Title: "Contact"
Author: AeroGirl
Email: michaerogirl@hotmail.com
Website: http://aerogirl.topcities.com
Rating: R (or NC-17) for sexual content and language
Classification: Vignette, Romance (H/M)
Spoilers:  "Adrift", "Tribunal", "Defending His Honor"

Summary: Directly follows the seventh-season episode "Defending His 
Honor" - two points of view on a most eventful evening.  Once again, 
this has some elements of smut, so readership should be limited to 
the 17-and-over crowd.

Disclaimer: If I owned the characters, they'd already be doing this 
on screen.  Well, maybe not in an 8 p.m. time slot, but you get the 
picture.

Author's Notes: This is ALL Sharon's fault.  I made the mistake of 
telling her I had an idea for a story based on a line from "Defending 
His Honor", and she immediately started sending smut vibes my way.  
Shar, if it wasn't for you, I'd be doing my EE homework right now.  
Whether that's a good thing or not ... well, the jury's still out on 
that one.  For the purposes of this story, try to forget what you 
know about "In Country", the episode that followed "DHH", because if 
this story had happened, "sharing body heat" would've had a whole new 
meaning...


"Contact"


"What's so funny?"
"The thought of you with a wife."
"Hey, it could happen."
	-Harm and Mac, "Defending His Honor"


2313 EDT
North of Union Station

	I don't know when exactly it was that she fell asleep.  But 
I'm glad she did.

	It tells me that she's comfortable here, that she doesn't 
feel the need to keep her guard up at all times.  She's only stayed 
here once before, under the pretext of watching my back during the 
madness with Palmer and Webb, and I suspect that she barely closed 
her eyes that night.  God, am I lucky Jordan never found out about 
that.  Things are different now, of course.  We're different - 
different to everyone, perhaps, except each other.  I'm quite certain 
that a year ago, she would never have allowed herself to fall asleep 
on my couch, her long skirt swirling delicately around her folded 
legs.  She would have avoided it at all costs, less because of any 
discomfort with me than because of all the bizarre circumstances 
churning around us.  She was getting married.  Jordan had just died.  
I was about to leave for carrier quals and, although I didn't know it 
at the time, I was hours away from single-handedly throwing our lives 
into a tailspin.  I hate hindsight.

	Now, though, it feels as if we're almost back to that 
extraordinary place we were in three years ago, the one I was such a 
moron to leave behind.  It's not entirely as if we've gone back in 
time, of course: I'm not sure I'd appreciate it as much if that were 
the case.  We're older, and yes, a little wiser, and every time I 
wonder if we're any closer to figuring things out, I see some kind of 
sign that reassures me.  Like the most important person in my world 
sleeping peacefully on my couch.

	Maybe I'm reading too much into this.  She's probably 
exhausted after the week we had.  If defending Captain Sebring had 
been difficult for me, prosecuting him must have been a nightmare for 
her.  As we walked out of the courtroom this afternoon, something 
compelled me to ask her to dinner.  It had begun as a friendly offer: 
comfortable, like the evenings we'd recently spent discussing cases 
over dinner here.  Somehow, though, without any real conscious effort 
from either of us, it metamorphosed into something else entirely.  
Before I knew it, I'd made reservations for Palio's, and she'd 
announced her intention to go home and change before we 'went out'.  
Somehow Harriet overheard that last part - I'm convinced she's got 
radar for that kind of thing.  Regardless, we had an amazing evening, 
and I don't think either of us really wanted to say goodbye as we 
reached the parking lot of the restaurant.

	I managed to delay the inevitable by inviting her back to my 
place, ostensibly to talk about the appeal that we'd just been 
assigned.  Dinner had gone so well that we hadn't talked about work 
at all, but I was still terrified that she'd see my offer as exactly 
what it was: a ploy to extend the evening.  We've both been so 
cautious about this relationship lately ... but if she saw through 
me, she didn't let on.  We simply talked about the case and relaxed 
for a while.  I offered to drive her home when she started to look 
tired, but I'm not sure she wanted it all to end, either.  Her 
counteroffer involved coffee, and I got up to make a pot, relaying 
something about Webb's latest report from Russia.  By the time I 
returned to the living room with her mug, she was already asleep.

	I've been sitting here watching her for the last fifteen 
minutes, trying to decide what to do.  I don't want to wake her up, 
because she'll insist on driving herself home, and not only do I 
worry about her safety, I also want her to stay.  I'm not too proud 
to admit that to myself anymore.  But she can't stay curled up like 
that all night.  She'll end up hurting in the morning, and I want her 
lingering memories of tonight to be nothing but good.

	I'm sure this is a bad idea, but once again, I can't help 
it.  I'm so tired of listening to that warning voice in the back of 
my brain that keeps pulling me away from her.  This time, I'm going 
to bend one of those carefully-crafted rules, and if I don't end up 
getting decked for it, maybe I'll start to rethink my outlook.

