Title: Gifts Eternal, Sequel to Simple Gifts

Author Name: Lauraloo

Rating: pg

Spoilers: All Ye Faithful

Disclaimer: The Characters are not mine.

Summary: A New Years story, the sequel to Simple
Gifts, this time told from Mac’s POV.

 

 

 

Love is friendship set on fire.

 

Jeremy Taylor

 

 

 

 

            I am not primping. And just because I’ve
spent the last two hours cleansing, buffing, waxing,
straightening, tweezing, spritzing and polishing, it
doesn’t mean I’m primping. Marines don’t primp. They
prepare.

 

 

            I give one final tug to the zipper on my
dress; my new one, fashioned from black silk crepe
that drapes downward in soft folds, stopping just
beneath my calves. It has three-quarter length sleeves
too, and a rounded neckline so low, I had to buy
special lingerie. My feet glide into the dainty Manolo
Blahnik sling-back pumps – my mid-season super
splurge.  I survey my efforts in the full-length
mirror.

 

 

            Simply stated, right now, the outside of
this body looks as good as it’s ever going to.  It’s
the inside that’s a hopeless wreck. I, Lt. Colonel
Sarah Mackenzie, am a disgrace to the Corps. Ambushes,
landmines, dirty nukes, enemy fire – no problem. But
give me one date with Harmon Rabb Jr., which is due to
begin in 12 minutes, and watch me fall to pieces.

 

 

            It shouldn’t be this daunting, this dating
thing. And there’s really no good reason for me to
have consumed an entire package of Tums in the last
eight hours. After all, it’s only Harm – my partner,
my best friend, the man I see nearly every day. 

 

 

The man who gave me diamonds for Christmas.

 

            

            It’s this gift that will be my finishing
touch tonight. I unhook it from its black velvet home.
In one motion, it’s looped around my neck, cool and
featherweight.   

 

 

            I touch the very top stone, marveling at
the irony of it all, both strange and wonderful. For
years I’ve worn the scars of our past; these phantom
lines and creases. Our past mixes with the blood
flowing through my veins; it’s woven into every
muscle, so much a part of who I am. It has shaped me
now, perhaps even more than the turmoil that formed my
early years. It’s changed how I work, how I react, how
I cope. It has changed how I love.

 

 

            But with this gift - without words or
explanation, he paid such tribute to it. He took the
bittersweet jumble of past joys and pains and fastened
it all around my neck as something so lovely. This is
what I wear now; peacefully, just above my heart. With
this symbol of all we’ve overcome, all that we’ve
learned; he gave it honor. He called it good.

 

 

            Two diamonds hang below this top stone,
each with its own place. They signal a move into
unfamiliar territory with new promises, new rules, new
mysteries. Perhaps that’s what has me so unsettled. I
have eight minutes left and I just don’t know how to
do this.

 

 

            Maybe it’s helped, maybe it’s hindered,
but I really haven’t seen much of Harm in the last
week. After the Roberts’ Christmas Eve party, I left
for a couple of days to see Chloe. He left to visit
his mom. It’s been a little strange since we’ve
returned to work. Not bad strange, but different
strange. 

 

 

            The words, “I’ll pick you up at 1930, Mac.
Wear your new dress,” is nearly all I’ve heard from
him. I guess the lack of clues serves me right, after
my own trademark Christmas-gift evasiveness. But
lately, the looks are longer, the smiles more
brilliant, but also laced with unmistakable shyness.
Maybe he doesn’t know how to do this either.

 

            

            

            I’ve started to see Harm differently too.
I realize that I’ve spent so many years dodging and
deflecting the utter magnificence contained in that
6’4” frame of his. There was just no other
alternative.  But these past few mornings, I’ve just
looked at him during staff call; really looked at him,
sitting across the conference table from me. I’ve been
wearing his gift, hidden beneath my uniform, just
enjoying him – his strength, his honor, his presence.
And almost at once, he was no longer just a Naval
Commander in dapper dress blues. He was no longer just
a trial attorney, or a fighter pilot, a partner, or
even a trusted friend. He became the man who offered
me an invitation to spend New Years Eve with him.

 

 

            And I became the woman who accepted it.

 

 

 

            The faint sound of knocking sends my
stomach into another fit of somersaults. This is it.
No turning back now. Out of sheer reflex, my feet
somehow make it to the door; my hand closes around the
knob, the turning and pulling accomplished only out of
muscle memory.

 

 

            Our eyes meet first. And thankfully, our
smiles know what to do. They take over now as we fall
into a silent pause, surveying _expression and dress
and accessories; the first details adorning this
moment where friendship and romance dare to mingle.

