Takes place after the Season 4 episode "Embassy"...like the title suggests.
After The Embassy
A JAG One Shot
SEPTEMBER 1998
2345 EST
SUDANESE EMBASSY
WASHINGTON DC
"You know we should go out more often."
"Yeah, I had a wonderful time."
Harm and Mac laughed together as they staggered towards the door of the Sudanese Embassy. Both of them had gotten pretty banged up, but overall they weren't the worse for wear. Mac was a little unsteady on her feet; her collarbone was throbbing - not quite broken but almost. Her head was also still swimming from when Moshak and his guards had slammed her down on the scratchy carpet of the embassy office. She'd been a little wobbly on the stairs headed out, but of course Harm had been there to catch her fall.
The night air was crisp, just cold enough for Mac to wish she still had the elbow-length gloves she'd walked in with. They'd gotten lost somewhere in the scuffle. There were still some press vans scattered on the street accompanied by one remaining ambulance and some SWAT vans.
"You want to hop in that?" Harm nodded towards the ambulance. "Get that shoulder checked out?"
Mac looked over at Harm and then looked to the ambulance. She turned back to Harm, raising her eyebrow skeptically. "I'm good, sailor," she said. "I'll take some Advil when I get home. If it still hurts this bad in the morning I'll go to Patient First."
She looked down at the angry red spot on her collarbone. Maybe the ER - maybe she'll go to the ER in the morning instead.
Harm and Mac stepped on to the sidewalk, arms still around each other. They caught the attention of a lone reporter, who was probably sticking around to try and catch some special tidbit that other reporters would miss out on.
Noticing Harm's uniform, the reporter made a beeline for them.
"Sir, do you have any comments about what happened tonight?" she asked, sticking her recorder directly under Harm's nose.
Harm offered his best, most-winning smile, but Mac could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted to tell that reporter where she could shove that recorder. "Ummm…no comment," he said, chuckling lightly as he tried to steer him and Mac in the opposite direction.
"Were you the officer lighting the cigar in the window? Trying to communicate in morse code?"
"No comment."
"What about you?" the reporter moved her recorder to right underneath Mac's nose. "As his date, how do you feel about all of this?"
Mac blinked at her for a few seconds, putting on her best take-that-recorder-and-shove-it smile. "I'm not his date," she corrected. "I'm a Major in the Marine Corps, I'm his coworker - you know what, it doesn't matter. No comment."
"That injury on your collarbone looks pretty severe, Major. How did you get that-"
"No comment!"
Harm and Mac hurried away from the reporter, walking quickly up the street. Mac was holding the slit in her dress closed, it having been ripped wider during the events of the night.
"Where's that car Webb called for us?" Harm asked.
"I think it's that black one at the end of the block."
"Thank god."
Even though Harm's place was technically closer, he insisted Mac be dropped off first in Georgetown. As Mac saw her apartment building come into view, Harm turned to look at her.
"Let me know if the Advil doesn't work," he said.
"I won't," Mac replied with a smirk as the driver put the car into park. "You need to get some sleep."
"Come on, Mac-"
"Rest, Harm," Mac leaned down through the open door of the car. "I mean it."
She swung the door shut before Harm could get the last word in. Finding herself alone on the sidewalk, she watched Webb's car as it rounded the corner, giving a final wave that she wasn't even sure Harm would be able to see.
It had been nearly three weeks since they got back from Russia. Harm had barely talked to Mac about it, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to know he wasn't taking it well. Not that Mac would expect him going across the world to look for his father only to find out he'd been dead for twenty years would end with Harm being the happiest man on Earth, but still. She was worried.
For one, he wasn't sleeping. Mac would catch him dozing off during staff meetings, and by the end of each work day he resembled a zombie. Even if he was managing to get some sleep at night, Mac knew it wasn't good. Harm wasn't doing well.
Then there was the whole thing that morning, with her walking into his office to see him packing up everything that reminded him of his father into a tiny cardboard box. Including his MIA bracelet, which at one point Mac believed had been glued to his wrist.
She should've talked to him then, told him that he should take time to grieve, not just shove everything into a box and try - and fail - to forget about it. Mac knew she was somewhat of a hypocrite when it came to avoidance, but the thought of watching Harm get swallowed up in his grief was a tough pill to swallow. Harm was capable of handling things on his own, Mac knew this, but all of it just kept eating at her.
Maybe it was because she was there with him - not just when he found out his father's fate, but through all of it. She'd gotten on that plane to Moscow with him, partly at the Admiral's suggestion but mostly because the idea of him going by himself seemed unfathomable. She'd watched him put all the clues together, watched him search relentlessly, not just in Russia but for the entire two years she'd known him. Mac had never known a Harmon Rabb Jr. that wasn't refusing to give up hope of one day finding his dad.