	Slowly, I stand up and cross over to her, bending down to 
slip one arm under her knees and the other under her neck.  I'm 
trying not to think about what she might do if she wakes up right 
now, but she barely stirs as I lift her into my arms.  My back offers 
a twinge of protest as I straighten up - stupid fucking ejection 
seats - but the feeling of having her this close overpowers any pain 
that might have resulted from the effort.  As gently as possible, I 
move toward the bedroom and lay her down on the bed, drawing the 
covers up to her waist.  I wish to God I didn't have to let go, but I 
know I can't stay: she might not kill me for putting her in bed, but 
I'm fairly sure that if she awoke to find me there with her, I'd be 
on the receiving end of a karate chop.  One step at a time.

	I wonder who the hell I think I'm kidding with that 
assertion.  One step at a time?  Sure, one step forward, five steps 
back.  At least, that's how it's been for most of the past three 
years.  Maybe it won't be like that anymore.  Maybe after all this 
insanity, fate has decided we're owed a little happiness.  With that 
hope in mind, I release her carefully, and she turns ever so 
slightly, burying her head further into the pillow.  Seeing her like 
this is almost enough to undo me completely.  How can someone so 
strong, so luminous, be so incredibly delicate?

	As a faint smile plays across her lips, I have to force 
myself to move back, out of the room.  I don't know what's going to 
happen when she wakes up, but right now, this feels right.  She 
belongs here, and I'm the biggest fool on this earth to have denied 
that for so long.  I find myself recalling that brief moment in my 
office, when she looked at me with a flicker of amusement and tried 
to picture me with a wife.  I have trouble picturing it myself 
sometimes, but when I'm totally honest with myself, I can do it.  
Someone to confide in, someone to go through life with ... someone to 
hold onto at midnight without the slightest hint of doubt about what 
will happen in the morning...

	It _could_ happen.  But not without her.


*********************


	I'm not used to waking up without knowing where I am.

	My internal clock is telling me that it's almost one a.m., 
and I'm not in my own bed.  I'm in someone's bed, apparently, but it 
isn't mine.  I'm sure of that.  This isn't standard operating 
procedure for me, but I'm not going to panic.  There's something 
familiar about the scent of this pillow, and I inhale deeply, 
simultaneously enjoying it and trying to identify it.  Almost 
immediately it brings to mind images of courtroom battles and intense 
investigations, gold wings and heart-stopping smiles...

	Oh, Christ - what am I doing in Harm's _bed_?

	Only a second passes before I realize that I'm alone, and 
that I'm still wearing the clothes I'd spent half an hour choosing 
before our dinner.  Thank God.  If I'd done something as outrageous 
as seducing my best friend, I'd like to think I would have at least 
remembered it.  I must have fallen asleep.  I hope that didn't hurt 
his feelings.  We'd been talking about work at the time, mostly 
because both of us realized just how far we'd come in just a few 
hours, and we were both afraid to push our luck.  At least, I think 
that's what it was.  I've been trying to tell myself that I'm okay 
with our current situation, that I'm not in a hurry to define our 
relationship, but that isn't true.  I've always wanted more from him, 
even when I was doing everything in my power not to let him affect 
me.  Now, for the first time, I'm beginning to see that he really 
does want the same things, and that he might actually want them badly 
enough to let go of his fears at last.

	But if I fell asleep in the living room ... did he carry me 
in here?

	The idea sends a flutter of warmth straight through my body, 
all the way to my fingers, toes, and other significant parts that I'm 
not willing to consider at the moment.  I'm not usually comfortable 
with allowing someone else to take care of me.  I don't like to be 
babied, but somehow I know that it wouldn't be like that with him.  I 
wouldn't have to surrender anything of myself to be with him - I just 
know it.  He's probably the only person in my life who would have 
permission to carry me anywhere.  I only wish I'd been at least 
halfway awake when he'd done it, just to feel his powerful arms 
around me, to lay my cheek against his chest and feel the rhythm of 
his heart.

	It's already late.  I guess I might as well stay.  Obviously 
Harm doesn't mind, or I wouldn't be here.  But there's no harm in 
checking on him, is there?

	Slowly, I stand up from the bed and feel my way down the 
steps.  The only light is jutting through the blinds in dim, jagged 
spikes, falling from the stark streetlight outside the window.  It's 
hardly enough to help me navigate the apartment, but I don't want to 
wake him if he's asleep.  And I know this place pretty well after all 
this time -

	*thunk*

	Owww.  Okay, maybe I don't know it so well.  My foot 
apparently just came into contact with the coffee table.  I can hear 
Harm jerk awake - damn it - and in an instant, he's turned on the 
lamp near his head.  "Mac?" he asks instinctively, his voice 
roughened by sleep but tinged with concern.  "You all right?"

