TITLE: “Present Tense” AUTHOR: StarTrails SUMMARY: My take on what should’ve happened in part of the episode “Past Tense.” Renee doesn’t understand what Harm needs, but someone else does... CLASSIFICATION/RATING: Not sure. Shipper/romance. PG-13, I guess. SPOILERS: Anything up to and including “Past Tense.” DISCLAIMER: I do not own JAG or any of the characters pertaining to it. (Sure wish I did, though.) This is for fun and entertainment only. FEEDBACK: I would LOVE some! If you didn’t like the work, that’s cool too, but go easy on me. StarTrails@hotmail.com AUTHOR’S NOTE: I switch between Harm and Mac’s POV. Hope it isn’t too confusing, but I don’t think you’ll have any trouble knowing whose head we’re inside. Also, I know Harm doesn’t have a TV, but for the sake of this story, let’s say he does. Present Tense (1/1) North of Union Station Friday night 1930 EST “Am I going to have to die to get a commitment from you?” Renee asks, grabbing her purse. I have no idea how to respond to that. Anything I say will just make her angrier, and right now, my own emotions are enough for me to deal with. I start to say something, but she bolts to the door and is gone before I form even one word. Why can’t she give me a week? One week. That’s all I asked for; one week to get to the bottom of what happened to Jordan. I’d give her time if she needed it, not to mention space. Someone I cared about is dead, for God’s sake. I don’t think it’s asking very much for my girlfriend to let me be for a little while. We’re great in the bedroom, but not much place else. She doesn’t seem to get it that I just don’t let people in much. People who get close to me get hurt far too often. The people I love the most, I keep at a distance. We were going to watch a movie, and now the bowl of popcorn will go to waste. I suddenly don’t feel much like eating. The beer, though, is just what I need. I’ve been known to drown my problems now and then. It’s a nice, easy way to escape, and I can see how Mac fell into the pit. I don’t think badly of her for it, and I hope she knows that. Hell, I don’t even know the half of what she keeps in her past, but people have hit the bottle for a lot less. The fact that she cleaned herself up, and became the strong woman she is today makes me respect her even more. It’s tough to never fall, but even tougher to pick yourself up after you do. Even if she did it through the Marine Corps. Hey, nobody’s perfect. Some people come close, though. Terri Coulter, for one. She always knows what to say. And when to say nothing. Our friendship has always come second to cases we’ve worked on together, but she never gets touchy about it. I guess she spends enough time around grieving people that she can tell when to push, and when to walk away. I used to wonder if she and I might ever . . .but the pathology thing is a little too creepy. And she would need someone to help her build a relationship with her father, and I’m not sure I could be that person. Can two people chasing ghosts in their pasts ever build a future together? It’s too bad. The one person who could’ve understood what I’m feeling right now was Jordan. I start in on my second beer and lay back on the couch. I should call Renee, but I still wouldn’t know what to say. It might not matter anyway. It’ll take me days of flattery and flowers to set things right between us. Sometimes I wonder if all relationships are such hard work. The rain taps against the window. The drops trickle down in long trails, glowing orange in the candlelight that bounces off the glass. I close my eyes and let the patter of the raindrops lull me to sleep. 21:00 EST I awake to a loud tapping sound. The storm must’ve picked up while I was asleep. Then I hear it. “Harm?” For a second, I think it might be Renee, but then, even half asleep, I’m awake enough to know she wouldn’t come back here tonight. Her hissy fits never end this quickly. “I know you’re in there, Flyboy. Your cars are downstairs and even you wouldn’t go running in this rain.” I recognize my partner’s voice. “Hold on, Mac, I’m coming.” I open the door, and Mac is waiting with a bag from a sandwich shop, and one from the video store. “Were you gonna keep a starving marine out here all night?” “Subs? Mac, it’s 21:00. You should go home.” “I know what time it is, but it’s a Friday, and you’re a big boy. I know it’s not your bedtime yet.” “Wouldn’t you love to be here at my bedtime,” I say, grinning. “Red light, Commander.” “Very funny, Mac. Come on in.” She puts the bags down on the kitchen island and takes off her wet jacket. “I’ll get it,” I say, taking the jacket. I hang it on the back of a chair to dry. “You might get your wish,” Mac tells me as she runs her fingers through her wet hair. “The roads are starting to flood.” “We’ll see,” I answer. “So, to what do I owe this surprise visit?” “Well, I know this has been hard for you, and you could probably use a friend. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be a very good one lately, but someone keeps poking his nose into my investigation.” “That’s just it, Mac. She’s more than an investigation to me. She was a beautiful, sweet girl, and I want to find the bastard who did this.” “Harm,” she says softly, taking my hand into both of hers, “she was my friend too, and I know how important this is to you. We’ll get to the bottom of it, okay? We will. We’ll find the truth.” I manage a small smile, comforted just a little by Mac’s reassurance. “Mac, I . . .thanks, Mac. That means a lot to me.” She looks at me funny. “You’re not getting soft on me, are you?” “Not a chance. Now, I’m afraid to ask, but what’s in the bags?” She holds up the bag from Blockbuster. “Weekend at Bernie’s and The Princess Bride. I figured we could both use something hilarious and a fairy tale with a happy ending.” “And the food?” “Yum. We’ve got one Italian special - salami, pepperoni, prosciutto-” “If that’s all that’s in there, you can start swimming home right now.” “Relax, Flyboy. That one’s mine. I got you a vegetarian - roasted peppers, grilled zucchini, mozzarella cheese.” “That’s more like it.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Harm gets himself another beer and pours me a club soda with a twist. I knew I should’ve gotten a milkshake. He puts in Weekend at Bernie’s and sits down next to me on the couch. I notice a half-empty glass with lipstick on the rim. “You had . . . company?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Renee was here, but she stormed out.” “Stormed out?” “We had an argument.” “About what?” “About Jordan. About my father. About everything.” “You want to talk about it?” He shakes his head. “No. And it’s funny. That’s what she was mad about, that I don’t talk to her about things.” “But you don’t talk to anyone.” “Not usually, no.” “She probably just doesn’t realize that. She thinks she’s the only one on the outside looking in, and she’s starting to resent it.” “Well, whatever she thinks, she didn’t want to hang around tonight.” He takes a long pull from his beer. “Though, to be honest, I’m not sure I wanted her to.” “Harm,. if you want to be alone, I can go.” “No. That’s the last thing I want. If I’m here alone, I’ll spend all night thinking about it.” “And now you can spend it eating a sub and laughing your six off.” “Exactly.” The opening credits of the movie roll by. “Uh . . .Harm?” “Yeah?” he asks through a mouthful of roasted veggies. “You know if you do want to talk, I’m here. And I don’t just mean here, in this apartment. I mean, I’m here for you, wherever, whenever.” He breathes deeply, silent for a moment. “I know you are, Mac. I know.” By the time the movie ends, my sides hurt from laughing so hard. That classic scene when they staple the toupee to Bernie’s head is one of my all-time favorites. I caught Harm cracking up at it, too. His smile was big enough that I wonder if I’ve managed to take his mind off Jordan, at least for a little while. “What do you say we staple a toupee to the Admiral’s head?” he asks me. “We? I happen to like my rank, thank you very much. You’re on your own if you want to get demoted. Besides, there are some women who find bald men very sexy.” “Are you one of them?” The Admiral definitely has a sexy air about him. So much so that I might’ve gone through with that kiss over the bottle of aspirin if he hadn’t had the sense to stop us. “I don’t know. Shave your head and let’s find out.” “Tell you what - I’ll shave my head if you show me that tattoo.” I laugh out loud. “Then I guess we’ll never know.” “Hey, Mac, you wanna do something about that salami breath?” “Not particularly, but seeing as this is your apartment, I’ll humor you.” “There’s some mouthwash in the medicine chest.” I head to the bathroom while Harm clears our trash off the table. He’s so domestic. It’s no wonder he can’t find a decent woman. He doesn’t need one. He’s practically his own wife. Opening the medicine chest, I don’t see any mouthwash, but what I do see makes my stomach do somersaults inside my body. Harm’s razor, a can of shaving cream, deodorant, tube of whitening toothpaste, and two toothbrushes. