A/N: Another chapter at last. I hope to be writing more in the next couple of weeks—I had surgery and will be off work for a bit. All is well, and I hope to spend my convalescence catching up on my stories.

Trust

Chapter 22: Guilt

Mac felt awful. Her body ached, she was still tired, still groggy after the medications she had been given last night, and now she was too emotional after she'd stupidly read Harm's note before she planned to leave for work.

She couldn't do it. Harm was right. She did need to stay home. With a curse, she picked up the phone and called the admiral, figuring rightly that he'd already be at the office. He sounded concerned and, surprising herself, she actually told him of her injuries. After expressing his sympathies, he told her to take a few days off. Of course, she declined, telling him she'd be there tomorrow morning, and he actually sounded exasperated when he acknowledged that. After a few more pleasantries, she hung up, took some ibuprofen, then figured she'd better text Harm so he wouldn't worry.

Right.

The way he'd been acting lately, he'd be sure to worry. He'd probably rush over here during his noon hour.

She couldn't handle that.

She should probably tell him not to come over, but that would most definitely hurt his feelings, and she didn't want that. Mac shook her head. No. It didn't matter what he thought. She had every right to be alone, to not worry about upsetting someone when she was merely doing what was best for her.

She shot off a text to him, then opened his letter again, tearing up as she read the now familiar words.

Dear Mac,

Yes, Mac, this is the exact kind of letter I wanted you to write. I want total honesty from you, even if it is hard to take sometimes. And yes, your words were hard to take.

It was a bit devastating to read that you don't think we can salvage what we once had, even though I fear you are correct. No, I know you're correct. We'll never, for lack of a better word, have the easy friendship we had before Mic and René, before I left to fly, and before I found out you were married.

This is not to say that I don't think we can be friends anymore. I honestly feel, having gone through so many difficulties, that we can have a deeper friendship than ever before. We just need to keep talking, and I need to keep working to convince you that I can be trusted, that I'm sorry for my actions, and that I never plan to hurt you again. Oh, I know I can't promise that we won't ever cause each other pain, but know that I will do everything in my power to be the honorable man I have always strived to be. Hmmm, that's a funny statement, because to tell you the truth, I never thought I had to strive to be honorable. I just thought I was. Now, as I look back, I see with stunning clarity all the times I was so much less than honorable…like the time I sandbagged you in court shortly after we met. I didn't do it to deliberately hurt you. I just wanted to win, and you were making that difficult. I wasn't used to that. Oh, sure, I had had difficult cases, but going up against you was different than anything I'd ever experienced before.

So…I guess I like to win—and for the longest time I didn't understand that in my drive to be on top, I hurt people. People I care about—and Mac, I care about you. I always have, and yet time and time again, I've let you down. It's little wonder that you don't trust me now, especially given what's happened in the last couple of years. I have been downright cruel to you so often since Paraguay. I'm so very sorry. I promise I'll apologize separately for each of those times—but first—Mac, I'm so sorry I sandbagged you in court during the Conners case. I'm sorry for just laughing you off when you called me on it. I told you you were taking it all too seriously…but you weren't, Mac. You're right, friends, at least not good ones, don't sandbag friends. I'm glad we seemed to move past that, but I wonder…if we hadn't started off that way, would we be in this position now? I know you've trusted me with many of your secrets. You've followed me and saved me from my obsessions…but in the back of your mind, did you hold part of yourself back because you already felt you could never completely trust me?

Oh, Mac…it's so easy for me to say you can trust me, but I know it's going to be so hard to actually convince you. That breaks my heart, but that's all on me.

One more thing—I've noticed you tend to feel guilty over things out of your control or things that are in no way your responsibility. Going back to the Conners case, I think you felt guilty for getting angry with me and that's why you showed up at my apartment with your peace offering—and I'll admit in my immature state of mind, I thought you did owe me an apology. Mac, it took too long, but I'm older and wiser now. It is I who owes you an apology for what happened all those years ago, and for what is happening now. I don't want you to feel guilty about any feelings you have—if you're angry or sad, if you actually can't stand the sight of me—don't suppress those feelings. Be honest with me. I want to hear it all—no, I think I need to hear it all.

