A little tag to the Boomerang episodes in Australia where Harm's imagination (and mine apparently) goes a little crazy.

Maybe having Harm being hit into his head again, Mac taking care of him and he would think that her solicitude is just his imagination. But because it is so nice, he'll give in and reveal his feeling. - prompt from a fellow Tumblr user - thank you for the prompt!

The old warehouse wasn't soundproof, but the heavy brick walls muffled a good part of the noise, and there wasn't anyone close enough to hear the crash anyway. The structure was also in disrepair, so even if someone had been nearby, they might have thought it was just a piece of the building crumbling with age.

It was actually the sound of an Australian Navy commander smashing a U.S. Navy commander against the wall.

"Come on, mate. You really think you can take me on here? You're on my turf now. My country, my home court."

Harm quickly shook off the daze from the sheer force of slamming into the wall. "This isn't a boxing match, Brumby," he spat.

"Yeah, you're right. It's a bloody pub fight. Come on," Mic dared in a low voice. "Bring it on, mate."

Harm rolled his eyes. "I'm not bringing it anywhere, mate," he shot back. "My orders are only to inflict a certain amount of pain."

"Yeah? So are mine."

Mic's angry fist connected with Harm's face with a loud crack, and Harm returned the blow with similar force.

The Australian commander stumbled backwards, but he recovered quickly, only to have Harm tackle him to the ground. The concrete floor scraped against bare flesh where they had stripped their blouses, and the sand and dirt streaked the remainder of their summer white uniforms.

"Is that all you got, Brumby?"

Fury was starting to blindside the U.S. commander as he hauled his adversary to his feet and pummeled him against the wall.

Mic cursed with pain as Harm violently wrenched both of his arms backwards. He twisted out of the chokehold, digging his elbow sharply into Harm's chest and spinning around to land a swift punch to his stomach.

He received the same strike in retaliation. Both men sent each other sprawling, and Harm's head struck the concrete with a sickening thud.

And then everything went black.

"Harm."

Mac? He could have sworn he heard her voice. What is she doing here?

But it hurt too much to open his eyes, and the painful ache behind his temples wouldn't stop throbbing. Gingerly, he brought a hand up to his face and flinched when his fingers met something sticky. Blood, he realized. Probably his own.

He felt her drop to her knees beside him on the cold concrete, grasping his hand and shooting tender warmth up his arm.

"Come on, Harm, stay with me."

Harm tried to sit up, but the room immediately spun in circles, and he groaned and fell backwards into Mac's arms. "I—I must have hit my head."

"I think you also cracked a couple of ribs," Mac informed him, running a finger over the dark bruises forming on his bare chest. Her touch sent his pulse skyrocketing. She traced another finger over the swelling beneath his eye. "And you're looking at a pretty good shiner here."

"Brumby?" he asked weakly.

"Looks worse than you do," Mac assured him.

"Mac, I—"

"Shhhh," she whispered, placing a finger over his lips. "Can you stand up?"

"Yeah."

Slowly, Harm rose to his feet, leaning heavily on Mac for support. When he was finally upright, she wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him close.

"Mac," he breathed, "what are you doing?"

"I don't know, sailor," she whispered with a secretive smile. "This is your dream."

Harm briefly wondered if he had hit his head harder than he thought, but all thought was interrupted as her lips brushed against his, softly at first, and then suddenly plundering his mouth with a hunger that only he could satisfy.

"Mac." Harm spoke more forcefully this time, his breathing ragged as the electricity crackled between them. "What…what are you doing?"

She pressed a gentle kiss against his bruised cheekbone. "I'm not waiting for eternity, Commander."

Commander...Commander…

"Co-man-therr? Eck-thuse me, Co-man-therr? Are woo othay, thir?"

Harm slowly drifted back into consciousness at the sound of a fuzzy, insistent voice in his ear.

"Qantas Flight 7 will be landing in Los Angeles in one hour."

There was also another voice coming over an intercom that was much clearer than the first.

As reality clawed its way into his subconscious and forced him from his dream, Harm finally opened his eyes and found himself sitting in an airplane seat with Bud staring at him curiously.

"Hewwo, thir. I tink woo err dwee-ming." Bud was trying hard to enunciate clearly, but it was truly impossible with his broken jaw. He waved his hand in greeting instead. "Are woo othay, thir?"

Harm stared at him blankly, not comprehending for a moment, but then he saw the concern in Bud's eyes.

"I'm fine, Bud," he replied, suddenly feeling his guilt settle like a rock in the pit of his stomach. "Bud," he began hesitantly. "I don't know how to say—"

"Ith othay, thir."

It wasn't okay, but Harm appreciated the fact that Bud was trying to ease his conscience. He laid a friendly hand on the lieutenant's shoulder, wincing as the movement jostled his broken ribs.

Harm shifted in his seat to stifle his sharp gasp of pain, and his gaze fell on Mac across the aisle from him. She seemed to be lost in thought, staring out the window at the passing clouds, and when she reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Harm caught sight of Brumby's shiny ring on her right hand.

It felt like being punched in the gut all over again.

Don't come out until you administer pain equal to what you inflicted on Lieutenant Roberts.

And he wondered if a broken jaw could hurt any more than his broken heart.