	"Yeah.  Sorry about that."  I sink into the chair across from 
the couch as he pulls himself partially upright, leaning on one 
elbow.  "Sorry about falling asleep on you, too."

	"Don't worry about it.  You could use the rest."  He's 
wearing only a T-shirt and boxers, and although I've seen him in 
less, I'm having trouble remembering why I wandered out here.  
Actually, I'm having trouble remembering anything besides my name, 
rank, and serial number.  This is just too strange an experience.  
Why do things feel different now?  "Is everything okay?"

	"Well, I have to say that I'm not accustomed to waking up 
somewhere different from the place I fell asleep."

	He looks almost embarrassed at being found out.  "You're not 
heavy," he points out softly.  "If you'd stayed on the couch with 
your legs all tucked up like that, you would've been one pissed-off 
Marine in the morning."

	"So you figured that the couch was good enough for you, but 
not me?  Even though you're seven inches taller?"  I try to keep my 
expression stern as I cross my arms over my chest, but I know he can 
read the gratitude in my eyes.

	He only shrugs.  "Chivalry isn't dead yet."

	"Right."

	He swings his feet to the floor and stands up, moving toward 
the closet.  "Now that you're awake, do you want something more 
comfortable to sleep in?  I've got about five million T-shirts you 
could borrow..."

	I'm not listening, though: something on the couch has caught 
my attention.  I reach underneath the tangled blanket and come up 
with a heating pad, the kind my grandmother used to use when her back 
would -

	"Harm!"

	He reappears, bewildered by the note of accusation in my 
voice.  "What?"

	Undaunted, I hold the evidence out toward him.  "Your back's 
been bothering you again, and not only did you carry me across the 
apartment - "

	"It's only thirty feet."

	" - but you thought you could sleep on this couch all night?"

	"Mac, for Christ's sake.  I'm not crippled.  It just acts up 
on me every so often.  Three punch-outs will do that to you."

	He holds out a well-worn USS Seahawk T-shirt as a peace 
offering, his eyes innocently asking forgiveness, and I know I can't 
possibly stay annoyed for long.  "You're masochistic," I inform him, 
snatching the shirt out of his hand and heading toward the bathroom 
to change.  "Chivalry will get you only so far, and then it'll get 
you permanently assigned to a wheelchair."

	"Lighten up, ninja-girl.  I'm just feeling my age, that's 
all."

	Midway through the motion of pulling his shirt over my head, 
I have to smile at the use of the nickname.  Ninja-girl.  It's been a 
long, long time since he last let that one slip.  I have to stop and 
consider my options for moment.  Do I leave my bra on?  I hate 
sleeping in it, and it's not as if the T-shirt is see-through or 
anything.  Shit, why do I sound like I'm trying to justify something 
here?  With a swift snap, I unhook the irritating garment and toss it 
in the pile with my skirt and top.  "Your age?" I echo, returning to 
the living room and analyzing his reaction.  The Harm-sized shirt 
hits me just above the knees, and I know he has at least a fleeting 
appreciation for my legs.  They are awfully nice legs, after all.  
"You're not over the hill yet, sailor."

	"I'm within shouting distance of it, though."  His gaze 
flicks over my attire briefly, but he's always been a master at 
shielding his emotions.  Sometimes I hate that part of him, but I'm 
aware that nothing and no one can change it.

	Maybe, though, just this once, I can find my way under that 
shield.  I've been letting my guard down around him lately, and if he 
understands that at all, he should be able to respond in kind.  
"Harm," I begin slowly, "about what I said earlier this week..."

	"You said a lot of things," he counters lightly, but after 
seeing my meaning, he relents.  "You mean the part about not being 
able to picture me with a wife?"

	"That's the one.  But that isn't exactly what I said.  I said 
I was _trying_ to picture it, not that I couldn't.  As it so happens, 
I _can_ picture it.  It just wasn't easy."

	"Nothing with me ever is, is it?" he says quietly, glancing 
away.

	"Nothing easy is really worth having," I assert calmly before 
realizing that my mouth is running on a faster frequency than my 
brain.  He offers a brief, rueful smile, his eyes still fixed on a 
point off to my left.

	"Is that why we always seem to insist on doing everything the 
hard way?"

	Oh, Lord.  Am I really in the right frame of mind to follow 
this discussion the way it seems to be heading?  Then again, if I 
back off, am I willing to take the risk of never having a night this 
perfect again?  "What have we been doing the hard way?" I ask softly, 
trying to keep my voice normal.

	"Think about it, Mac.  Think about where we were a year ago.  
You can't tell me that the path we've taken to get here was really 
the shortest distance between two points."

	Where we were a year ago.  A year ago, we were standing on 
the admiral's porch, acknowledging a flood of mistakes and 
simultaneously refusing to correct them.  We were both clinging 
stubbornly to the roles we'd created, and it almost destroyed us 
both.  My voice almost inaudible, I reply, "The shortest path isn't 
always the right one."  He doesn't respond, turning slightly away 
from me, and without another thought I reach out to grasp his arm.  
"Why won't you look at me?  Are you afraid of something?"

