A/N: Here's another little Christmas track—I really wanted to get it out there before my midnight so it would still be on Christmas day, but I kinda fell asleep for a bit…

Soundtracks

Track 7: Song for a Winter's Night Gordon Lightfoot

The Hands I Love

They'd planned to spend Christmas together. He'd been contemplating proposing, even had a ring…but he'd been sent to Iceland instead, and the worst of it was, they'd had an ugly fight before he'd left. He'd walked out, ignoring the tears coursing down her cheeks, and then stubbornly refused to call for the first seven days of his TAD. When he did finally call to apologize (the whole thing was his fault, after all), he'd called when he knew she'd be at work, so he could cowardly leave his apology on her answering machine.

She hadn't called him back.

That had sparked a new anger in him, and no matter how well he knew that he'd started this whole thing, he was offended. How dare she not accept his apology! He'd paced around his rather nice accommodations for a couple of days…and then it came.

A letter. From her.

He knew what it said. He knew because he'd seen so many of these letters delivered to his fellow pilots.

She was breaking up with him. Obviously, because why else would she handwrite a note to him? She could have called. She could have written an email…but no. She'd written him an actual letter, addressed it by hand, and judging by the thickness of it, she'd had a lot to say.

He'd let it sit on his desk for the last five days, afraid to open it, afraid to call her, afraid to even email her. It was Christmas Eve now and he'd decided to wait until the day after Christmas to open it and thus avoid ruining the holiday.

He was kidding himself. The holiday was already ruined, and it wasn't the first time in his life that Christmas had come with sadness. The first was at age six…his father being shot down on Christmas Eve had effectively ruined years of Christmases thereafter. His mother tried to brighten the holidays for him, as did Grandma Sarah, and eventually he could at least stomach the holiday. He wasn't as close to his maternal grandparents as he was to his Grandmother Rabb, but he had spent a considerable number of Christmases in Connecticut with them. He had several cousins on that side of the family who were all younger than him, so he eventually could take pleasure in watching their holiday excitement. They also worshiped their older cousin, so he generally kept himself busy entertaining them. Christmases weren't so bad…but that didn't last.

The next time Christmas let him down was the night his mother had met Frank. Frank's father had apparently known his Grandfather Cochran and one Christmas Eve, the two Mr. Burnetts were passing through town and had been invited to visit. Frank had fallen for Patricia Cochran Rabb at first sight, and it didn't take long for her to become Patricia Burnett. He had seen Frank and his mother kissing that night under the mistletoe, devastating him, and it wasn't until he came to JAG and met her that things started to improve. They'd had differences over the years, but when they'd finally put all of that aside and became a couple last Christmas, he knew Christmases from thereon would be beautiful.

How wrong he'd been…

The fight started when she'd come home late the very night he'd been told he'd be leaving for Iceland the next day. She'd already known about it, and yet she'd had the audacity to miss the dinner he'd prepared just for her that night. It was her favorite, and as she'd walked in the door, the meal sat cold and ruined on the table. He'd been so worried about her; she hadn't answered her cell, she wasn't in her office, or if she was, she was ignoring his calls. He'd called Bud and Harriet, the admiral, and…nothing. He lit into her because he'd been so worried, and she'd snapped, screaming back at him that he was an ass and if he knew where she'd been, he'd be sorry.

He'd yelled back at her, still remembering the worry, still upset that he'd be gone for Christmas, and furious because now he'd be leaving with everything so messed up. It was after they'd been yelling incomprehensible things to each other for about twenty minutes when things seemed to be calming down…and then he'd called.

John Farrow.

And she'd had the audacity to answer in the middle of their fight. He could tell Farrow had noticed she was upset given Mac's answers, but then she said something that caused the bile to rise up in his throat.

Thank you for today.

What?

Thank you for today.

What the hell did that mean? When she'd hung up, he'd asked her…and she hesitated. He knew then that her meeting with John Farrow wasn't in the least innocent. At that point, he turned on his heel and stalked to his seabag that he'd readied earlier and then sat by the door. He hefted onto his shoulder and grabbed his keys before yanking open the door. She called after him and he turned his head back to her. She was crying, but instead of going back to comfort her, he stepped outside and slammed the door behind him. He spent the night at a motel near Andrews, then boarded the plane to Iceland the next morning. She'd called a few times, but he hadn't answered. He was mad. He was livid. And he was a jealous ass who didn't deserve her. He'd overreacted, should have listened to her explanation of where she'd been, and he deserved the angry call from John Farrow two days after he'd arrived in Iceland. Farrow had used words that would have made a sailor blush as he told Harm what a sanctimonious bastard he was. Of course, Farrow had refused to answer what he'd been doing with his girlfriend, and for days after, he'd seethed…

Until he remembered the sadness and disappointment in her eyes.

