Chapter Four:
Wedding Night

APRIL 18TH, 1998

2200 EST
EMBASSY SUITES BY HILTON
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Harm and Mac didn't know Derek and Cheryl Houston personally, but they could imagine they would've wanted a honeymoon that was longer than one day. However, the one day honeymoon was Harm and Mac's reality. Well, it was their honeymoon, but Harm and Mac still would've appreciated a break longer than twenty-four hours before they started the performance of a lifetime.

There was also a fair bit of nerves present that left them both rather dreading their new life in the suburbs. They had only known Derek and Cheryl for two weeks, and that wasn't possibly enough time to know someone's entire life story. This combined with the fact that Harm and Mac were essentially going into this mission blind, with no idea what the stakes would be if one of them messed up, wasn't helping things.

"What do you think?" Mac asked as she peeked her head through the doorway, checking out the hotel bathroom to see what it looked like. It looked nice…suspiciously nice. This was one of the nicest hotels in Richmond, but Mac was just afraid it was all too good to be true.

She looked over her shoulder at Harm. "You don't think they'd give us this nice of a room if they were planning on killing us, right?"

Harm laughed as he sat his suitcase down on the bed. They were only allowed one suitcase each for personal items from their "real lives;" the rest of the stuff they would need for the mission, like additional clothes, toiletries, etc, would be provided for them by the CIA in their new house - that house was also fully furnished courtesy of the CIA.

"I don't think they're banking on killing us - or us dying, rather," Harm told her. "That would be too much paperwork for Webb to fill out. Plus, we're not Webb's favorite people, but I doubt he dislikes us that much."

Though, if Webb did actually have some major grudge against them and this was just a ploy to get them offed, he would have an easy job of doing it, Harm had to admit that much. He and Mac didn't have their own identification on them. The drivers licenses they had, the credit cards they had, even the passports they'd been given (because, apparently, 'you never know') were all in the Houstons' names. Harm and Mac had given their real identification to Webb after their phony backyard wedding at the Admiral's.

That had been alarming, giving away the only real proof you had that you were you. Harm had been surprised he hadn't had to memorize a new social security number.

"I hope our house is nice," he said as he looked down at the contents he'd packed. "I don't really know how…acute Webb's eye for interior design is."

There had only been so much he could fit in a carry-on sized suitcase, so Harm had had to be strategic about what he brought with him. There was the photograph of him and his father on the carrier, his father's MIA bracelet, one of his model biplanes careful wrapped in his favorite pajama shirt. There were also a couple of novels in case he got so bored he resigned himself to reading, some of his favorite spices to use in the kitchen, and the formal invitation to Bud and Harriet's wedding at the end of May - he had to keep his eye on the prize, give him something to look forward to when this mission was over.

He didn't know what Mac had in her carry on, which was propped up against the hotel dresser, but he was curious. He decided to wait until a time when she was less high strung to ask, though.

"What's wrong?" Mac asked suddenly, looking at him with wide eyes.

Harm blinked. "What? Nothing's wrong."

"You're staring at me."

"Oh," Harm's face began to burn when he realized he actually had been staring at Mac. "Sorry, it's the blonde hair. I'm still not used to it."

"You're telling me," Mac scoffed. Harm kicked his shoes off and reclined back on his side of the bed, folding his arms behind his head. He continued to watch Mac as she walked over to her suitcase. She unzipped it and pulled out her toothbrush and toothpaste, promptly zipping it back up.

She walked back into the bathroom and flipped on the light. "I don't know how you're being so calm right now," she said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of toothpaste.

It suddenly occurred to Harm that he had never seen Mac brush her teeth before. In fact, he could count on one hand the amount of time he'd been in casual situations with her rather than the professional settings they were more accustomed to. In fact, Harm had only been inside Mac's apartment twice in the eighteen months she'd been at JAG. Whenever they had their working dinners, they were almost exclusively at Harm's loft (partly because Harm knew how to cook, but that's besides the point), and Mac never had anything hosted at her place.

Harm would have guessed that Mac was a very private person, but now he was getting first hand evidence of it. What could possibly be in her suitcase that needed to be hidden so well?

"This is going to be our last time to sit back and relax for the foreseeable future," Harm explained. "I'm taking full advantage of it."

Mac spit into the sink basin and straightened up. She placed her hands on her hips. "You can relax from the other side of the bed."

Harm's brow furrowed. "What's wrong with me being right here?"

"That's my side of the bed!" she said, pointing an accusing finger at the spot where he was laying. "I always sleep on the left side of the bed."