	He looks down at my hand and answers.  "I'm afraid of 
myself.  I'm afraid of doing something wrong by you and losing 
everything we've worked so hard to build over the last few months."

	"Do you really think that's going to happen?" I ask, stepping 
closer as the conflict rages in his handsome features.  "Do you 
really think we want different things?"

	His voice is so quiet, but at last he offers a reply.  "Not 
anymore."

	This is the point of no return, isn't it?  My hyper-
analytical brain is screaming at me to back off, warning me that we 
could be on the verge of blowing everything we have to pieces.  But I 
can't live with the idea that what we have now is all we'll ever 
have.  If he wants this, I want him to reach for it, and it might as 
well be now.

	"Then for once in our lives, let's get on the same wavelength 
about this.  Show me how you feel."

	For about ten seconds, I'm paralyzed with fear as I await his 
answer.  After all this time, all the scars we've inflicted on each 
other, I can't imagine where we'll go if this crumbles before our 
eyes.

	Then, the most amazing thing happens, something I haven't 
dared to imagine for a long, long time.  He turns fully toward me, 
and I witness the shield actually falling away from his soul.  His 
eyes are burning with a depth of emotion I've never seen, and I have 
to fight to keep a sob from escaping.  I can read him, utterly and 
completely now, and I can see that Harmon Rabb, Jr. is hopelessly in 
love.

	"How's this?" he asks in a low, husky voice.

	The sound causes me to physically grab for the counter in 
order to support myself.  "I think we're on the same wavelength now," 
I whisper, unable to coax any further thought from my scrambled brain.

	But he doesn't intend to leave it at that.  The dam has burst 
now, and I know that once this man dedicates himself to something, he 
won't allow himself to fail.  As he reaches for me, I realize that 
I've become one of his obsessions.  Maybe I always have been - God 
knows he's always been one of mine.

	When his strong arms close around me, and his lips descend 
over mine, I'm overtaken by a sensation I'm ill-equipped to 
describe.  I've been hovering on the brink of surrender for so long 
now that I just don't know what I'm supposed to do next.  It feels 
like - like coming home, like seeing the dawn break, like a hundred 
other trite metaphors that fail to fully capture the moment.  I feel 
tears swelling behind closed lids, and before long a stray droplet 
works its way free of the barrier.

	He notices immediately, reaching up to brush it away as he's 
done more than once in the past.  But it isn't a farewell gesture 
this time.  I know that, simply by opening my eyes; and as if that 
weren't enough, he stuns me yet again - this time with his words.

	"I love you more than I thought I could love anyone," he 
breathes into my ear, his warm voice carrying not a trace of 
hesitation.  "And yet I seem to make you cry more than anyone.  I 
wish I understood that."

	Good Lord above ... he said it.

	I'm not sure I believe that he actually said it.  For a 
second, I wonder if my mind somehow conjured up those words in his 
voice, but that possibility is vanquished when I pull back to stare 
at him, too shocked even to cry.

	Harm offers a tentative laugh.  "Are you that surprised that 
I love you?"

	"I'm surprised that you admitted it," I fire back 
reflexively, my ability to organize thoughts temporarily disabled.  
He could easily have been offended by this, but he isn't - he knows 
it's true as well as I do.  "Would you be surprised if I said that I 
love you, too?"

	"I'm not sure," he says honestly, and I hear a slight catch 
in his voice.  God, is it possible that he really doesn't know?  Is 
that why he's been holding back?  Maybe I'm better at hiding my 
feelings than I thought...

	I reach up to catch his chin in my hand - I want there to be 
no room for misinterpretation on this.  "I do, you know," I tell him 
simply, and a brilliant, beautiful light dawns behind his expressive 
eyes.  "I'm not sure, but I think maybe I always have."

	"Me, too," he agrees, shaking his head in amazement.  "Then 
how did we turn this into such a ...a cluster-fuck?"

	I have to laugh out loud at his colorful choice of words: 
otherwise, I'll probably cry for all the lost chances we can't get 
back.  But none of that matters right now.  He's here, I'm here, and 
for the first time, there's absolutely nothing standing between us.

	"Forget all that," I say in a voice so firm that the 
suggestion comes out sounding like a command.  He lifts an eyebrow, 
and draws me closer.

	"Yes, ma'am."

	Then his lips are upon me again, gently yet insistently 
trailing a path down to the nape of my neck, and I feel myself coming 
undone in his hands.  This is heavenly ... but a small, evil voice in 
the back of my mind is suggesting that it might not be such a bad 
idea to wrest a certain measure of control away from him.  He's 
always so damned determined to maintain the upper hand in everything, 
but this is one area in which I might have more power than he thinks.