 

 

            It doesn’t help that he’s way beyond
handsome. He simply owns the black European cut suit,
the silvery gray shirt and matching tie, the regal
wool trench coat draped elegantly over one arm.

 

 

            Before I can take my next breath, I’m
halfway in his arms. My cheek brushes against his own,
clean-shaven and scented with spice.

 

 

            “Hey Marine,” he says, fingering the
fabric of my sleeve. “You look beautiful. You were
right – this dress was made for that necklace.”

 

 

            I pull back, giggling softly, a bit too
much like a schoolgirl for my own liking. “Why thank
you. You don’t look so bad yourself. Um…wait here,
just let me get my coat.” 

 

 

            As I turn away, I’m stopped by a hand on
my shoulder. His eyes do all the talking as he lifts
the trench coat off of his arm, revealing a bouquet of
roses, lemon-drop yellow. “For you,” he says, just
above a whisper.

 

 

            I’m stunned. I’m speechless. Well, at
least one of us seems to have this dating thing down.
As he gives me the bouquet, I capture his hand in a
gentle squeeze. 

 

            “Harm, thank you. They’re so pretty,” I
manage, in a tone of sincerity and wonderment.

 

 

            I lift the roses to my face, losing myself
for more than a few seconds in the subtle, sweet
fragrance.

 

 

            “Uh, do you want to put those in some
water or something before we go?” He suggests.

 

 

            I lower the flowers, tilting my head in
contemplation. “Right…water.”

 

 

            He moves closer at my puzzled gaze. “What,
are they okay? Is something wrong?”

 

 

            “No…I mean, I was just counting. There’s
only eleven.”

 

 

            He double checks mentally. “Geez, I’m
sorry, Mac. One must’ve broken off on the way.”

 

 

            My immediate smile reassures him. “Oh,
that’s all right. I’ll just get that vase now.”

 

 

 

            Expert flower arranger I am not. But now
I’m convinced that even little AJ could do better.
Left alone for a brief moment in the comfort of my
kitchen, I have to remind myself to breathe. I have to
remind myself that this date, this man, is something
I’ve wanted for so long. And it truly is. My stomach
and my damp, trembling hands just don’t know it yet. 

 

 

            I feel his presence as he comes up behind
me. “Hey Colonel, can I offer my assistance?” he
chuckles playfully, as I jam the last rose into the
mess of baby’s breath and stems all ready filling the
vase.

 

 

            “That’s quite all right, Commander.
I’ll…oh heck, I’ll just fix them later,” I add
hurriedly, wiping my hands with a dishtowel.

 

 

             “Good, ‘cause we’d better get going.” He
flashes me a slow-spreading smile that miraculously
warms my cheeks and calms a morsel of my nerves at the
same time. 

 

 

            I nearly run into him as he stops abruptly
in my kitchen doorway, patting his hands over each of
his pockets. “Oh, shoot, I just realized that I left
my cell phone at home. Do you mind if we stop and get
it? It’s on the way, and you know, Admiral’s orders
even if it is New Years Eve.”

 

 

            “Sure, that’s fine. Sooo,” I offer
shamelessly as he helps me into my coat, “this mystery
place your taking me is somewhere near your house?” My
mind reels in curiosity.

 

 

            Harm rolls his eyes, shaking one finger at
me. “Not so fast,” he teases, “you’ll find out soon
enough. Besides don’t you like surprises?”

 

 

             My answer is left behind in the warmth of
my living room as we depart, arm in arm. I snuggle
closer to him as we encounter the frigid air of this
New Years Eve; its darkened sky, clear enough to
reveal millions upon millions of glittering stars. And
one slender, white fingernail of a moon.

 

 

 

***

 

            23 Minutes later, we pause in front of his
apartment. “This’ll just take a second,” he promises,
unlocking the door. When he opens it just a crack, I’m
surprised to hear the faint sound of music. At first
I’m convinced he’s left his stereo on by mistake. But
as he moves aside, allowing me to enter before him, I
realize that there’s been no mistake at all.

 

 

            I let out a gasp, bracing the doorframe
for support. I just don’t know where to look first,
it’s so beautiful. Tiny votive candles are everywhere
while the sounds of Tony Bennett pour out from the
corner stereo. And the smell coming from the kitchen
is heavenly. I look up at his beaming face, completely
unable to speak.

 

 

            “Happy New Year, Mac. I hope you don’t
mind us staying in like this, but I really did want to
surprise you,” he says softly, his voice filled with
both hope and hesitation.

