard the soft ruffles of paper in the next room. Was she working? Curiosity got the best of him, and he abandoned his bed in search of Mac.
She was sitting at his desk, pen in hand, almost drowning in what he knew were her warmest sweatpants and sweatshirt – because, she told him, his apartment was always so damn cold.
He grinned at the sight, and clad in nothing but boxers – because he knew for a fact the temperature in his apartment was just perfect – he made his way to her.
She turned before he reached, looking surprised and concerned.
"I didn't wake you, did I?"
He shook his head. "What're you working on?"
"Couldn't sleep." She shrugged. "Thought I might as well be productive."
He perched himself on the desk, and studied her face. It hit him that since their trip to La Jolla, he hadn't been very attentive to her. The engagement ring was lying at the bottom of his sock drawer ... And she'd seemed jumpier, somehow. On her guard. "Something bothering you?"
She shook her head a little too quickly, and was suddenly engrossed by the papers on the desk.
He smiled at her transparency. "What is it?" He ran his fingers through her hair.
"It's nothing." She leaned into his touch with a soft sigh.
"Then come back to bed." He coaxed.
She lifted her head to look at him. She was hesitating about something.
He stood up, and tugged at her hand, leaving her no choice but to follow. "At least keep me company. It'll be better than working on case files at two in the morning."
She followed him, his hand holding hers as he led them to bed.
He dropped back into his big, warm bed, and watched as Mac removed her sweatpants and sweatshirt to reveal a tight t-shirt and her panties. He grinned at the sight, his blood warming, a surge of pleasure in his veins.
It suddenly occurred to him that if he turned up the thermostat just a bit, he could enjoy seeing her walking around in nothing but her underwear at times other than bed time, instead of those heavy sweats she now favoured. In fact, at her apartment, she wore those sheer nightgowns and silky robes that revealed more than they hid.
It was a jolting realization: what species of idiot was he to deprive himself of the sight of Mac more than half naked, just because he thought his apartment was temperate? He was a certifiable embarrassment to men everywhere. He berated himself, and while Mac removed her socks he made a mental note to turn the heat up tomorrow night. After all, he could sleep naked, no big deal.
She slid between the covers and fit herself snugly to him. He wrapped an arm around her, and kissed her temple, recognizing this move of hers. This was how she'd curled into him after the case with Theresa Coulter's dad.
"You can tell me, Mac." He tried again to draw her out gently. "You haven't had trouble sleeping in a while.
Her fingers moved in soft caresses over his chest. He closed his eyes, enjoying this closeness.
"I spoke with Uncle Matt today." She answered quietly.
"Is he alright?" He ventured, hoping she answered in the affirmative. Her Uncle was her only family.
"Yeah."
"That's good." He said tentatively, letting out a silent breath of relief.
She nodded, saying nothing and Harm was reminded of how talking to her could still be like pulling teeth, armed with nothing but silly string.
"You miss him?"
She nodded again. "Yeah. A lot."
"Sorry." He apologized. This was something else he couldn't do for her.
She lifted her head to look at him, frowning. "How is it your fault? If not for you, his sentence would've been far worse." Her words heated as she spoke. "That fact alone has me in your debt; there's nothing I can do to ever repay you!" She was obviously getting upset, which he couldn't understand.
"You are not in my debt!" He reacted, his words came out sounding harsher than he'd intended. He wasn't sure how to explain what he meant. He was even less sure about why she was reacting so strongly to this conversation. "I would've done more if I could," He settled for saying in a gentler tone.
"I know that." Her frown deepened. He could feel her frustration. "I didn't mean that you didn't do enough, that this is somehow your fault." He felt her body tense, as though to move away.
"Hey there." He rubbed a hand along her back, placating. It was a rare insight where she was concerned, but he sensed that her Uncle Matt wasn't the real issue. She was picking a fight. "Power down. I just meant that I would do anything I could, anything possible, for you. I just can't think of what I can do about your Uncle serving less time."
The fight left her, replaced by guilt. She dropped her head on his shoulder, and took a deep breath. "No, no. I know. It's just ... I'm, I don't know."
"Talk it out." He offered, feeling a bit helpless at how lost she sounded.
She hugged him tight, her voice muffled. "Do you ever feel like this, you and me ... that the other shoe will drop?"
He frowned.
"What do you mean?" He tried to draw her out further, having no clue what she was talking about.
"I don't know!" She huffed, as though he were the one being unreasonable.
He laughed, realizing what was happening. Mac was such a worrier. "Are you borrowing trouble, MacKenzie?"
"No." She shook her head stubbornly against his shoulder.
He grinned, nudging her lightly. "Have a little faith, French fry."
She went still at his words. For a moment, the silence in the room was interrupted only by the sounds of their breathing.
"I want to." She said quietly. "I just ... Things like this don't last, they never do. And I don't..." She lifted her head again and looked him straight in the eye with a courage that seemed so hard-won, it broke his heart. "Tell me what I can do to make this last."
