Chapter 6 - Coming Home

July 2003

Mac's Apartment

Georgetown

"Always come back to me, always." Mac's soft voice echoed in his mind, a request she made when he left for his first assignment a month prior. She dropped him off at the airport and he kissed her goodbye like something out of a movie.

He hated leaving but each time he came back her welcoming committee had been wonderful. What Harm didn't anticipate were the quick

turnarounds, only a day or two would pass when he was assigned a new mission, a new flight to parts of the World he would have rather not visited. Coming home was special.

The door always stuck a little, no matter how many times he greased the hinges, changed the locks or shaved down the edges. Mac's door always needed an extra little push to open and at 0200 he was trying to be quiet.

He'd been back in Washington for hours, landed at Dulles in the late afternoon and was debriefed for what felt like forever. The agency had plenty of questions as to what transpired that would make him attempt to land a C-130 on an aircraft carrier.

It was a most impossible feat, only successful once in 1963 with near perfect conditions and a deck that was empty and ready for such a landing. His plane would have no hook to grab the arresting gear and nothing but a prayer to restrain the heavy machine against emergency netting.

Oh how he missed his Tomcat's, the aircraft equivalent to a sports car with sexy moves and quick responsiveness. He was an expert on the stick, one of the best to push the jet fighter to its limits and beyond. The Hercules was like flying a bus.

While the plane was impressive in its own right, there was nothing sexy about it. It moved how it wanted to, the controls were heavy and gritty. The more cargo the plane carried the worse it got as the prop driven plane became a flying paper weight that slowly cut through the clouds.

This time he had souls on board, not just him and Beth but the precious cargo of an agent who wouldn't leave Libya without his family. The simple mission of recovery had drastically changed and Harm was forced to turn into a field agent with Beth in tow.

Partnering with her had been a godsend. The woman was an incredible pilot, tenacious as hell and with similar intuition. She was level headed just like Mac who was once jealous of the partners until Beth allowed him to discuss her sexual preference.

The last assignments had gone off relatively well, he was getting the hang of dealing with the agency and their silly little rules. It seemed like everything the agency touched turned into a shit sandwich and he was right in the middle. His handler, Alan Blaidsdale begged and pleaded as time began running out. Eventually Harm had to give in because there were children involved, ones that would be killed if they remained.

When they took to the skies, Harm hoped the cover of night would keep the enemies away but it didn't. The Lybians had managed to shoot down one engine. Soon after the others began to fail as he and Beth desperately fought to keep the plane steady while it spewed fuel.

The only available landing strip was much too far away and in enemy territory but the Seahawk floated nearby. He would try, he had to because there were no other options other than crashing into the vast sea. From experience Harm knew the ocean was nothing to toy with. Even with good weather, the murky darkness and cold water could kill just as much as a crash could.

It reminded him of Mac's failed wedding, specifically the airplane malfunction that had him ejecting into a storm tossed sea. Could she find him again if the plane didn't stay airborne? Would he ever see her again?

The Seahawk cleared her decks in anticipation. Aircraft were routed to other carriers and friendly landing strips that would keep them safe. A crash barricade, heavy netting stretched across the deck, would be their only salvation and the rest was in God's hands.

He was sure the heavy aircraft would topple off the opposite side of the runway when the hunk of metal hit the deck and began to gradually slow. Harm held his breath the entire time, biting his inner cheek as he tried to forget memories of a fiery crash and the RIO which was killed as a result.

They landed, survived and for his heroism, Harm had been dressed down by the agency during debrief. He was deemed a hot head, dangerous and foolish, a careless jet jock who forgot he was no longer in the Navy.

Harm was surprised he still had a job. By the way Blaidsdale spoke he was sure to be canned but Webb had gotten in the way and prevented his termination. He was thankful at first but, the further he drove away from Langley, the more apprehensive the idea made him.

It was late so he went home to shower and sleep. But rest wouldn't come easy, each time he closed his eyes Harm could only imagine the net snapping, the plane falling into the ocean.

Just after one he remembered he hadn't called Mac, hadn't told her he was home. A promise wasn't kept and it drove him mad that his oath to Mac was broken. He needed to go to her, needed to see her and let their time together serve as the balm which healed his pride.

