Disclaimer: Don't own'em
--
The next Friday...
Mac watched him as he stood at the Wall, tiny white snowflakes drifting around him, landing on his hair and shoulders. She had this terrible foreboding, this sense that something terrible was going to happen. For the life of her, she couldn't shake it. Although this time, she was sure she was justified in her worry: Harm had found out his brother was missing, and he'd come here. They were meant to have a dinner date tonight – one hour and 13 minutes ago – but instead he'd come here and stood in the cold.
And now, standing a few feet away from him, she could see in the set of his shoulders that he'd already made a decision about what he was going to do.
But she would go up to him, stand next to him, and ask anyways. It would, she thought, make things easier for her in the long run. So she approached him.
"Hey" She studied his profile, rubbing her hand between his shoulder blades.
His glove-clad fingers smoothed over his father's name. "I have to go find him."
She stared at him, unsure what he meant by that tone of voice. There was a finality to it. "Harm, have you talked to Clay? To the Admiral?"
"There's nothing they can do. I have to do this."
And what did he mean by that?
"The admiral granted you leave?"
There was a pause. His eyes fixed on hers, wary.
"I resigned."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Two words. And they cut her in half. Her hand fell to her side.
"You resigned," She repeated.
He nodded slowly, intently. "I put my resignation in the admiral's inbox."
She couldn't think to say anything, too busy digesting this. He'd resigned.
"Are you going to say anything?" He prodded, sounding both impatient and worried.
He'd resigned, and he hadn't said anything about it to her.
"You've already made your decision, Harm." She needed to get away from him, to nurse this hurt, this rejection, alone. It hurt as much as she'd thought it would. "Nothing I say would have any bearing."
"It would make this easier."
"No," She shook her head, stared at the ground beneath their feet. "It wouldn't."
He reached a hand out, settling it on her arm.
"I'm coming back, Mac." He sounded confused by her reaction.
She wondered what all this meant. She knew Harm. He wasn't the kind to go through the proper channels or sit back and let someone else do what needed to be done, even if it was their job and not his. She had admired this part of him. But now, when it came to the brass tacks of life, things weren't so clear cut. He talked of having kids ... and then what? Would he leave them all behind as well to ride solo into whatever obsession-of-the-day claimed him? Could she live with that? Should their kids live with that?
She thought of Uncle Matt who was in jail, who'd left, who was taken from her life, because his principles rated higher than anything else. Suddenly, comparisons between Harm and Uncle Matt didn't seem so shiny smooth with heroism. She was a fool. Harm would leave in this same way, would be taken away from her by the system deciding it could no longer bend to his will, or by death, and he wouldn't think twice about it. She didn't know if she could bear it.
She watched him as he watched her. Duty and the Navy ordering him away was one thing; his own will was something entirely different. Had she ever rated high enough in someone's life that her feelings would come first? She immediately chastised herself for the selfish thought. Of course Sergei's life was more important than ... anything else. She just wished he'd looked for another way, one that didn't seem so impetuous and thoughtless and grand. She wished he'd just talked to her. She would never have demanded he stay, but at least she would've known where she stood with him.
The engagement ring she was wearing suddenly made her finger itch.
She'd let him go, not that he was even ever hers to let go, and while he was gone she'd have to think about this. And when – if – he came back, she'd have to figure it out.
Because suddenly being alone seemed a lot more appealing than being left out of the equation altogether.
The irony of it wasn't lost on her: before meeting Harm, she wouldn't even have thought she deserved more.
"Good luck, Harm." She kissed his cheek, and even that was more than she wanted to touch of him right now. She needed space.
"That's it?" He was startled. She almost scoffed at the irony of his reaction.
"What else do you want?" It came out sounding more defensive than she would've liked.
"I..." He shrugged, at a loss. "I guess I don't know."
"Take care of yourself." She turned to leave.
"Wait." He held her wrist. "You make it sound so final."
She sighed. "I guess I just need time to process this."
"Mac. I'm coming back," He repeated, insistent.
She hoped so, but he shouldn't make promises he couldn't keep. She thought he'd shed his father's ghost. Apparently not. It had just assumed another form.
"Good luck finding Sergei, Harm. I'll be here when you get back. Be safe." She tugged her wrist free of his grasp and headed back to her car. She couldn't look back.
To be honest, she'd known it would end. What she'd had with Harm, it had been too good to last. It had been great, though, while it had lasted. Yes, she'd known it all along, but this was one of those times where being right felt nothing short of terrible.
--
She shifted in her sleep. Something felt ... wrong. Unexpected. She had gone to bed alone ... She opened her eyes and saw that Harm lying next to her on the bed, propped up on his elbow, watching her quietly, intently.
She frowned, tendrils of sleep still clouding her mind. There had been something about a resignation and his brother ... Had it been a dream?
"Harm?" She blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. Her eyelashes felt crusty, her skin tight with dried tear trails.
Not a dream then.
She wiped her face with the sleeve of her pyjamas, not wanting him to see, already knowing it was too late.
The silent hurt in his eyes had her wishing she hadn't woken up at all, that this too could be a dream.