 

 

            Finally, I find my ability to smile, and
encounter a few words as an unexpected bonus. “Mind?
Harm, how could I mind? No one has ever done anything
like this for me. It’s just incredible.”

 

 

 

            He leads me further into the room, closing
the door behind us. “I’m glad you think so. Well
madam, the menu this evening is arugula salad and
baked lobster tail with steamed vegetables, which
should be ready any minute. And, of course, chocolate
mousse for dessert.”

 

 

            I shake my head in amazement. “I can’t
believe you did all this. You must’ve worked all
afternoon. Can I at least help with something?”

 

 

 

            He moves into to the kitchen. “Nope,
everything’s under control. Just make yourself at
home,” he offers, his words spoken loudly into the
now-open oven.

 

 

            It’s funny that he says this, as I’ve been
here hundreds of times. In fact I’ve probably eaten
dinner here half as many times. But not like this. 

 

 

            I discard my coat, smoothing out my dress
as I pick up one of the tiny, flickering candles. Just
when I was starting to get comfortable with fact that
he and I are actually on a date, he does this. All of
this. I’m fumbling dangerously close to hysteria again
as it dawns on me how much work, how much planning and
thought went into this night. Every detail is perfect.


 

 

            Aimlessly, I wander over to the dining
area. As soon as he notices, he sets down the glass
salad bowl with a ‘thunk,’ practically heaving himself
between me and table.

 

 

            “Wait, Mac!” he sputters. At my perplexed
_expression, he takes a deep breath, lowering his arms
to his side. “Sorry. There’s just something I forgot
to give you.”

 

 

            Not until he moves aside do I notice the
table. It’s covered with votives and set beautifully.
But there’s something peculiar resting on one of the
plates. In the soft glow of candlelight, it’s hard to
identify it, until he picks it up and holds it in
front of me.

 

 

            “I guess I’ve given Pinocchio a run for
his money tonight,” he says sheepishly, placing the
object in my hands. “Here’s rose number twelve, Mac.”

 

 

            Goosebumps invade my arms, but not because
I’m now holding a lovely, long stemmed rose. It’s due
to the fact that this final rose isn’t yellow like the
others. This one is red.

 

 

            Well, he’s done it now. I’m so far over
the edge it’s going to take a very long rope to pull
me up – or, perhaps the strong arm of a very
breathtaking man, which now happens to be wrapped
halfway around my shoulder.

 

            

            “Is this…is this okay?” he asks tenderly,
the look in his eyes hovering somewhere between
apology and promise. “And not just the rose, but all
of this?”

 

 

            My bottom lip frees itself from the
contemplative nibble of my front teeth, turning upward
in a delicate smile. “Yeah, it’s perfect,” I answer,
letting out a slow breath. “I’m sorry; it’s just going
to take a little time for me to adjust. I mean, this
isn’t exactly your usual M.O.,” I add, one eyebrow
raised, twirling the stem between my fingers.

 

 

            “Yeah, I know. Maybe I should’ve given you
a dozen legal briefs, or a gift-wrapped bunch of file
folders or something.” 

 

 

            We fall into a fit of laughter that
rapidly dissolves as his lips fuse together and his
gaze turns deliciously pensive. “Look, Mac, I know
this is all new for us and a little bit strange too.
But, to be honest, there’s no one else I’d rather be
with right now.”

 

 

            I’m both touched and humbled by these
words. I squeeze his hand gently. “Me neither, Harm.” 

 

 

            “Excellent,” he says grandly, wiping away
the awkwardness with a swift flick of his hand.
“Dinner’s ready, so why don’t we try eating. I know I
can never go wrong in feeding you.”

 

 

            “Affirmative counselor, food is always
most appropriate,” I declare, slipping into the chair
he’s pulled out for me.

 

 

 

            

            It is during this dinner that we find
respite in the comfortable nook of our friendship. Our
conversation turns to things familiar; current cases,
coworkers, the future addition to the Roberts family.
We cling to the security of these things, enjoying the
expertly prepared food and the ethereal backdrop of
jazz and candlelight. 

 

 

 

            But, the time soon comes when we find
ourselves trapped inside a moment where friendship has
exhausted its feeble resources; when, in times past, a
goodbye would’ve surely arisen from either one of us.
Yet we still sit here, amidst dessert plates, nearly
licked clean, and coffee mugs filled not once, but
twice. 

            

            

            It dawns on me that even though it’s taken
us seven years, the asking of this first date and the
accepting of it are really just the easy parts. The
challenge is now. We both know this. But he does
something about it.