But now Mac did know that version of Harm, and it was strange to say the least - rather heartbreaking actually.
She'd been there in the aftermath, too. Not just this aftermath but the immediate one. She'd been with him in the Taiga, translating to him what had happened to his dad. She'd watched him say his farewells, watched him be completely silent on the way back into the city in a way she didn't think was possible for him.
Her and the Admiral had dinner without him in the new, fancier hotel the Admiral had paid for using the Navy's credit card. When asked whether or not he'd be joining by the Admiral, Harm had offered a two word reply of "Tired, sir," before heading up to his own room - the most words Mac had heard him speak in hours.
They weren't sharing a room like they were in the first hotel. In a way, this was good, because they wouldn't have to split a twin bed and a stiff arm chair, but Mac wasn't sure about how she felt about Harm being alone.
THREE WEEKS EARLIER
0200 LOCAL
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
After barely being able to eat her dinner, Mac fell into a fitful sleep in her hotel room, in a bed that felt too comfortable to be sleeping so poorly in. It was a step up from the hotel her and Harm stayed in when they first arrived, but it wasn't a five-star establishment by any means. Thankfully Mac had slept in worse places.
She couldn't get the day's events out of her head. Seeing Harm like that had rattled her - the whole situation had. Mac couldn't definitively say whether or not she ever really believed Harmon Rabb Sr. was alive. Deep down she knew the chances of him being alive were next to zero, if not zero, but a naive part of her wanted to believe he was alive and well somewhere in the world. Because that was what Harm deserved. Harm deserved to have his father back.
Mac had been fighting the urge to break down since the taiga, but she'd forced herself to hold it together. Who was she to cry and grieve over a man she had never even met in front of Harm, who was holding it together - barely, but still holding it together?
The shower after dinner had been the most sensible place to cry, but by that point, Mac's tears had dried and were replaced by a hollow feeling in the center of her chest. Now Mac was in bed, unable to sleep, because something didn't feel right.
Nothing felt right.
Despite being wide awake, the sound of someone knocking on the door made her jump, the sound ricocheting off the walls of her hotel room as though it were a gunshot. As Mac pulled herself out of bed, she wished she'd had a weapon - with the amount of shady individuals she'd encountered over the past couple of days, she was worried she might need something.
The knocks grew more pressing as Mac neared the door, and she really wished she had a gun, a knife - anything.
Her hand hovered over the doorknob, wondering for a few uncertain moments if she should actually open the door. As if the person on the other side of the door could read her mind, the knocking paused.
"Hey uh, Mac, it's me," Harm's muffled, exhausted voice was on the other side of the door. "Could I uh, come in?"
Not hesitating for another moment, Mac pulled the door open. Harm was standing there, looking like he wasn't just barely holding it together anymore. His hair was messy in a way that indicated he was tossing and turning in bed just like Mac had been, and his eyes were red-rimmed. He'd done enough crying for both him and Mac.
"Oh Harm," she spoke softly, "Come in."
She'd listened, done her best to comfort him and talk to him even though she didn't really know the exact correct thing to do or if she was going about things the right way. She held him while he cried. He'd ended up falling asleep beside her in bed, on top of the covers while Mac was underneath. She didn't have the heart to ask him to leave, not that she would've asked - it was plain to see he didn't want to be alone.
"Here. I got you breakfast."
Mac held out the wrapped up sandwich for Harm to take. He was sitting up on the side of the bed he'd claimed as his, back against the aged headboard. He looked rough, like the events of the past week had finally caught up to him, but that was to be expected for a man who was grieving the loss of his father all over again.
He offered her a tired smile. "Thanks, marine," he took the sandwich from her, his voice raspy. "I didn't know we got breakfast with our reservation?"
"We don't," Mac sat down on the edge of the bed, placing her own sandwich in her lap. "I went on a walk earlier and came across a deli. Gotta practice my Russian a little more before we leave."
"That's good."
Mac looked down, sighing softly before looking back up at Harm. She felt like they couldn't ignore the elephant in the room any longer. "Do you want to talk about last night?" she asked. "Or-"
"What would we talk about?" Harm asked. "About how I spent a couple of hours last night crying to you like a baby about my dad who's been dead for the past twenty years?"
"Harm…" Mac sighed again. "You can cry about your father," she gave him a wry look. "I don't think of you as less of a man now, I promise."
"Come on, Mac," Harm unwrapped his sandwich, looking at it with a slight frown - much like their hotel, the deli wasn't five stars, either. "It's not the crying."
"Then what is it?"
"I shouldn't have…" Harm paused. "I shouldn't have come all the way out here chasing a ghost, dragging you along with me, almost getting us killed, making the Admiral come out here after us…it was stupid."