He was taken aback by her words. And that was the moment it hit him. She would marry him, if he asked – when he asked. For him, it would mean having her, being with her for the rest of his life. But for her, it would be the certainty that she'd lived most of her life without, the expectation that tomorrow wasn't an open question, that she was building her trust on solid ground, that she had a home, she had a family that wouldn't turn its back on her. A home in his heart, a family in Gram and his mom and Frank. In him. It would be his promise to her.
This was it. His heart thudded in his chest, his palms started to sweat. He was finding it a bit difficult to breathe.
"You could marry me." He whispered.
She didn't move. Her eyes searched his in surprise, filled with that thin distrust he'd worked so hard to chip away at over the years. She didn't believe his motives.
"I love you," He fumbled for a romantic speech, but all he could feel right now was nervous. "I love you more than anything, more than I thought I was capable of. I want to spend my life with you, because I don't know how I could do it without you. I want to spend the rest of my life being everything you could want, being everything you could need ... I want to grow old with you, love you, live life with you..." He swallowed heavily realizing that he was babbling and his nerves were making it difficult for him to read her expression and he was completely ruining this. "I promise I'll do everything I can to keep you happy, to build a family with you, to be your family..." He trailed off, not knowing what else to say, wishing she would just say something.
"You want to get married?" She said softly, almost as if to herself. She sounded genuinely surprised, not quite believing this was true.
He quickly slipped out from under her, out of bed, and rummaged through his sock drawer for the ring.
He turned back, ring in hand, and was about to sit down on the bed beside her, when it occurred to him that he should propose while down on bended knee – that was protocol. Was it okay to propose wearing only boxers? Aw, hell, he should've put on pants. His heart was beating so hard he couldn't think.
He knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his.
"I can't think of anything I've wanted more than the honour of being your husband." He offered her the ring. "It's the ring my dad gave my mom. It's not new or anything, but..." He took a breath and looked her in the eye. "Marry me?"
She just stared at him. She opened her mouth, nothing came out, and she shut it again. She looked so completely taken by surprise, so shocked, her expression one of pure disbelief, that he knew she was trying to convince herself this was all real.
Despite his nervousness – he thought he might just throw up if she didn't say something – he couldn't help but smile at how much of a loss she seemed to be at.
"Hey, French fry?" He took her hand in his, cupped her face. "Marry me?"
She just stared at him. Then she sniffed once, and suddenly she was crying, big tears that slid down her face.
"Mac?" He asked, eyes wide with panic. He quickly sat beside her on the bed, but wasn't sure if he should touch her.
She shook her head, and then threw herself at him. She buried her face in his neck, her arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, and she just kept crying.
"No, wait. Don't cry." Anything but that, her sobs twisted his heart. He ran a soothing hand up and down her back, completely confused by her reaction.
"Mac?"
He had no clue what to do. He'd never seen her cry this much over anything. This didn't seem like a good thing. He'd really though she would agree, she would say yes. He swallowed heavily.
"You, ah, you don't have to do anything right now, please just stop crying."
She still wasn't stopping.
"I didn't mean to make you cry." He soothed. What did this mean.
She tightened her arms around his shoulders, and he thought maybe the tears had stemmed somewhat.
"Oh, Harm." She whispered, still sniffing.
He didn't know what that meant, and she wasn't saying anything more.
"It's alright." He forced himself to say. "I love you, always. That won't change."
And that was enough to make the tears started afresh.
"Mac?" Panic was again rising. "Talk to me. I don't know what to do."
"I wasn't expecting this." She mumbled into his neck.
He couldn't help but laugh at her response, finding humour in this strange turn of events, even though he wasn't quite sure what was happening. "I can tell."
She joined him, her face still in his neck, laughing through her tears.
Okay. So, proposing was nothing like what they made it out to be in the movies. Surely she wouldn't actually say no, would she?
She pulled back with the most stunning smile he'd ever seen spread over her features. "Yes."
It took him a moment to realize what she meant.
"So you'll marry me?" Hope flickered and burst in his heart.
"Yes, please!" She nodded excitedly, that stunning smile still in place, eyes sparkling through her tears, looking so damn beautiful. This was his new favourite smile of hers, he decided, and he laughed out of sheer joy, convinced he'd never again feel a moment of such intense happiness as this one.
He kissed her and held her tightly, filled with that sense of promise that only really came in the mornings. Then he got back down on his knee. He took her hand in his.
"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you." He slipped the ring onto her finger, his hands shaking, and a few more tears escaped from her eyes.
She looked at the ring for a moment, and then slid down to her knees in front of him. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, kissing his neck, the side of his face, his hair.
"I love you, Harm."
He laughed just because he was happy.
"Always." He held her tight.
This was the best day of his life, hands down. It was perfect.
--
"We'll have to tell the admiral first thing," He struggled to regain control of his breathing, enjoying her sweat-slicked naked form in his arms. It was definitely better with them engaged. He could only imagine the fireworks their first time as a married couple. He grinned into the darkness.
