A/N: This chapter was actually my inspiration for this story. I hope you like it!

Mac hummed as she stretched. A delicious ache from lovemaking filled her body, and she was starving from the exertion. They touched and kissed in the pool before moving to an oversized lounger nestled under the balcony. Fans above cooled heated flesh damp with sweat and continued to stir the evening air as the lovers lay in sleep.

Not wanting to put her dress back on, Mac grabbed Harm's button up, sliding her arms through the sleeves as she entered the kitchen. She passed the dining table, weaving between the island and counter to grab fresh fruit from the refrigerator.

Mac looped back around the edge of island to sit on a stool facing the counter. For the first time, she noticed a door tucked in the corner. Taking a bite of a strawberry, she surmised it must be the entry from the garage, an area of the house they hadn't explored.

Caught in thought, she didn't notice Harm come inside until his arms wrapped around her middle and his lips nuzzled her neck. "Kashmikas," he whispered, causing her to laugh. "What?"

"What are you trying to say?" She spun on the stool to face him, smiling.

"I thought it meant 'delicious,' isn't that what you said last night?"

Mac shook her head, "You really don't remember? You said it a million times."

"Oh, I remember why I said it," he grinned, "just not how I said it, apparently." His hands toyed with the single fastened button resting above her navel. He looked up with a raised eyebrow as he released it; the fabric parting to reveal the edges of her breasts.

"Khoshmazas," she said when he paused.

He repeated the word quietly, kissing her cheek. "Can you teach me some other phrases?"

"Like what?" She smiled up at him, wrapping her arms just above the waistband of his boxers.

"I don't know…" he was suddenly shy, a trait she found endearing, "…like sexy stuff…"

"Okay…" she said, letting out a short chuckle before her tone turned serious, "dastato bezar room." She held his gaze while translating, "Put your hands on me."

He repeated the words, watching his fingers slide inside the shirt and up the warm skin of her thighs.

She whispered something else, immediately followed by, "kiss me."

He dipped to touch his lips to hers. Mac wouldn't let him pull away, and their tongues met as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Soon she was settled on top of the island with Harm nestled between her legs.

"Do what you want to me," she felt his smile against her neck as she translated, "har kari mikhay baham bokon," craning her neck to give him more access.

A click sounded as the door behind Mac opened. "Frank, honey, can you grab the-" Trish Burnett's head was turned to address her husband, her voice coming to a halt along with her body when she faced forward.

"Harmon David Rabb Junior!" she yelled, luggage dropping from her hands.

Mac tried to turn, to jump down, but Harm held her fast, cementing her to the island; unable to watch the scene unfold. He hugged her to his chest in an attempt to keep them covered. His head remained in the crook of her neck, staring wide eyed at his mother while everyone stood frozen in shock.

It was Frank who broke the silence, "Trish, why don't we go get the rest of our bags while they…" he gestured, trailing off as he pulled a glaring Trish back out the door and into the garage.

Harm loosened his grip, allowing Mac to jump down, and they quickly made their way to the bedroom.


"What the hell, Harm!" She half-whispered half-yelled as she yanked clothes from her bag.

He winced, "I'm sorry! I didn't know!"

Suddenly everything made sense – the stocked groceries, Frank's name on the schedule with the rental agency. The house had been prepared for his parents for the weekend. He felt like a complete idiot.

"Look, I'll go down there, smooth everything over, and it will be fine," He had pulled on a pair of shorts and was throwing a shirt over his head.

"You'll just smooth it over?" Mac's eyebrows were at her hairline, "Your mother just saw us having sex on the kitchen island, Harm!" She was no longer whispering.

"Technically we weren't having sex," he began, until he noticed the daggers shooting from her eyes, "Mac, you were clothed, they didn't see anything," he moved to her, "it's all going to be fine, ok?" He could see the worry she was trying so hard to hide. When she didn't offer a response, he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he headed for the kitchen.


Trish looked up from where she scrubbed the granite island with gloved hands.

"Mom, I-"

"What were you thinking!" It was as though she had been waiting for him to talk just so she could cut him off.

"I didn't know-"

"Bringing some poor foreign girl here, to our family home, for your-your sexcapades!"

"Foreign?" he tried to interrupt, "Sexcapades?!" his face scrunched, "Mom, it's not-" but she wasn't going to let him finish.

"I know what your girlfriend looks like, Harmon," her eyes were mere slits, "and that was not her. Rene may be vain and obnoxious, but she doesn't deserve this." Trish finally paused, still scowling at her son.

"Rene and I broke up, mom," he was glad to finally get a chance to speak.

Unbeknownst to them, Mac had made her way to the stairs. She didn't know what she was going to do, but it wasn't like her to hide from an altercation, and she didn't want Trish to think she was weak.

"Well, that's a relief," Trish let out a breath, tossing her yellow cleaning gloves on the counter, "But it does not give you an excuse to bring some floozy-"

"She's not a floozy!" Mac froze halfway down the steps.

Trish paused, jaw clenched, glare blazing into him, "…some floozy you barely know to our beach house to fornicate!"

"Fornicate?! Jesus, mom!" His eyes were big. Never in his life had he imagined his mother saying these words.