Mac braved taking a bite of her sandwich. "I don't think getting closer is stupid," she said once she was done chewing. "I think it was something you needed. Granted, maybe coming to Russia was a little excessive, but…"
Harm raised an eyebrow. "But what?"
"You always do things excessively."
That statement made Harm chuckle, and Mac was relieved to hear something from him that wasn't drenched in sadness.
"I think you would regret not trying more than you would regret dragging us to Russia," she continued. "You might've dragged the Admiral, but you didn't drag me. I would've come even if you didn't need the back up."
"I didn't need back up."
Mac gave him a look. "Harm, you don't even speak the native language."
"Touche, Marine," Harm replied, finally taking a bite of his own sandwich.
The two of them ate in silence for a few moments, Mac eventually opening up her sandwich to see what was actually on it - she could've sworn her Russian wasn't that rusty.
"Hey, uh, Mac?"
Mac looked up, her face still twisted in a deep frown at…whatever was on her sandwich. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
Mac's frown deepened. "Sorry for what?"
"Keeping you up half the night."
She shrugged. "It's okay. I wasn't going to sleep well anyway."
PRESENT DAY
Mac couldn't wait to sleep. The exhaustion that came along with the evening's events hit her like a ton of bricks the moment she crossed the threshold into her apartment. Her entire body ached, along with her collarbone, which was practically screaming. After kicking off her heels on the welcome mat, she walked to the kitchen. She didn't have any ice packs handly (something she should probably invest in considering the amount of "work-related" accidents she found herself getting into), so the frozen peas she'd had in the freezer since she'd moved in would have to do.
In the darkness of her kitchen, Mac sat, the only light being the blue-ish hues from the street lamps outside. She pressed the peas to her collarbone, relieved by the coolness but hissing at the pressure. She'd tested her range of mobility on the elevator ride up, rolling her shoulder back and forth and stretching her arm out. She could move everything - painfully, but at least it could move. Worst case it was just a gnarly fracture.
Just a fracture, Mac snorted at the thought. Maybe she would have to go to Patient First in the morning.
Mac squinted at her calendar, trying to see if she had the day free. She could vaguely make out words scribbled under Saturday, September 19th.
Museum…with….Chloe…
"Shit," Mac said aloud, sitting back in the kitchen chair with a sigh.
Over the summer, pre-Russian adventure, Mac had signed up for this mentoring program that paired women in the area with pre-teen and teen girls who needed "guidance." The program shied away from using "troubled" due to the negative connotation of the word.
Mac had been paired with an eleven-year-old named Chloe, who certainly needed plenty of guidance. In fact, Mac had tried to get her switched out for another girl, but quickly found out that wasn't allowed. Since then she had become determined to stick it out with Chloe, and (apparently) they had their first outing the following morning to the Museum of Natural History.
Looking down at the state of her collarbone, Mac decided it was best to wear a sweater or a turtleneck. Hopefully Chloe wouldn't be too much of a handful.
As she sat, Mac couldn't help but let her mind wander back to Harm, worrying for him once again creeping up in her stomach. On the surface level, Mac knew it was absurd to fret over him that much - Harm could take care of himself. He wasn't her brother or her boyfriend - she had no special obligation to lose sleep over the thought of him losing sleep. But still. Harm was Harm. She couldn't not worry about him sometimes, especially when he was acting like this.
All the times he'd had her back, figuratively and literally, she had to have his back through this. She wished more than anything that she could fix all of this for him, but knew nothing was that easy.
TWO WEEKS LATER
OCTOBER 3RD, 1998
Though it was the first weekend in October, it was still decent beach weather. A little chilly in the mornings and evenings, but things were still nice while the sun was out.
The weekend trip had been Bud and Harriet's idea, presented to Harm and Mac at the summer's midway point. It was a small cottage in Rehoboth Beach with significantly cheaper rates due to it being off-season. They could drive up Friday evening after work and then get back to Falls Church Sunday night, just in time for the Monday morning staff meeting. It would be the perfect, short and sweet send off to the summer.
Harm was sitting in one of the beach chairs on the back deck of the cottage, overlooking the beach. The sun was at that high point in the afternoon right before it began to set, and everyone was trying to fight off afternoon naps long enough to figure out dinner plans. Harm was losing that battle against the nap, eyes closing behind his sunglasses as the book on naval history laid sprawled open on his chest, abandoned.
That book would put him to sleep on a normal day, let alone after a day spent at the beach.
The sound of plastic creaking beside him caused Harm to snap out of his daze. He looked over to see Mac sitting in the beach chair beside his. She had on a faded band t-shirt as a coverup for her bikini and a Nationals cap on to keep the sun out of her eyes.