 

 

            “Dance with me?” he asks, in a low voice
never used between friends. He rises, holding out the
palm of his hand. 

 

            

            And I take it.

 

 

            We create our own dance floor in the
middle of his apartment, swaying back and forth to the
sounds of piano and saxophone. I’m rendered lifeless
with the intense gaze he’s fixed onto my face, and
immediately resurrected by the feathery feel of his
touch as he toys with the necklace at my chest. I lean
into him, closer, my mind full of questions I just
don’t know how to ask; the rest of me, not caring.

 

 

            “So how do you think we’re managing this
dating thing so far?” he wonders aloud, his tone
deceptively playful, his fingers moving up and down
the pendant.

 

 

            “Well, Harm, I’d have to say that if our
dating includes more of you cooking the way you did
tonight, we’re gonna be just fine.”

 

            

            

            He shakes his head. I’ve been caught.
“Thanks, but how do you really feel?” he pursues; now
reaping the benefit of seven years of pre-dating
insight into the depths of my psyche.

 

 

            “Ahh, so you mean the whole truth?” I ask
wryly.

            

            

             “From here on out, Mac.”

 

 

            I breathe deeply; auditioning various
combinations of words, settling on a few that
hopefully will suffice. “I guess I feel like it’s my
first day at a new job, one that I’ve wanted so badly.
One that I’ve fought for.  But just the same, I don’t
know where anything is, or my way around, or even what
my duties are exactly.”

 

            

 “Yeah,” he murmurs, the makings of a smile creeping
across his face, “and I guess it doesn’t help that
we’ve kind of done all of this backwards.”

 

 

            “Backwards?” 

 

 

            He doesn’t answer right away, but I notice
a change come over him, like he’s drawing from
everything he has within him; like he’s taking every
last cent of his and getting ready to bet it all on
one horse. 

 

 

            He tilts his head slightly; his eyes
satiated with feelings and phrases and possibilities.
“Well, it’s backwards if you really think about it.
Most people go on a number of dates before they
realize they’re in love with someone.”

 

 

            “And us?” I ask breathlessly, in half
disbelief, half total euphoria.

 

 

            He takes my hands within his own. “Well, I
for one have been in love with you for so long I can’t
remember what not loving you feels like. This dating
thing is just a formality.”

 

 

 My eyes fill with tears, and not just because of his
words, but because after all this time, it seems we’re
finally getting this right. “And what if I said that I
feel the same way? That I love you too?”

 

            

            

            “Sarah Mackenzie,” he says in a velvety
voice, moving closer as the heat between us rises,
“you have no idea. No idea at all.”

 

 

            His face is inches from mine. I close my
eyes, swearing that I can already taste him, licking
my lips in tortuous anticipation. But the kiss never
comes. My eyes shoot open as he raises my hand to his
lips.

 

 

            “I want this; I want you forever, Mac. But
I also wanna do this right. We’ve already made so many
mistakes,” he fans out my fingers across his cheek. 
“Dammit, you’re so beautiful, so amazing. And God help
me, I could totally lose control with you. Right here,
right now.”

 

 

            “But you want to take this slowly?” 

 

 

            He nods, grinning mischievously, “Well,
something tells me it’s not really going to go all
that slowly,” he waits for my developing smile to
catch up to his own, “but, I’d kind of like to try my
hand at this courting thing. You deserve it.”

 

 

            He cups my face gently, as one eyebrow
inches up his forehead. “I would, however, love to
kiss you right now. Would that be okay?”

 

 

            Holy Lord, there’s something about this
man asking for permission to kiss me that sends my
stomach straight into a nose dive. At my simple nod he
samples my bottom lip. This first feel of him, soft
and delicious, renders my shaking limbs totally
useless. I stumble into him and he catches me,
wrapping his arms around me as he takes more and more.
As I give it.

 

 

            “I love you, Sarah,” he whispers into the
parted opening of my mouth.

 

 

            And I truly believe him as he continues to
prove his love in moves, in touches, in murmurs, the
likes of which I’ve never imagined. 

 

 

            “I love you, Harm. Forever,” I declare, in
between kisses that far surpass everything I’ve ever
thought kissing could be. 

 

 

            I guess I’m most surprised by the divine
ability of this man to merge fire with sweetness,
passion with tenderness, friendship with love. But, as
we resume our gentle swaying; our lips still fused in
exploration, I realize that I don’t have to think any
more at all. And I’m not going to. I’m just going to
enjoy him now; this wondrous gift of him that comes at
the beginning of one new year, and surely promises
eternity.

 

 

 

The End