"What if I always sleep on the left side of the bed?" Harm asked.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah…?" Harm gave her a strange look. "Mac, why would I lie about which side of the bed I like to sleep on?"

"I don't know!" Mac replied. "But I've only ever slept on the left side, and I'm not going to stop now."

"Well, neither am I."

They stood there, staring at each other. Four hours into marriage and we're already arguing, Harm thought.

After their very fake send off, the 'happy couple' was quickly whisked down to their hotel room in Richmond. Harm was still getting used to looking down and seeing a ring on his left hand - albeit a fake ring for a fake marriage, but still a ring nonetheless.

"Come here," Mac said, beckoning him over to the bathroom.

Harm frowned. "Why?"

"Let's do rock, paper, scissors."

"For the side of the bed? Come on, Mac."

"We're not going to be able to decide any other way - you know that."

Harm begrudgingly got up, surrendering his precious left side of the bed, and walked over to Mac. He looked around the bathroom, at the pristine white tile and clawfoot bathtub. This was a really nice bathroom - he couldn't blame Mac for making a beeline for it.

The first time, Harm and Mac both drew rocks. Then they both drew scissors. Then they both drew paper. Then rocks again. Then scissors. Then scissors again. Then paper.

"This isn't working."

"You're right. It isn't."

Harm and Mac both turned to look at the bed, the left side of it both on the forefront of their minds. "Why don't we just switch off every night?" Mac asked. "You'll take the left side tonight and I'll take it tomorrow….you know…just keep alternating."

"Yeah," Harm nodded. "But you can take the left side tonight, I don't mind."

"No it's fine, you were already there."

"Ladies first, though."

With that, when it was time for bed, Mac climbed in on the left side, and Harm on the right.

"Do you sleep with the light on or off?" Harm asked as he reached for the lamp.

"Off," Mac replied instantly.

Harm looked over his shoulder at her. "Like completely? Like pitch black?"

"Yeah. I can't sleep with any light," Mac looked over her shoulder at Harm. They had decided to sleep on their respective sides of the bed with their backs to each other, because any other positon would be weird

"Like any, at all?" Harm asked. "Like you don't even leave the bathroom light on and then shut the door so there's that little sliver of light coming from the bottom of the door?"

Mac was staring at him like he had two heads. "No," she replied, looking at him incredulously. "Do you need a night light, flyboy?"

"No, I don't need a night light," Harm said as he turned off the lamp, plunging the entire room in pitch black darkness, and settled under the covers. "I just like the light on in the bathroom that's all."

A few moments passed in silence, Harm and Mac both quiet but certainly not asleep. Both of their minds were racing, trying to process their new identities, their whirlwind pretend wedding for their new identities, and how different their lives would be in the next forty-eight hours.

Suddenly, Harm felt the mattress shift, and heard Mac's footsteps padding against the carpet. He looked up, vaguely making out her figure as she maneuvered through the darkness. He heard a click, and then light from the bathroom flooded the dark bedroom. Mac gently closed the bathroom door until it latched, leaving just enough light from the sliver between the door and floor.

Without a word, Mac climbed back into the bed.

"Thanks," Harm said to the wall, not turning around to look at Mac.

"No problem," she replied to the opposite wall, not turning around to look at Harm. "Isn't that what marriage is about? Compromise?"

Harm smiled. "I guess."

Harm dozed off, waking up again a little after 0100. It took him a few seconds to realize what had woken him up. Mac was tossing and turning beside him on the left side of the bed. Either she had never been able to fall asleep or she had been asleep and something had woken her up. He wanted to say something, turn over and make sure she was alright, but he knew Mac didn't like to be bothered when she was stressed out. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her to lash out when she was already upset about something.

About what, he didn't know.

After a little while of tossing and turning, Harm heard Mac get up again, this time her footsteps sounding like they were heading for the door rather than the bathroom. That motivated Harm to speak up.

He turned over, watching Mac as she grabbed one of the hotel keys from the top of the dresser and headed for the door. "Mac," he said. She jumped, obviously assuming he was still asleep.

Mac turned around, acting like what she was doing was completely normal. "Yeah?" she asked. Her most prominent feature standing out in the darkness was her bright blonde hair.

"Where are you going?"

"Just for a walk."

Harm's eyebrows shot up. "It's the middle of the night-"

"I won't leave the hotel, I'm not going outside," Mac assured him. "I'll be fine. You're not actually my husband, you don't need to micromanage me."

"I know," Harm said with a slight scowl. "And I'm not trying to micromanage. That's not what husbands do."

"Says you. The husband."