"You didn't say anything." He accused, still watching her with that unnerving hurt.
"It wouldn't have mattered."
"Mac."
She buried her face in her pillow. She did not want to have this conversation.
"What are you doing here?" The question occurred to her. He'd resigned only to spend the night watching her sleep instead of taking the first flight out? "Was your flight delayed?"
"Webb found Sergei. He's in a Chechen prison camp. And the admiral hadn't yet processed my resignation."
"Is Sergei alright?" She turned to look at him.
"None the worse for the wear." His expression had not shifted since she'd woken up. "Nothing can be done, except wait. But," Here he exhaled a long sigh of relief. "But he's safe and found."
"You should send Clay something ... What do spooks consider to be good thank-you gifts anyways?" She really didn't want to have the conversation he was going to push for, the one she could see waiting in his eyes.
"Mac." His fingers brushed over the dried tear tracks criss-crossing her cheeks.
She took a deep breath and forced herself not to move away even though she needed room from him. Might as well get this over with. She thought she'd have had more time to gather her words and tuck away her regrets.
"Why didn't you talk to me?" He asked.
"You resigned without telling me. What good would talking have done." Her eyes held his, waiting for an answer that would let her believe she'd blown this way out of proportion.
"Mac..." He trailed off. A frown creased his brow. "You've never told me why your friends call you Mac." He suddenly said.
"What?" This time she didn't hide her confusion or impatience. She sat up, and leaned back against the headboard.
He sat up as well, arm's length away from her. It let her breathe easier. She'd been ready to spend the next few days or weeks or a lifetime without him near, and his sudden presence was throwing her for a loop.
But he'd stayed because Sergei was safe, and he wanted to know why her friends called her Mac. She was getting very frustrated.
"I wish you'd just told me you were upset," He reached for her, but she moved away.
"Right. Because the idea of my fiancé dropping his life to go off half-cocked on an unauthorized search wouldn't be upsetting."
"You came with me last time."
"No one can stop you when you set your mind to something. I didn't want you getting killed."
He paused, and so did she, surprised by how callous her remark came out sounding.
"Why is it so different this time?" He made no move to touch her, but his words were soft as any caress. She refused to let them have any effect, knowing this conversation was important.
"You said you wanted kids." She looked him in the eye. "You said you wanted to get married and settle down."
"I do." He frowned, no doubt wondering where this was heading. She could see the impatience in his eyes, could feel his anger winding. She ignored it.
"And then you drop everything to—"
"To keep my brother safe, Mac!" He exclaimed.
"He's in the army, Harm." She answered calmly, ignoring the frustration coiling around his words. "It comes with the territory. You're not his CO. Hell, you're not even fighting for the same country."
"So I just sit on my hands while he's missing," His tone was hard, his expression even more so.
"No. You wouldn't do such a thing."
He shook his head, thrown by her easy agreement. "Then what?"
"I just don't know if I can be the kind of person who sits by while you do these things without even cluing me in, or the kind of person who drops everything whenever you get obsessed over something so I can watch your six because you don't think these things through. I want stability in my life, Harm." She wanted that but didn't think she could have it. And he'd proved her right. "I've never had that, and I thought ... I mean..."
"You're not being fair," He accused.
"Life's not fair."
"C'mon, Mac. What's that supposed to mean?"
"Maybe we aren't ready for this."
"What?" He whispered, shocked. She thought she heard the whoosh of air as his heart fell to his toes. She blinked away the tears in her eyes, unable to look at him.
"Maybe..."
He didn't let her finish. His anger radiated off his skin in waves, and she it took concerted effort on her part to keep from flinching.
"So you want me to just sit by and do nothing when my brother's life is in danger! I would do anything I could to keep him safe, Mac. I'd do the same for any friend, for family! You want me to change!" He accused, his words burning with resentment. "I won't do that, Mac."
"I don't want that!" She defended, her own anger rising. She had never asked that of him. Dammit, she thought he would at least talk to her, see her as a part of his life. A part that mattered. "I'm not the one who brought up marriage!" She turned to face him. "You were the one who said you were ready for this!"
"So now you don't want to get married!"
"This isn't about what I want!"
"You seem to be calling all the shots here, Mac! Come to think of it, you keep putting off talks about planning the wedding!"
"Like hell. It was your call to resign your commission. You didn't even say anything beforehand! And say we do get married. Say we have kids. Then what? You'll leave them too?"
Anger slid dark and silent into place on his face, his armour now firmly fixed, with her on the outside. She watched his control slip, and hated herself for this. But he had to realize...
"If you had any respect for me," His eyes were dark and cold. She had never seen him like this. "You would never have said that."
"Someone has to. Your actions have consequences—"
"That's enough." He ripped the covers off and climbed out of bed, his movements jerked with uncontrolled fury. He yanked on a pair of pants, hastily donning his clothes, throwing his things into his overnight bag, which had previously been tucked away under her bed.
Panic clenched her heart. Her throat tightened. She couldn't breathe.
"Don't—" She followed him out of bed, but then stopped herself. She couldn't make him stay. That fact had been made painfully clear at the wall. She would not cry.