Harm hung his bomber jacket on the rack by the door, dropped his keys and wallet on her coffee table and quietly entered Mac's room. He hadn't turned on a light so that his eyes could adjust to the darkness. As he stripped off his jeans, his shirt and dropped them to the ground he watched her sleep.

Mac's body was turned away from him, the comforter tucked around her body. His side of the bed was empty, inviting with cold sheets that felt good as he lowered himself next to her.

He wanted to touch, to kiss her and let the sweet sin of her body comfort him but he merely lay there staring at the ceiling. Sleep came but for a moment, broken only when Mac's hand reached out to touch him.

Her fingers moved over his face, drawing him to her like a magnet. He felt her comforter being draped over him, her body shifting towards his and the soft sound of her voice cutting through the silence. "You're home."

"I am."

"God does answer my prayers." Her words were awfully melodramatic but after seeing him on the screens in the bullpen, Mac realized his 'flying' was cause for concern.

"Oh please, Mac. Everything is fine."

"Right. So it wasn't you that I saw you on ZNN while the news crew was on the Seahawk?"

Harm avoided the cameras, hurriedly walking away from the plane and to the island as he carried a little girl. The air crew was boisterously cheering them on and he pushed them out of the way making sure the Libyan agent and his family were safe. "What do you mean you saw me?"

"You were turned away from the camera, carrying a little girl but, I'd know you a mile away."

The assignment was meant to be classified which was why the CIA worked hard to recover the film and keep their anonymity, he was surprised ZNN even managed to blast the landing out to the World. "You're mistaken, Mac. I-"

"I know you can't tell me. I know it's all classified. What I don't know is if I should be proud or infuriated." She kissed him, a sweet and slow movement of her lips on his that made his heart ache. "That blue flight suit doesn't look as good on you as the gray one."

Her comment made him laugh and in a way, she was right. It was far too loose, not form fitting and that particular shade of blue stood out like a sore thumb. "It's not meant to be a fashion statement."

His arms came around her, lips found lips that he kissed so gently it drove her mad. She sighed as her arms came around him and held on like he was her lifeline, their kisses deepening for a moment until he pressed his forehead against hers. "I missed you."

"When do you leave again?"

"I'm yours for a while." They had time until the CIA concluded their investigation and were sure the mission was still a success.

"Good."

Harm didn't intend to make love to her but the curves of Mac's body were his Siren's song. He rolled her over, covered her body with his and began to kiss every inch of her skin. "I need you, Sarah."

"I need you too….I love you."

September 2003

Two Weeks Later

Harm's Apartment

North of Union Station

Harm never quite got around to all of the repairs on his list. His job with the agency dropped into his lap faster than anticipated and seeing Mac meant more time spent at her apartment than his.

He loved his loft, it was a place of peace and solitude but, it was also a bachelor pad, not designed for two although he was sure they could make it work. For all of the time he'd put into the place, it didn't feel like a home unlike Mac's apartment that was bigger yet warm and cozy.

Maybe it was being wrapped up in her presence that made him feel at peace? She was good for him, the kind he eagerly rushed home to. He finally had the girl he wanted and was happy that their relationship progressed.

There were a few bumps in as many months, an argument or two, the silly kinds all couples engaged in. But he loved her. Harm loved her so much that the words still failed him because he'd yet to find the perfect time to make it really mean something.

After the C-130 landing, assignments were spread out, boring and mundane. He was happy for the lack of action because it meant more time at home and more time with Mac. Except his last assignment would be the turning point, the end of their peace and the last weekend they would spend together.

A double agent was on his plane hiding along the cargo that the airport crew in Sudan had ratched into place. It was supposed to be their people, their contacts, their trusted allies but Harm would soon find that few at Langley had his back.

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence which made the aircraft feel as if it were breaking in two. While Harm, the more experienced pilot remained to handle the controls, Beth left to check on the cargo. Any shift could cause issues with fuel, handling and landings. She didn't expect to find herself held against a crate of Chinese firearms with a knife to her throat.