With that, Mac slipped through the hotel door and left Harm with the entire bed to himself.

0130 EST

EMBASSY SUITES BY HILTON

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Mac wasn't too keen on marriage, but like any other woman she had thought about what her wedding night would be like. In her head, she had pictured the full fantasy, which she realized was probably unrealistic and unattainable, but she still had a specific vision nonetheless. She pictured candles lit up around the room with scents that weren't too overwhelming. Rose petals that were on the floor but not on the bed because the last thing Mac wanted was rose petals getting in places where rose petals should never go. Some music that helped set the scene without being too cheesy (she'd actually had a guy try and play "I'll Make Love to You" by Boyz II Men one time, and act shocked when she told him she was leaving). Then, the piece de resistance, some passionate yet still classy lovemaking.

Mac was a simple woman. That was all she asked for when it came to her wedding night.

Needless to say, that wasn't what she was going to get. At least not tonight. Just because she and Harm were husband and wife did not mean they had to act out all the parts that went with being husband and wife. They were going to keep to their own sides of the bed - alternating who got the left side, of course.

One of the things Mac had packed in her designated carry-on, which still hadn't yet been completely unpacked, was her favorite pair of slippers. They had been a brighter shade of pink when she'd first bought them, years ago now, but now their color had faded. The slippers had been the first things she'd bought when she'd arrive stateside after Bosnia - she'd actually bought them in the airport right after landing. They were terribly overpriced, but she didn't care - she was just happy to be home and wanted some comfort.

They weren't attractive things anymore, but they were broken in perfectly and by far the most comfortable shoes Mac owned. They were the shoes she'd put on when she'd left the hotel room to take a walk, go think.

Walking down the hall to the elevator bank, Mac thought about…what if? She already had the all of the tools, Webb had handed them right to her. She had a new driver's license, a new passport, a whole new name and person to become. It was almost too perfect of an escape-

In fact, it was too perfect. Webb would be able to track her down in a heartbeat, as would Harm - he was stubborn enough to not even need Webb's CIA resources to find her.

It wasn't that Mac liked running from things. The act was more of a compulsion, something she couldn't help but do. It was most certainly something to do with her childhood - her mother, in particular.

Mac didn't like letting the grass grow under her feet: that was just a simple fact about her. Her recent stunt of resigning her commision and going to civilian law was merely another attempted vanishing act. She didn't do well with emotional intimacy, getting close to people. Again, it had something to do with her childhood - definitely had something to do with her mother.

She had done a good job at playing it off over the years, using the excuse that she was adventurous, or trying to advance her career - sometimes she'd use the hippie/spiritual response, saying that she was "trying to find herself."

If Mac was trying to find herself, she was doing an absolute shit job at it.

She wasn't able to "find herself" in Minnesota during undergrad, or in OCS, or in Bosnia, or at law school, or at Quantico, so she wasn't too optimistic that she would find herself at JAG, either. Sure she had been, when she'd first gotten settled there after the whole incident with her uncle, but then things between her and Harm had immediately gotten…weird. They weren't professional enough with each other to just be coworkers, but they weren't relaxed enough with each other to be friends, or anything more than friends, for that matter.

Regardless of what Harm was to her, Mac couldn't shake the feeling that he was getting Too Close.

Mac was pretty sure the pool was supposed to be closed, but the door to access it was unlocked, so she went in anyway. She already had the perfect act to play if she got caught and asked to leave. She would put on the role of the ditzy newlywed, plastering on that insufferably fake southern accent and saying something along the lines of "Oh silly me! I didn't know the pool was closed!"

She wasn't going there to swim, anyway. She just needed a place more private than the hotel lobby to mull things over.

Sitting cross-legged by the pool's edge, Mac stared down at her reflection, the blonde hair catching her off guard. Harm was right. The blonde would take some getting used to. If it had been permed, she might've actually looked like a Steel Magnolias character.

She had watched the movie four times in the span of the few days leading up to the wedding to master the accent - but it had actually turned into an act of sadism she inflicted on herself, because she had completely bawled her eyes out. Every. Single. Time.

Mac leaned forward further, to the point where she was in danger of flipping into the pool. Studying the murky reflection ripping back at her, Mac wondered if Cheryl Houston had ever watched someone die before. Was that someone that could be weaved into her backstory, or was that just a burden Mac would have to carry all on her own?

Been awhile, hasn't it? I've been a busy bee this past month, but it feels good to be back and writing. In case you were worried the honeymoon antics would only be for this chapter, I have another one (hopefully coming soon), so don't fear.

Thanks for reading!

-Harper