Harm smirked. "Not suntanning anymore?"
"Are you kidding?" Mac gave him an incredulous look. "I fried enough this morning, I'm good for the winter."
Harm chuckled. "Good to know."
Mac settled back against the beach chair, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath through her nose. "I just love the beach," she said. "Don't you?"
"I actually prefer the mountains," Harm replied. "Too bad we couldn't have gone skiing."
"Skiing?" Mac opened one eye. "It's September. I doubt Wintergreen has snow right now," she opened both eyes then, turning to look at him. "What do you have against the beach?"
"I grew up right next to it. Sorry if it got a little boring after the first, I don't know, couple of years?"
"Well, not all of us grew up with that privilege," Mac replied, closing her eyes once again.
"You grew up in the desert, that's close enough."
Mac laughed. "We had sand, but not the beach," she pulled the brim of her hat down lower over her eyes, the sun suddenly peeking out from behind the small cloud it had gone behind. "If I could live at the beach, I could."
Harm closed his book, officially giving up on it. "That sounds like a nice enough retirement plan."
"I wish I could do it now, though, not when I'm all old and wrinkly."
"You know what they say about wishes."
"What?"
"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."
For as long as she had known him, Harm had always been the optimistic one in the pair, and Mac had skewed for pessimistic. She was surprised to see that it had suddenly changed - on such a beautiful day as today, no less.
Mac laughed. "When did you turn into a cynic?"
"It's been, uh, a recent development."
"A recent development because of your dad?"
Harm paused. "To put it bluntly, yeah."
Mac re-opened her eyes once again, this time shifting her weight in the chair to turn over and face Harm. She felt the tough plastic dig into her shoulder, which was sensitive with sunburn. Damn, she thought, maybe I should've re-applied. "How have you been doing with that?"
"Come on, Mac-"
"Harm-"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Well you can't just shut it out."
Harm sighed, reaching up to rake his fingers through his hair. "It's been hard, alright? Is that what you want to hear?"
"I just want to hear how you're feeling, that's all." Mac replied, her voice soft.
"It's not like I expected him to be alive," Harm explained. "I don't really know what I expected. I don't think I was expecting him to have a whole other life, but - it's just a lot to process."
"As long as you're processing it."
"I'm trying to."
Sensing Harm didn't want to talk about it anymore, and surprised that he had even talked about it that much, Mac decided to change the subject. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the sound of the waves and the nearby crying of a flock of seagulls.
"You want to know something?" Mac finally asked, after feeling like the tension over Harm's father had blown over. "Harriet's pregnant."
"What?" Harm sat up in disbelief. "How do you know?"
Mac shrugged. "That's why she's been acting weird the past couple of weeks, I know that's what it is."
"Yeah, but you don't know."
"I know Harm, trust me," she looked at him with a smirk. "It's one of those girl things. She's going to tell us tonight, I bet."
Harm shook his head. "There's no way Harriet's pregnant. Absolutely no way."
"You wanna put money on it?"
"They're gonna be parents?" Harm asked in a fierce whisper, as if there was any way Bud and Harriet could overhear their conversation from inside the cottage. "Bud and Harriet? Parents?"
Mac snorted. "Crazier things have happened."
"Wow," Harm sat back against the chair, folding his arms across his chest. "They grow up so fast."
"Tell me about it."
"We're gonna be godparents."
Mac raised an eyebrow. "You think they'd make us godparents?"
"At the very least we'll be an aunt and uncle," Harm looked at her. "Look at us, being an aunt and uncle."
"Like I said, crazier things have happened."
"But this is still crazy," Harm replied with a grin. "For the record, I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else."
"Really? I'm honored," Mac replied, her tone light and teasing to hide how touched she was.
"Yeah…you're my best friend Mac, you know that."
"Oh?" No. She didn't know that.
"What? Am I not yours?" Harm asked, feigning shock.
"You're mine too, sailor, don't worry."
Even though Mac had never thought of it that way before, she supposed it was true. They did everything best friends did, followed each other to Russia and however many other places they'd gone to over the years; they just hadn't put a label on it yet. Mac wasn't entirely sure that just best friends was something she'd label them as, but that was a conversation for a different day.
"So how much money do you want to put down on Harriet being pregnant?"
"At least a hundred."
Harm's eyebrows shot up. "You're that confident, huh?"
Mac nodded. "We might be best friends Harm, but I'm about to rob you blind."
I just wanted to write a short, bittersweet piece about Harm and Mac's bond - mainly their friendship but also sprinkling in some hints at something more. Had to tease, I'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoyed! I'm working on the end of Choices after this.
Thanks for reading.
-Harper