Until he remembered Colonel John Farrow was one of the most honorable men he'd ever met.

Until he remembered that she'd told him as fond as she was of her former lover and CO, she'd never loved Farrow like she did him.

Until he remembered how pale she'd looked as she walked in the door that night.

He should have called her right then, but instead, cowardice won out and he'd set his alarm for 0330, planning to call her home phone when he knew she'd be in the thick of it at JAG.

He should call her now. Let her tell him directly it was over.

But he couldn't.

And he couldn't read her letter either.

But he needed to.

But he needed a drink first.

He was staying in a log cabin that belonged to one of Frank's friends. It seemed the man knew people all over the world, and when he'd called and told his parents that he'd be in Iceland over the holidays, Frank had told him he might have something better for his stepson than officer's quarters on base…and it was better. Beautifully better. The friend was happy to let him stay there and it was close enough to Keflavik to make it feasible.

The place had two bedrooms and a large open main area. It was cozy, though, with a fireplace and rustic furnishings. Outside next to the house was a hot tub, and he'd already spent several evenings in it. There was a sauna too, and though it wasn't his favorite thing to do at the gym, here it was almost healing.

He didn't know what state he'd be in if he had to stay in a tiny apartment or something akin to a hotel room on base. It was soothing here. It only had one drawback…the silence allowed him to gain clarity…and that, coupled with the talk with Farrow, made him realize how utterly he'd fucked up.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the small desk in the corner of the room. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, enjoying the first fiery yet smooth swallow of it before returning to his seat. Just as he reached for the letter, everything went dark.

He managed to get the lamp lit and the fireplace going before the battery in his flashlight died, wondering how long this rare power outage would last. As he gazed around him, however, he found he liked the soft glow the flames cast around the room. The far corners of it were dark, as was the kitchen area, but at his desk, he had enough illumination to read the letter that had been tormenting him for days. He lifted the flap of the envelope with his finger, noticing for the first time that snow was now falling softly from the sky. It wasn't windy now, but he expected it to pick up in the morning. He stared out the window for long moments, then finally turned back toward her letter…

Oh, Mac…he thought to himself as he set her letter down. He brushed a few errant tears away, astounded that after how he'd behaved, she still loved him. He didn't deserve her forgiveness; he knew that, and yet she'd offered it freely. He now knew the reasons behind her late arrival that night and what John Farrow had done for her, and despite her forgiveness, he wasn't sure he could forgive himself. To think he'd left her like that…God, how he wished she were near, so he could hold those delicate hands he so loved and tell her what she meant to him, to tell her how much he loved her. He took another sip of his whiskey, noting it was almost empty. He wouldn't drink any more tonight, however; since he'd met Mac, he'd rarely had more than one drink in her presence, and since they had become involved, he hadn't even drunk more than one when he was alone.

As he downed the last small swallow in his glass, he picked up her letter again. He smoothed it out in front of him, running his finger over the lines written in her flowing script, and began reading it again.

My Dearest Harm…

Harm had known he wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and he'd alternated between reading her letter and staring out the window, his lamp eventually growing dim. The fire was dying out as well; he'd neglected to feed it for the last couple of hours and he was feeling the cold. It was now Christmas morning, and he didn't think he'd ever felt this lonely; from her words, he could imagine her loneliness too, and it almost made his tears fall again. To distract himself, he reached out and rested his fingers on the icy cold of the window. It made his fingertips hurt, and yet he still proceeded to press his entire hand against the class, remembering how he'd do the same during winter nights in Pennsylvania as his grandmother drove them home from Saturday evening church. He'd press his then smaller hand against the car window, seeing how long he could keep it there until the ache from the cold forced him to remove it and shove it between his thighs to warm it back up.

As he'd predicted, the wind had picked up, and in the weak morning light, he could see webs of snow drifting on each separate pane of glass. It was definitely beautiful out there, and he wished he could share it with Mac. He thought about calling her; it would be a little after 0600 for her, but she'd likely been up late the night before what with Christmas Eve with the Roberts followed by the late service at the chapel. He contemplated lying down in bed, but then decided he'd better enjoy the few hours of sunlight here. The power wasn't on yet, and he wondered at that; power outages in Iceland really did not happen very often in Iceland, and for one to last this long was highly unusual.