	Slowly I slide one knee up along the inside of his leg, just 
far enough, and almost immediately I receive the desired reaction.  
He stiffens, and the low moan that escapes his throat is muffled by 
my shoulder.  I smile in muted triumph: not only does he love me, but 
right now he really, truly _wants_ me.  Of course, having said that, 
I have to admit that I want him, too.  I've wanted him before, in 
many ways, but right now I want him so badly that my center already 
aches with the blissful agony of anticipation.  If he should stop and 
try to pull some kind of Boy Scout 'we should wait' crap, I think I 
might just take out his legs and pin him down, because I'm convinced 
that I won't be able to go on with life until I feel him within me.

	His arms crush my body to his, and through the thin layers of 
cotton that separate us, I feel the evidence of his blinding lust 
straining impatiently against my stomach.  The part of me that craves 
that particular contact, though, is much lower - if only he weren't 
so damn tall...

	He breaks off his assault on my neck, taking a moment to slow 
his ragged breathing.  "This isn't exactly how I pictured this," he 
confesses, making no motion to pull away.  "Is it all right?"

	All right?  Is he joking?  "This is a fine time to ask, 
flyboy."

	"I meant, it's been a long time since either of us has, you 
know..."

	"Been with someone?  Yeah, it has.  But I hear it's like 
riding a bicycle."

	He shoots me a dirty look.  "Are you on anything?"

	This is too much fun.  "Like what?  Hallucinogens?"

	"Maaaac."

	The desperate, passion-clouded look in his eyes is incredibly 
endearing, but I can't hold out any longer, either.  "Yes, I'm on the 
pill.  Don't worry so much."

	He responds by swiftly sliding his hands down to my hips and 
lifting me into the air.  My legs instinctively close around his 
waist, and at last we come into contact in that perfect place.  The 
brief jolt of electricity that results is enough to make me clutch 
handfuls of his shirt.  Effortlessly, he moves toward the bedroom, 
and I have only a second to wonder whether his back is likely to 
complain before we reach the bed.

	"Funny ... I'm getting a serious case of déjà vu out of 
this," he says with a slight smirk, kneeling down to deposit me 
easily onto the edge of the bed.  "How many times am I going to have 
to carry you in here?"

	I lock my ankles around him and yank him forward so that he 
topples over top of me, and voila - another point for me.  "Shut up, 
sailor."

	 He rolls onto his side and slides a hand up along the inside 
of my thigh, and I'm almost embarrassed about the fact that he's 
going to find me drenched and trembling.  Will he understand how much 
this means to me?  I know this isn't just another conquest for him, 
but God, if he knew how many times I've woken with his name on my 
lips...

	The thought ceases abruptly as I feel a gentle pressure 
through my already-damp cotton panties, and instinctively I close my 
eyes against the ripples of desire that are building.  Neither of us 
has removed a single piece of clothing, but I'm so desperate to feel 
his touch anywhere and everywhere that I immediately sit up and pull 
the T-shirt over my head.  No sooner has it hit the floor than he 
takes one breast into his mouth, and my entire body draws taut.

	"Clothing is overrated," I say when my brain finally kicks in.

	"Downright irritating, sometimes," he mumbles in response, 
and we pull each other back to a standing position, hands tangling as 
we struggle to remove the rest of our clothes without breaking 
contact.  At last, his shirt is flung towards the corner, and my 
panties are tangled with his boxers on the floor - and suddenly the 
person I'm closest to in the world is standing in front of me, body 
and soul bared to me in a way I'd hardly dared to envision before 
tonight.  I'm almost surprised at the way he looks to me: I'd half-
expected the Adonis that haunted my fantasies, but instead he looks 
more ... real, I suppose.  He's no longer the 'stickboy' I used to 
tease him about, and his body bears a number of small, fading scars 
that attest to all the bizarre encounters we've had over the past few 
years.  But this reality is far better that any dream I've ever had, 
and I can almost forget the fact that for the first time, I'm bared 
to him as well.

	Within moments, though, I notice that he's staring at me with 
an expression I don't entirely recognize.  It looks like ... awe, 
maybe, or perhaps wonder.  "I knew you were beautiful," he says 
quietly, "but..."

	He trails off, and I realize that my face must be betraying 
the swirling emotions battling in my mind.  "You really don't know, 
do you?" he asks, shaking his head.

	"Don't know what?"

	"You honestly don't realize how amazingly beautiful you are."

	Oh, Jesus, this might just be the most perfect moment of my 
life.  "No one who I really believed ever told me," I whisper.