She turned away before he could finish packing his things, and quickly walked into the bathroom, locking the door shut behind her. She leaned against the wood and tried to catch her breath. She didn't even know what she was feeling. She wanted to break something, she wanted to hide.
The sound of him pulling open drawers drifted through the closed door.
She flicked on the switch for the fan. It wasn't loud enough – she could still hear him packing. She hurried to the bathtub and turned the faucets. Water gushed out in a thick stream, hitting ceramic, filling the small washroom with noise. She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, her eyes fixed on the tile floor. Just a few minutes, and it would be over.
--
One hour, six minutes, eighteen seconds.
She had locked herself in here one hour, six minutes and nineteen seconds ago.
It was immature. She didn't think she could explain her own reaction. Why did she lock herself in the bathroom like some weak female?
Because she'd panicked.
Dammit.
And why did she say that to him?
Because he needed to hear it. She'd been trying to convince herself that marriage meant something, she'd been trying to believe that maybe she could have that kind of meaning. She told herself things had changed between them. He'd seemed more settled, content, of late.
And then Sergei went missing and he was again the man she'd first met, obsessed and consumed and unconcerned with how his actions affected those around him.
Mac tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. Be honest, MacKenzie.
And because deep down she didn't think she could be the kind of happy Harm made her feel. Good things didn't happen to her, they didn't last. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Mac sighed. Now what.
First things first. She turned and shut off the faucet, the water now freezing cold. She stood up slowly, easing the kinks from sitting on the floor for one hour, twenty-eight minutes, four seconds.
Hand on the doorknob, Mac took a deep breath. Maybe this was just a fight. People fought all the time and walked out on each other and then came back, didn't they? But, god, what would she do the next time he dropped everything, including her.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open. How would she face him the next time they met? She stepped into the room, eyes fixed on the floor, heart beating in her ears, and told herself to look at the empty bed and bare closet and just get this over with.
Deep breath. She lifted her eyes...
...And found that he was still here, sitting on the bed, his back to her.
His head turned, almost absently, at the sound of the washroom door opening. When he saw her over his shoulder, his entire frame jumped to attention. He stood up quickly, awkwardly to face her.
She was frozen in front of the bathroom door. He'd stayed? But...
"Mac." He whispered, he walked around the bed, towards her. "Sarah."
He put his arms out in invitation, his heart reaching out to her. Without even giving it a thought, she stepped into his warmth and held him tight. The tears that she'd so carefully kept inside welled, and fell one by one.
"I thought you'd left," She sobbed, even though she hated to cry in front of anyone. Her fists clutched his shirt. "I thought..."
"I'm sorry," He said, hugging her fiercely. "I didn't ... I wouldn't..." His words were as confused and disjointed as hers.
"I'm sorry." She insisted, her tears soaking through his shirt. "I shouldn't have said that to you."
"No, Mac. I should have talked to you about it."
"I wouldn't have stopped you."
"I know." His hold on her tightened, he buried his face in her neck. "I know."
"I just ... I just..."
"I know."
--
She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Harm was sleeping soundly beside her. She, however, could not sleep. Too much thinking going on: she had overreacted to Harm's actions. She knew why, and she didn't like her reasons. She didn't like what it said about her.
She was so messed up. She needed to get a hold of all this, before it spiralled out of her control.
"Hey," His voice was rough with sleep. He slid his hand over her stomach, under her slip, and pulled her closer, nestling her into his side. "I can hear you thinking. It's making my dreams stressful," He teased.
She shrugged, her words burning to be heard. She needed to sort this out; she had promised him that she would, and yet here she was still pushing him away.
"I just wanted to matter enough for you to talk to me about it." She whispered, watching the faint shadows that were dancing across the ceiling.
"Mac..." He protested softly.
She fixed her gaze on the patterns cast by the wan moonlight. "I'm having a hard time believing I can have all of this." Honesty was hard to come by, especially when he was touching her. "When you said you'd resigned, without saying anything beforehand to me, it just confirmed what I'd convinced myself of all along. I don't deserve this."
Sadness filled him; she could feel it in his touch. She could feel it drip from his fingers and through her skin.
"Don't ever think that's true, Sarah." His grip on her waist tightened.
"I can't help it." She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to turn away from him and hide her weakness.
He pulled her against him, his arms surrounding her.
"Don't," He repeated.
"When I walked away at the wall," She mumbled into his chest. "I thought I'd been right all along. It wouldn't last. And I was relieved because it meant I didn't have to wonder, to wait for everything to collapse around me."
He rubbed his cheek against her hair.
"I'm sorry, Harm." She burrowed closer to him. "I promised you I'd work harder to trust you."
"Hey, it's alright, Mac. I should've talked to you about it. Trust is a two-way thing."
She looked up at him. "I would have told you to go."
He nodded. "I know."
"If we'd had kids, and this had happened, what would you have done?"
"I don't know."
She laughed, even though there was no humour in this. "Yes, you do."
He kissed her hair, saying nothing.
I know too, she thought. A deep sadness filled her; she tried to fight it. I just have to accept it.