Harm groaned as he stood up from his chair. He'd been sitting there for several hours, and he knew he'd be regretting that for days. He used the bathroom, then decided to bring in more firewood from the stack outside. He didn't need the fire to heat the cabin, but with the way the wind was pounding snow against it, he knew he wouldn't feel warm without actual flames. He retrieved his coat and was about to pull on his boots when his front door burst open. It startled him, but when he saw who stood in the doorway, the shock of the door opening unexpectedly gave way to the shock of elation.

"Mac! How-what-"

"Don't you remember? We're spending Christmas together."

And then she was in his arms.

"I love these hands," Harm whispered as he entwined his fingers through Mac's. They were sitting on the couch, Mac on Harm's lap, while the fireplace glowed before them. The power had long since come on, but they kept the lights off, preferring the gentle light of the hurricane lamp Harm used the night before. "And I love you," he continued as he nuzzled her cheek with his nose.

"I love you too, Harm," she whispered and lay her head on his shoulder. She yawned, tired from the long hours of travel and weather delays. She had other reasons for being tired of course, and despite it only being 1700, Harm thought it was time they went to bed.

"Can't we just stay here by the fire?" Mac sleepily asked after Harm told her his plan. "We can lay on that bear rug and cover up with blankets from the bed."

"Do you really think you should be lying on the floor?" he answered as he pulled his hand from hers, moving it to rest over her lower belly. "And frankly, my dear…after spending the night in that chair over there, I really need the bed."

"Okay…old man." She lifted her head from his shoulder and grinned impishly up at him until she was once again interrupted by her yawn.

"That settles it, marine. Off to bed with you!" He stood up, not without pain and stiffness, Mac still in his arms, and once they were settled together in bed, Harm wrapped himself around her, his hand once again dropping down on her lower belly. He heard her sigh contentedly as she started to nod off, but he was compelled to ask her one more thing before she slept.

"Are you sure everything is okay with the baby?"

"Uh-huh," she murmured. "Everything is fine."

"And you're really twelve weeks along?"

"Uh-huh. With everything that's been going on lately, I didn't realize for a while…and once I did…well, you know what happened…"

And he did know, finally. He would have known sooner if he'd just read her letter, but perhaps then she wouldn't be here in his arms.

The day before he found out he was leaving for Iceland, she'd found out she was pregnant. She was going to tell him right away, but when she learned of his impending departure, she'd decided to wait. She hadn't wanted him to worry about her while he was gone, so she planned on telling him the minute he returned to Washington. She'd been about to leave JAG for her last night with him for a while when she'd started to bleed. Terrified she was losing the baby, she'd rushed to get out of the building, only to collide with Farrow. The man, now apparently happily married to a woman named Carol, saw she was distraught and took charge of the situation. He took her to the hospital himself, then called his wife to meet them there. It was Carol who went back with Mac to see the doctor, and Carol who held her hand when the doctor told her everything looked fine. When Mac had finally arrived home, she'd had every intention of telling him what was going on, but then they'd fought…

Harm still couldn't believe she'd forgiven him. He didn't deserve it, and despite her reassurances, he found himself apologizing to her over and over since she'd shown up at his door.

"Mac…I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I don't—" he started to apologize to her again, and she rolled over to face him.

"Stop it, Harm. You're forgiven. I know we need to work on this communicating thing and we're going to have to deal with our reactions on that night, but for now, I just want to sleep in your arms. I know everything will be okay with us. And just think—by next Christmas we'll have a little Harm running around."

"Or a little Mac," I add. "Though I don't think she'll be running around quite then. Crawling maybe?"

"Maybe…but probably not quite yet then, either."

"We're going to have to start thinking about names for this little one," I continue, my excitement growing. "But no Harm the third, all right?"

"All right, Harm. But we have months to figure out a name. Let's just enjoy the moment for now, okay?"

"Okay, sweetheart. And Mac?"

"Yeah, Harm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

With that, Mac was out, and Harm soon followed her, happy to be holding her, happy to be once again with her on this beautiful winter night.

End Track 7

A/N 2: There! You see what I did? I knocked up Mac again! *cackles* Yeah, it's my thing. And I know nothing about Iceland other than what I quickly googled, so if things sound stupid…but now I really do want to visit Iceland…but in the spring or something because that's a lot of dark in the winter…

Merry Christmas, everyone!