	Tenderly, he reaches out to pull me back onto the bed.  
"Believe it now," he murmurs into my ear, and with that, I'm certain 
that I'd do absolutely anything to keep him here with me like this.  
He sits back against the pile of pillows and draws me in so that I'm 
reclining against him, his powerful arms and legs encircling me.  
Slowly, he slides his hand down my body, starting at the base of my 
neck and moving all the way down to -

	Involuntarily I suck in a sharp breath as his palm grazes 
against my clit, and I have to fight to keep a moan from escaping.  
He notices, and I imagine I can hear him smile as he suggests, 
"Relax.  The walls are thick, and I don't have that many neighbors."

	"Well, why didn't you say so - ohhh!"  Another rush of warmth 
flows over me as he probes gently, first with one long finger, then 
with two.  His other hand is kneading my breast, rolling and stroking 
in perfect rhythm, and all the while he's lining small, light kisses 
up and down my neck.  I'd like to make a comment about his incredible 
talent for multitasking, but the sensory overload has turned me into 
a shuddering, gasping mess.  I can't believe this feels so good, so 
fast.  How did I ever manage to survive so long without this man?  
"God, Harm, if you keep this up, I'm going to - mmm..."

	"That's the idea," he replies in a low voice, and I realize 
through my haze that all this is rather one-sided at the moment.  
Harmon Rabb, who could probably get just about any woman in 
Washington with little more than a smile, is pleasuring me, and he's 
completely ignoring his own desires to do it.  Will wonders never 
fucking cease?

	"Oh, oh, oh..." Where in the name of all that's holy did he 
learn to do that with his hand?  His thumb is flicking against my 
clit while his fingers thrust in and out, and my hips are bucking 
into his hand without any direction whatsoever from me.  I've lost 
any control I once had over my body, but even as the release is 
building, I fight it, terrified that I might never feel this way 
again.

	"Let it come," he says quietly but firmly.  "We're nowhere 
close to being finished here."

	With that gentle directive, I'm lost.  The sheer joy of being 
here at last, coupled with the excruciating bliss of his 
ministrations, sends me tumbling into oblivion, and I can't help 
crying out as everything swirls crazily around me.  After a few 
moments to regain my equilibrium - damn it, that's the second time 
tonight my timing's gone haywire - I twist around in his arms and 
just stare at him with an expression that probably resembles complete 
and total adoration.

	He's not smug or the least bit arrogant about the fact that 
he just got a Marine lieutenant colonel off literally single-handed.  
Instead, his eyes are smoldering with the kind of passion I always 
knew he was capable of.  "Poor thing," I say sympathetically, 
reaching down to grasp his manhood as he inhales sharply.  "You've 
been neglected."

	"Are you kidding?  Watching you, listening to you ... feeling 
you move ... I think it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."  He 
captures my lips again, just for a second, before continuing.  
"Having said that, I don't know if I can take much more of this 
without - "

	"Say no more."  I still haven't entirely come down off my 
last high, but that doesn't mean I'm not ready to move ahead.  
Especially this - I think I've longed to know what this felt like for 
years.  As gracefully as I can manage, I shift around so that I'm 
straddling him, and carefully, I guide him into me.

	His body trembles ever so slightly when we're joined at last, 
and I sense that he's trying to keep his emotions in check.  Part of 
me wants to be disappointed that after all this, he's still holding 
back from me, but I know I can't expect him to surrender so much 
control in one night.  It simply isn't in his nature.  Still, I lean 
down to kiss his jawline and whisper teasingly, "Relax.  The walls 
are thick, or so I've been told."

	At that, he smiles, and nudges his hips upward, eliciting a 
gasp of surprise and pleasure from both of us.  As we move together, 
I see still more of his emotional barriers crumbling, and the 
resulting satisfaction is almost as intense as the physical ecstasy 
we're driving toward.  His thrusts grow harder and faster almost 
unconsciously, and before long I fall forward against him, unable to 
hold myself up.  Christ, if what's happening now is any indication, 
this is going to be the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life.  How can 
we possibly be getting this so right?

	He draws me in close, and we cling to each other fiercely, 
urging each other onward.  A harsh groan issues from his lips, and he 
manages to say, "This isn't going to - last much longer if - "

	"Me either," I break in, attempting to control my breathing 
and failing spectacularly.  "Don't even _think_ about letting up now."

	In response, he crushes me against his chest with another 
devastating thrust, and suddenly my body simply surrenders.  The 
sound that reverberates off the walls must have come from me - it 
sounds like a scream, but it's unlike any scream I've ever heard.  As 
my inner muscles clench in sweet, agonizing release, the tremors 
drive him to his own climax, and I feel him shudder beneath me as 
cascading waves of heat course through my veins.

	Harm is the first to break the silence, but only after 
allowing himself a few minutes to slow his panting, erratic breaths.  
"God," he says, sounding utterly overwhelmed.  I'd make fun of his 
lack of eloquence, if I thought I could string together a coherent 
sentence myself.  But I don't, so I won't.  He turns my face toward 
him and offers a slow, deep kiss that just seems to sum everything up 
so perfectly.  We move apart, not because either of us wants to, but 
because my legs are beginning to voice a protest.  The sense of loss 
is acute, but as I roll to the side, I'm careful not to break contact 
completely.  God help me, I don't ever want to break contact again if 
I can help it.