Okay, I lied—I have yet another "one more thing"—

I know we probably need to go more in depth with the whole Singer situation, but in your letter, you mentioned a few specific things…I'm only going to bring up one of them now…

You said you knew I didn't really mean it when I suggested we go halves on a kid…Mac, I did mean it. Standing on the front steps of JAG, I had no idea what the future held for us, for me. I was going back to fly and there you were, looking so—I guess the word I'd use is melancholy. You looked like I felt. I know it didn't seem like it, but I was having second thoughts about leaving to fly. I knew deep down that returning to a fighter squadron at that stage in the game was a dead-end career move. I knew I would miss JAG, and I knew I had a promising future as a lawyer—but what really weighed on me was leaving you. I looked at you that day, and suddenly I did see myself five, ten years in the future. I wasn't alone. You were there with me, along with a little girl that looked just like you. I wanted that little girl to be mine too. So, because I was too much of a coward to admit all of that right there and too much of a coward to tell the admiral I'd made a mistake about leaving JAG, I made that deal with you. It's a deal I think about all the time, even though it's already reached its expiration date. It's a deal that has kept me going when all I wanted to do was quit—quit flying, quit JAG, quit living when I was stuck out in the ocean the night before your wedding.

Sitting here writing this, I want to run into your bedroom and ask for an extension on our deal. That's probably not what you want to read so soon after your miscarriage and when our friendship isn't on solid ground, but I'm committed to honesty here—and I don't want you to ever think I made that promise to have a baby with you without the intention of keeping it.

I'd better sign off now—any minute you'll wake up and find me here and I really don't think the admiral wants me to call into work dead. :)

So—I'm still going to say it just like last time—I'm sorry, Mac.

Yours—

Harm

Mac folded Harm's letter again and slid it back into its envelope. She tried to fight the tears, but a moment later, she found herself sobbing into her hands. God, she was so confused. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to pass these letters back and forth. They made her feel too much. They made her fall more in love with Harm even as they awakened the fury in her as well. He was right—she did feel guilty about so much, and no matter that he told her not to, she felt guilty about being angry with him. He had been right—she did feel guilty so many years ago when she'd confronted him about sandbagging her. He'd acted so righteous, and he had been so passionate about finding the truth, that surely, she had to be in the wrong. Thus, she'd showed up at his apartment wanting to make amends.

How foolish that seemed now…

No, it wasn't foolish. She'd had a good time that night. They had talked, had gotten to know each other better, and even if the impetus for her visit to Harm that night was unfounded guilt, it was still the night their friendship truly began. After that, they'd started hanging out together, going to movies, dinner, the occasional military function.

How she missed those easy early days of their friendship.

Mac cried for a good ten minutes, then stretched out on the couch. She was even more tired after her emotional outburst, and since she had nowhere to be, she let herself relax. She had almost drifted off when her cellphone dinged, announcing a text from Harm. His message was simple:

-Understood. I'll see you when you come back—

Harm set his cell down next to his keyboard. Mac's text had hurt a bit, but he wasn't going to fight her on her desire to be alone. Especially not after his last letter. He'd probably made a mistake by going into their five-year plan to have a baby, but he couldn't let her think he wasn't sincere in his promise to share a little boy or little girl with her. True, at the time he hadn't been able to admit all the reasons why he'd made such a deal with her, but he had always intended to make good on it.

For a moment, Harm allowed himself to imagine what life would be like if he and Mac had gone ahead with their plan to have a baby. Assuming he'd been successful at getting Mac pregnant around little AJ's fifth birthday, she'd probably be just starting to show. Their first baby would be a girl, and though they'd talked of a girl with his looks and her brains, he'd always imagined a daughter with Mac would be just like her. They'd have a son next, and then maybe another little girl. Life would be beautiful.

Harm allowed himself to smile at his musings, but then his expression turned sober. Life would have been beautiful if he hadn't managed to screw everything up.

He could only hope it wasn't too late for them, that he could convince her he was worth loving, and that he loved her more than life.

End Chapter 22