"Beth? Everything okay?" It was especially hard to hear over the sound of the propellers but his intuition held a warning that he couldn't ignore. The plane was switched to auto-pilot as he feared his partner was trapped between the cargo.

A similar situation out of Columbia had killed another agency flier when straps weren't ratched and a pallet crushed him against the hold. He died on impact and stricter loading guidelines were put in place but, this wasn't the military. While accidents happened they were few and far between.

"Let her go." Harm warned as the other man screamed in a language he wasn't familiar with. The knife dug into Beth's throat leaving a cut that oozed blood along the edges of the blade and then dripped down to her flight suit in thick rivulets.

He stood motionless, arms akimbo while he tried to find a resolution that wouldn't kill Beth. "Relax. Put the knife down. You're hurting her."

Beth's eyes grew wide in fear, her skin had the most unnatural pallor. She considered leaning into the blade, ending her own life in hopes that Harm could strike and save the mission when another patch of turbulence shook the plane.

Harm used the distraction to pounce once Beth dropped to the ground and rolled away from her assailant. The man was thin and tall but, as strong as an ox. He easily manhandled the former JAG officer, slamming him again and again into the cargo.

His back hit the hard crates a fourth time and the corner of the ratchet dug in deep enough to sap the air out of his lungs. If a rib hadn't broken it was at least bruised and hurting like hell, forcing Harm to his knees.

The assailant found the knife that had wedged against the fuselage and turned to have it point at the aviator who was now standing, taking deep breaths and eyeing the blade that shone in unnatural light. When the man attacked, he was ready, using one forearm to stop the knife while the flat of his right hand hit the flesh between head and shoulder.

He was cut, bleeding through the long sleeve shirt he wore under the flight suit but as he straddled the man, pain didn't matter any longer. Harm slammed his fist into every spot left exposed, hitting again and again until flesh softened and bones broke. And then he hit him some more, nearly killing the double agent, stopping only when Beth told him to.

The flight was diverted to the nearest, friendly base where another crew continued their flight so that Beth and Harm's injuries could be attended to. He hadn't told Mac about their ordeal not even when he knew his injuries were impossible to hide.

Mac secured early the day he arrived and entered his loft carrying two bags loaded with groceries. She wanted to make him dinner along with a tart strawberry shortcake recipe she'd been toying with. She would light candles, put on soft music and take good care of him.

With a wicked smile she put away the groceries and began undoing the buttons of her jacket that she placed in the closet next to his. Dress blues and summer whites still hung in their normal spot and her smile dropped away on a wistful sigh.

It had been months and still Harm held on to a sliver of hope and so did she that one day he'd return to JAG. For now, they were together like a normal couple. A normal couple that dated and went on romantic weekends together and was content just to be, when time allowed.

She stepped out of her heels, let her skirt drop to the floor and was working on the buttons of the blouse when she walked into the bathroom. "Hey handsome, want some comp... Oh God."

The bruises were startling and not the kind he could have ever hidden from her. They stretched from his left hip and moved across his back, deep shades of purple that only worsened as the water glistened his skin. "Harm. Oh God."

He stood motionless underneath the stream, one hand holding a bar of soap and the other pressed against the tiles. It hurt to move too quickly, it also hurt to shower, the warm water felt like daggers against his skin and the soap burned.

Harm could feel her watching but he didn't turn nor did he shut off the water; an explanation was hard to come by. "Mac, it's not as bad as it looks."

She pursed her lips as she moved closer and gently pressed a hand on his back. Besides the bruising, there were scratches in odd patterns that made little sense. He took a breath when she touched him, turned when Mac asked him to so that she found the rest of his injuries.

Knuckles were bruised as was his left eye. There were stitches on his forearm which Harm tried to keep dry by binding cling wrap over the laceration. "Mac-"

"Hand me the soap and turn around." She s

uttered the gentle command, grabbing the bar which she worked into a thick lather that she carefully ran down his back once Harm faced the stream.

Mac cleansed each injury she found, gently using the soap to wash his wounds. The bruises made her frown and she managed to keep her thoughts and questions to herself although she wanted answers. She needed answers or would go to Webb herself and demand the truth.