	All right, Marine, engage your brain and come up with 
something to say.  Otherwise, the silence will scratch and claw away 
at this fantastic, wonderful thing that just happened, and soon there 
will be nothing left but the awkwardness.  Come on, damn it, I just 
need to say _something_, anything.

	"That was ... nice."

	Oh, nice going...

	"Yeah," he agrees, sounding every bit as shell-shocked as I 
feel.  "We should do it again sometime."

	For some reason, that remark hits me just right, and I 
instantly dissolve into giggles.  Harm blinks, a little bewildered: 
he probably wasn't aware that I was capable of giggling.  "It wasn't 
_that_ funny," he objects, embarrassed but smiling.

	"No, you're right," I manage to say, still trying to control 
the bubbling laughter.  "We should definitely do it again sometime 
... How about now?"

	He snorts in amusement, and we're both lost.  I swear, I will 
never understand my life.  I just had incredible sex with my partner, 
best friend and object of my fantasies, and we're both cracking up.  
Somehow, though, this makes sense: and I know instinctively that if 
we can laugh right now, then all this is going to work out just 
fine.  At the moment, however, I just want to concentrate on how 
great I feel.

	The laughter soon fades into a more comfortable silence, but 
it doesn't last long.  He stares up at the ceiling as he delivers 
this next comment, and it takes a moment to register in my mind.  
"Sarah," he asks almost reverently, "have I told you I love you yet?"

	It's the 'Sarah' that gets me.  It's not that I've accustomed 
myself to the 'I love you' part, either; but somehow hearing him say 
my name that way just means so much.

	"Not quite like that, you haven't," I whisper in reply, 
blinking back tears again.  I don't want to cry right now, so I 
forestall it by rolling back toward him and ensnaring him in a heated 
embrace.  "Tell me that it's always going to be like this for us," I 
beg him quietly.  "That we're not going to let anyone or anything get 
between us again now that we're here."

	"Consider it a promise," he replies solemnly, sealing it with 
a meaningful kiss.  "Whatever it takes, and wherever it leads."

	"Good."

	My internal clock chooses this moment to remind me that it's 
0152, and I suddenly realize how exhausted I am.  This week has been 
such a pain.  If only we could have skipped straight to tonight.  If 
only we could have skipped straight to tonight from all those weeks 
and months and years ago ... But as inviting as the concept is, I 
know it never would have worked.  There are no shortcuts to the kind 
of things I want for myself, and for him.  We needed all this - we 
needed time to make our mistakes and live our lives, and time to 
finally discover our own truths.  Only now, after all that madness, 
can we understand what's right for us.  And now, finally, I truly do 
understand.

I reach up to adjust my pillow, and Harm pushes himself up to a 
sitting position.  "I guess I'd better go back to my rightful place 
on the couch now..." he suggests teasingly, just before I yank him 
down again.

	"Get back here, flyboy," I mumble into the pillow.  He 
settles in beside me, and I snuggle into his side, drawing one arm 
tight around his chest.  With his free hand, he pulls the covers up, 
surrounding me with pure, unadulterated comfort.  This has got to be 
heaven.  Never in my life have I gone to bed - in any sense - feeling 
so loved.

	I'm drifting toward sleep by the time I hear and feel his 
warm voice again.  "Good night, Mac," he murmurs, softer than any 
words I've ever heard.

	"Night, baby," I respond drowsily, feeling far too secure to 
question myself for that little slip.  Marines don't call people 
'baby', for Christ's sake.  But I just can't find the energy to care 
right now.  As I fall back to sleep once again, the last thought in 
my mind is a blissful one: soon, very soon, I'm going to have damn 
near everything I've ever wanted.


*****************


	I can't believe it took me so long to fall asleep.

	It's not that I wasn't comfortable - I've never been quite so 
comfortable in my life.  And it's certainly not that I wasn't tired - 
I was very, very tired.  In fact, I think I'm more motivated than 
ever to get back in better shape.  But it still took me forever to 
actually fall asleep.  After everything that had just happened, after 
six years of tension were washed away in mere minutes, how could I be 
expected to sleep?  Who could possibly sleep, after hearing 'Night, 
baby' in the sexiest voice ever created?

	Not that I blame her for being able to fall asleep so 
quickly.  She's the one who was so tired to begin with.  And to be 
honest, she's the practical one.  We've got plenty of time now for 
exploring this new - what exactly is this?  Jesus, why can't I be a 
man and just tell it like it is?  Better start that thought over ... 
We've got plenty of time now for exploring this new love, and at two 
in the morning, we'd really be better off asleep.  But I keep waking 
up every so often, just to convince myself that she's real, and that 
she's still here.  Every time, I lean over to kiss her, and not once 
has she even stirred.  I'm beginning to get the feeling that my 
Marine could sleep through a tornado if she's comfortable enough.