"Mm."
Her answer was rather non-responsive. But then, he hadn't quite caught his breath yet either.
"He'll transfer one, or both of us out," He elaborated, rubbing his hand over her back.
"Mm." Again, a non-responsive if happy hum.
He lifted his head to look down at her. She was staring at the ring on her finger as it glinted in the light. "Are you listening?"
"Tell admiral. Transfer." She repeated the words, more intent on staring at the ring on her finger.
"You don't seem troubled by it."
"Why would I be," She turned her head towards him. "I have you." A blinding smile came with that.
"So you aren't worried?"
"If I transfer out, whatever duty station I end up at," She shrugged, turning her attention back to the ring. "I'll still be a Marine, and a damned good one at that."
"What if you don't like it?" He probably shouldn't give her reasons to back out, but he thought she should know what they were getting themselves into. This was pretty huge. "What if you aren't happy?"
"How could I not be?" She lifted herself up to meet his eye, dazzling smile still in place. "We're getting married!"
He grinned, smoothed the hair away from her face, his thumb traced her lips.
"What about you?" She asked, "Are you worried?"
"Why would I be?" He gave her his best grin, "I have you."
They shared a smile.
"We should call your parents," She settled herself back on his chest.
"Nah." He shifted against the pillows to make them more comfortable. "We can do that later." He yawned. "Besides, mom already knows I was going to propose."
"What?" She sat up, stared at him. "Really?"
"I did get the ring from her," He pointed at the ring.
She smiled that dazzling smile as her gaze fell to her adorned finger.
"When did you have it sent over?"
He hadn't expected that question. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering if lying to your fiancée on the first night of the engagement would somehow jinx the future. What were the rules of karma for this?
"Um, I ah..."
"What?" She looked up at him with a frown.
"Well, I've had the ring since our visit to La Jolla..." At least he was telling the truth. That was commendable.
"After Sergei." She nodded in understanding.
"No," He cleared his throat, now he really had to say it. "Um, the one before that."
"What!" Her jaw dropped. "That was in the beginning of June!"
"I was waiting for the right time..."
"It's been months, Harm!" She pointed out, ever so practically.
"It was never the right time." He repeated.
She stared at him in silence for a moment, looking thoroughly incredulous. Then, a spark of humour lit her eyes.
"This is why you were such a mess for a whole month after we came back!"
"I was not a mess," He defended.
"Harm. You sent me flowers, just like that. You drew me a bath – with rose petals in it. You kept taking me to fancy restaurants."
"So being romantic means being a mess? I'll keep that in mind," He teased.
She punched his arm lightly in warning. "You kept spacing out, acting strange, and let's not forget all the weird things you kept saying..."
"That is not true."
She quirked an eyebrow, and he huffed. He would admit to nothing.
She started laughing. "You are funny."
She lay back down and snuggled with him.
"I always would have said yes, Harm. You're my best friend." She said this as though it were all the explanation necessary.
"I was waiting for the perfect moment," He repeated stubbornly. Best friend. She made it sound like she would've accepted if he'd proposed right before he left to fly. They'd been best friends back then too, after all. What a load of BS, he thought. The timing had to be perfect. It did matter.
He was about to tell her so to prove his point when he felt her chuckle, the sound a pleasant echo against his chest.
She sighed happily and then kissed his shoulder, which made him decide he could just as well prove his point later.
They lay together in a warm silence.
She yawned, slowly giving in to sleep. He loved her like this, so comfortable in his arms, cozy and soft.
"Thank you." She whispered.
"For what?"
She lifted her left hand, indicating the ring.
"C'mon, Mac." He said, uncomfortable with the depth in her voice, in her eyes. If anything, he felt the absurd urge to get back on bended knee just to thank her for saying yes. He'd have flowers sent to her tomorrow. And chocolate. Hell, he'd take her to Beltway Burgers for lunch. He hoped he could be everything she saw in him. He didn't think lucky was close to covering what he was. Fortunate? Blessed, maybe?
"I can't wait, Mac." He said. "I can already picture it: you and me, a couple of kids..."
She shifted slightly against him, nestling closer. "Tell me," She whispered.
"You," He began. "Smiling, happy, carefree. Wearing my wedding ring. Sitting at the kitchen table—"
"Me, in a kitchen?" She interrupted, her tone incredulous.
"Hey now," He tugged at her hand which was lying on his chest, "Whose fantasy is this?"
She looked at him, feigning chastisement, a twinkle in her eye. "Sorry."
He smiled at her and continued, "Sitting at the kitchen table, helping our kids with their homework while I'm whipping up your favourite healthy, nutritionally balanced meal—"
She scoffed at that. "Alright. That's definitely a fantasy."
He laughed and kissed her hair.
"Sweet dreams, French fry."
He felt her smile. "G'night, Harm."
He waited until she was almost asleep before repeating: "And I was just waiting for the perfect moment."
The sound of her low laughter followed him to sleep.