Almost immediately she felt the guilt that had become part of her since Chegwidden stopped his return. She felt guilty that he wasn't at JAG. She felt guilty that he wasn't home nearly as much. And now she felt guilty for these injuries.

Mac had taken a shower alone, leaving

Harm to dress and sit on the edge of the bed where waited patiently. She hadn't said a word as she cleansed each wound, taking care not to cause him more pain. But the questions would soon come, he knew her too well to believe she'd just ignore it all.

And when she stepped out wearing his robe, his stomach did that flip flop thing. The fabric dwarfed her smaller frame so that she needed to roll up the sleeves and cinch it ridiculously tight. He smiled at how adorable she looked, how comfortable enough to wear his things. "Looks better on you than me."

"Uh huh. Don't ignore the elephant in the room. What happened?" Mac finally asked after dumping the contents of his first aid kit onto the mattress and coming to her knees so she could better assess his forearm and knuckles.

"Classified." Harm sighed, he didn't want to use the term knowing it would hurt but it came out anyway. Her breath caught immediately and her hand stopped unravelling the plastic wrap on his arm. "Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not." She defended quickly, too quickly and when he stared at her with his brows raised and that typical, infuriating 'yeah, right' look, Mac sat back and sighed. "Okay, I am...I'm fucking pissed."

That too made the guilt unbearable and the weight on her shoulders worsened when she asked the one question Mac didn't know to ask until now, "Are you a field agent?"

"No." And it wasn't a lie, the assignment had been to fly as it had been the nine flights before and even the day he landed the plane on a carrier - he was just a pilot, nothing more. But the way Mac grabbed his hand with a little too much force meant she didn't believe him. "Mac, I'm not."

"And this?" She motioned at his knuckles, his forearm and didn't bother mentioning the bruises. "Let me guess, bar fight?"

"Someone snuck into cargo before take off, held Beth at knife point. We fought."

"Is she okay?"

"She's a little shaken but she'll be fine." Fine and never setting foot in Langley again. As they rode to the nearest hospital, she'd told Harm that it was over.

"And you?"

"Nothing is broken, maybe my pride is a little. The bastard got a few good shots in."

"Does it hurt?"

"No." He claimed because that macho side of him didn't want Mac to worry until she swiped the ointment he handed her onto the stitches and the pain made him wince. "Yes, yes it hurts."

"I'm glad you're home. I missed you."

"I missed you too." And now, more than ever, Harm realized how much he loved her. Near death experiences had a habit of bringing up those sentiments.

It was late the following morning when Harm opened his eyes to find himself alone in bed. The sheets were cold, her pillow was too and the fragrance she wore was quickly fading. The scent of coffee drew him out of bed wincing as his injuries protested his movement.

After popping a couple of painkillers and using the head, he gave chase, wrapping his arms around Mac's waist as she stood in his kitchen stirring ingredients for an omelette. Funny how the pain lessened as his lips found the crook of her shoulder and her body leaned back into his. "Thank you for dinner."

She still cooked for him although with far less enthusiasm. The candles and soft music would be saved for another day. "How you feeling?"

"Sore." He admitted but still turned Mac around so that he could lift her up and set her on the counter top.

"Harm! Are you crazy?"

"Probably." She wore his faded KISS shirt which hung past mid-thigh, the material so old it was nearly see-thru in some parts. Mac had appropriated the garment some weeks ago and he decided it never looked better.

When they kissed it was like an accelerant to an open flame. His hands held her hips, her legs lightly circled his and they both forgot about the the agency or their stupid missions.

Mac's hands carefully moved down his spine stopping only to hook her fingers on the elastic of his boxers that she pulled down so that they stopped mid-buttocks. His lips took hers passionately. His own hands slipped beneath her shirt stopping just under her breast when a knock at his door made them stop.

Had it not been incessant, it might have been ignored but at the fourth hard knock, Harm pulled away. "Shit."

She placed a quick kiss on his lips and then slipped off the counter. "I'll get it, you get your little sailor under control."

"Whoever it is, tell them to go fuc-" He was halfway to the bedroom when a familiar voice made him stop and turn. A pregnant woman stepped into the living room, hands instinctively coming to rest on her large belly.

This wasn't just any pregnant woman, it was his wife. "Hey, Harm."