	This time, it's not my neurotic tendencies working overtime 
that are waking me up.  This time, it's the phone.  I fumble for it 
on the third ring or so, faintly aware that there's sunlight 
streaming through the blinds.  "Rabb," I answer, hoping I sound more 
alert than I feel.

	Apparently I don't.  "Sleeping in this weekend, Commander?"

	"A-admiral," I stutter, pulling myself out of bed as 
carefully as possible to keep from disturbing Mac.  "Um, something 
like that, sir."  The clock reads 8:34 as I grope around for my 
discarded boxers.  What the hell is the admiral calling about on a 
Saturday morning?

	"Sorry to disturb you," Admiral Chegwidden continues, not 
sounding the slightest bit sorry.  "I was hoping you could help me 
track down Colonel Mackenzie.  She's not answering either her home 
phone or her cell.  I thought she might be out running, but usually 
she takes her cell phone with her..."

	Her cell phone is probably in her purse, under my coffee 
table, but I definitely don't want to tell our commanding officer 
that.  I steal a glance over at her, still peaceful and stunningly 
beautiful under the tangled sheets, and rake a hand through my hair 
in total helplessness.  How am I going to get out of this?  The 
relationship's one night old, and already it's complicated.  "Is it 
an emergency, sir?"

	"No, I just wanted her input on something before I brought it 
up with the CNO.  To be honest, though, I am starting to worry a 
little.  It's not like her to be out of touch without telling 
anyone.  Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

	Terrific.  If I let him get any more wound up, he'll end up 
calling 911 or something, and I'll be dead by sundown.  Guess there 
aren't too many choices left.  "Sir, ah, the colonel is here, 
actually," I begin tentatively, inwardly cringing.

	There is a pause on the line.  "You mean 'here' as in your 
apartment?"

	"Yes, sir, but she's asleep at the moment."  Oh, shit.  That 
was brilliant.  "What I mean, sir, is that Mac and I were discussing 
the new intel report until late last night, and when she fell asleep, 
I just decided she should stay the night.  So she wouldn't have to 
drive home, I mean."

	That is the truth, isn't it?  Or is a lie of omission still a 
lie?  Good lord, I haven't tripped over my words this badly since 
high school.  The admiral's tone is calm, but very suspicious.  Even 
though it's technically true, there's no way he's going to believe 
that we were simply discussing reports on a Friday night.  "You and 
your partner do this often?"

	"No, sir.  This was the first time.  I mean - "  I decide to 
shut my mouth before I can stick my foot any further into it.  Way to 
sound guilty, hotshot.

	I can almost see Admiral Chegwidden's eyes narrowing as he 
asks carefully, "Is there anything else I should know, Mr. Rabb?"

	I choose to play innocent, even though that tactic never 
works for me.  "About what, sir?"  Please, Admiral, just let it 
drop.  At least for today.  I swear I'll never get written up for 
anything ever again.  Just don't make us confront all this at once.

	There is a sharp sigh of disapproval on the other end.  
"Never mind.  My meeting's not until 1300, anyway.  Have the colonel 
call me on my cell when she's ... available."

	There is a God.  "Yes, sir.  I'll give her the message."

	"You two are going to be the death of me," he mutters, almost 
to himself.  "Have a good weekend, Commander."

	I certainly intend to.  "Thank you, sir.  Goodbye."

	I briefly consider waking her up to tell her just how much 
we're going to have to be on our guard from now on, but I quickly 
discard the idea.  It'll keep until she's had some coffee ... and 
besides, waking up naked in my bed might be enough of a Twilight-Zone 
moment as it is.

	Tossing the phone toward the chair, I slide back into bed, 
and at last Mac stirs slightly.  Her eyes open halfway, and only a 
split-second passes before she orients herself and offers a slow, 
sleepy smile.  "Hey," she murmurs in a velvety voice.  "Was that the 
phone?"

	"Don't worry about it," I assure her, snaking my arms back 
around her and reveling in the feel of her smooth, flawless skin.  
For the life of me, I can't imagine how I survived all this time 
without her, but I swear on everything holy that I'll never, ever let 
that happen again.

	"Who's worried?" she says vaguely, already slipping back into 
sleep.  After a moment, I realize just how right she is.  I'm _not_ 
worried.  The admiral's wrath and the various official complexities 
that surely await us on Monday just don't scare me right now.  For 
the first time in my life, I feel like I'm where I want to be, and 
the rest of it will just have to work itself out.  So what if it'll 
be hard sometimes?  Anything can happen.  We're living proof of that.

	I lean down to brush a tender kiss across her temple and 
close my eyes, content at last.  I still don't know when exactly it 
was that she fell asleep that first time.  But God, am I glad she did.


*** THE END ***