"Oh, don't pretend you haven't been having sex all over this house!" Her voice rose as she pointed a finger at him. "Mrs. Zearl from across the street left a message saying she saw our renters having intercourse on the front steps while she was walking her dog on Friday! I thought she was making things up – you know how she hates having renters here – until we walked in on it ourselves."

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but even if he could think of an argument, she wasn't going to let him intercede. "And Mrs. Weiss next door! She called the rental agency yesterday saying a couple trespassed and was 'hooking up' in the ocean off our section of beach!"

Trish finally stopped to breathe, but all Harm could do was stutter. Everything she had said was true – save that they weren't technically having sex on the front steps, but he took a hint from his earlier conversation with Mac and decided not to argue.

They didn't hear Mac hurry up the stairs. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she had to sit at the edge of the bed to catch her breath. Trish hated her. Harm's mom hated her. Mac didn't blame the woman. She did look like a floozy. Her dress from the night before was still on the ground outside… she was wearing his shirt… she had wanted him to touch her on the front steps Friday; had raised her leg over his waist… and she hadn't been wearing any underwear– Oh, God! She thought. I have to get out of here.

Trish's volume lowered, but her tone was hard and full of disappointment. "Honestly, Harmon! I expect this from a twenty-something sailor on leave,"

"Mom-" he tried again to interrupt, but she continued.

"-but not an almost forty-year-old adult. Rene was no picnic, but at least you weren't running around having meaningless sex. When are you going to grow up and stop fooling around?!"

He waited, one hand on his hip, one on the island. When he was sure she was finished, Harm made eye contact and spoke calmly, "Mom, it's not some random, floozy, foreign girl, and it's far from meaningless." He took a breath, "It's Mac."

Trish's face brightened as though someone had flipped a switch.

"Rene and I broke up three months ago- right after you left for your trip. Mac and I have been together ever since."

She gasped, a hand moving to her mouth. Her tone turned warm and exited, "Mac?"

He smiled. The smile that reminded her so much of his father, the one that made her heart flutter so many years ago. "Yeah, it's Mac."

"Is it-?" she stopped, afraid to press. Trish knew her son well enough to know he didn't talk about his feelings.

"It's serious, mom."

"Oh, Harm!" she reached across the island to touch his arm. "What are you waiting for? Go get her!"


He stood in the doorway, watching Mac frantically stuff clothing into her bag.

"Mac…?"

"Let's just forget that I ever came here," she let out a frustrated groan when the bag wouldn't close, "Does this balcony connect to the other one? Can I get down to the patio? Or, you know what?" Mac continued to fight the bag, "Just, just tell your mom I wasn't feeling well and needed to go – she doesn't even have to know it was me, and we can tell her we're together later, pretend you brought someone else here." She pulled the overflowing luggage over her shoulder and finally turned to face him.

"Mac," he rested his hands on her shoulders. "She knows."

"What?! Why did you tell her?"

Harm could read the mix of fear and anger in her voice and managed to keep his voice steady as he replied. "I thought that was the plan, to let them in on our relationship," his hands dropped from her shoulders.

"That was before-" she swallowed, dropping the bag, "Your mom must hate me." Mac sat on the edge of the bed in defeat.

He chuckled, "Actually, her face lit up like a Christmas tree when I told her." He took a seat next to her and reached for her hand.

She looked up at him, "She called me a floozy, Harm. And she was right! The way I've been behaving this weekend…" Her eyes moved from his, "You deserve better than Joe MacKenzie's tramp daughter."

"What?! Mac…" it was a soft whisper. The words she said and the way she said them broke his heart. How anyone could say that about their child he would never understand. It was obvious that while Mac hadn't been physically abused, her father had left deep emotional scars.

Harm wrapped his hand around hers, using his other to gently turn her chin to face him; letting out a breath when he found unshed tears. "Please tell me you know that's not true," he begged, forcing down the lump in his throat.

When all she could do was blink and glance downward, he continued, "Mac, you are anything but a floozy or a tramp. You are a strong, intelligent, determined woman who has fought to overcome more than most people are faced with in a lifetime." She finally met his eyes, "and even though I hate that you had to go through all of that, I know it's what made you so independent, so… tenacious…" her expression was softening, "it's what made you… you. And I love you more than I thought it was possible to love someone. If anything, I'm the jet jock who doesn't deserve you."

"Harm…" she tried to keep the tears at bay, but her eyes closed when he touched his lips to hers, and two escaped, rolling down her cheeks. He gently wiped at them with the pad of his thumb, and with a deep breath, she was able to blink the rest away.

"I love you, too, Sailor."

"That's good," he smiled. Trying to lighten the mood when she grinned back, "You are also incredibly beautiful, and sexy, and I can't keep my hands off of you. I am just as guilty of…" he trailed off, unsure of how to describe the weekend thus far.

"Fornication?" Mac's could only keep a straight face for a second.

"I believe she also used the term 'sexcapades.'" He replied, starting a new fit of laughter.

"Oh, God!" She let out an embarrassed moan and flopped back on the bed, her hand covering her face. "How can I go down there?"

"Honestly, Mac," he leaned over her, "when I told her it was you – she was so happy." He urged the hand from her face so she could meet his eyes, "If she had known it was you from the start, she never would have said any of those things."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Harm replied, giving her a chaste kiss before standing. "C'mon Marine," he pulled at her arm, "Boots to the ground."