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She is his girlfriend, after all. I just never thought about . . .well, I never thought about it. I better just clean my mouth and get out of this tiny space before the walls close in on me. I bend down to check in the cabinet under the sink. I see the bottle of blue Listerine, but as I pull it out, something in front of it slides forward and falls to the floor. A pack of condoms. God, this keeps getting better and better. After I rinse my mouth, I splash cold water on my face. I grab the nearest towel from the rack and gently pat my face dry. I can smell Harm all over it. His cologne, his shampoo, all the things that combine to make the scent uniquely him, as recognizable as the flash of his blue-green eyes and those killer dimples. I crush the towel to my face, inhaling deeply. God, Sarah, get a hold of yourself. Harm needs you, the strong-willed, intelligent woman. The friend, not some lovesick teenager getting high on his aftershave. I stare into the mirror, wondering what’s behind the deep brown eyes that stare back at me. Sometimes I see bottomless pits, and it would be so easy to fall in and never come out. Once in a while, I see hope, pride, sparkle. Sometimes I see nothing. “Mac, you all right?” Harm calls out. “You didn’t fall in, did you?” I take a deep breath and head back out. “Very funny.” Harm is laying down on the couch, his arms folded beneath his head like a pillow. How can his body look so peaceful when I know his mind is so tormented? “Do you want to skip The Princess Bride? If you want to get some sleep, I’ll head home.” “No, I’m okay. Besides, it’s still pouring out. Not good weather to drive in unless you have to.” “Good,” I say, “because it’s one of my favorites. But if you start snoring, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” “Ouch. Don’t worry. I don’t snore. At least, if I do, no one’s ever complained about it.” “I know I wouldn’t.” If listening to Harm snore all night was the price for waking up next to him in the morning, I would gladly pay. “What?” Harm looks at me, his eyes wide. “I wouldn’t complain. About the snoring, I mean. You know I rarely sleep well anyway, and it’s not because of noise. Going through the Corps, who-know-how-many girls to a room, you learn to sleep through almost anything - crying, cracking knuckles, people praying to last another day. I think I could handle a little snoring.” “If you say so, Mac.” Harm fluffs the couch pillows behind him and leans back comfortably. “If I do nod off, just give me a shove.” “Gladly.” I put the movie in and sit at the other end of the black leather couch. “Mac?” Harm asks. “Do I have cooties or something?” I laugh. “Don’t you know? All boys have cooties. Why?” “Well, why else would you be all the way over there? Did I do something to upset you? I’ve already got one woman very pissed off at me tonight, and I don’t want to go two-for-two.” “No Harm, that’s not it at all. I thought you’d want to spread out or lay down.” “I thought you’d never ask,” he replies, flashing me a devilish smile. With that, he scoots down to my end, swinging his legs up onto the couch. He curls up so the feet at the end of his long, lean six feet, four inches don’t dangle off the end, and he puts his head on my lap. “Comfy there, sailor?” “Yes. Marines make great pillows.” “Y’know, you just might get that shove anyway, even if you’re not snoring.” But who am I kidding? This feels so right. Me, Harm, the candlelight, the sound of the rain outside. It’s never like this with Mic. When we’re alone, I feel like I have to put on airs, like I can’t be myself. He knows I’m an alcoholic, and he knows a little about my past, but I barely trust myself with those memories. How could I ever trust him? On the other hand, Harm knows everything, whether I wanted him to or not. And we’ve managed to stay friends, most of the time. He’s never made me feel like less of a person, like I was to blame, even if that’s how I feel myself. They say that love is blind, and friendship closes its eyes. Harm’s eyes are definitely closed. As for Mic, I don’t think he even realizes he’s blindfolded. Harm and I just seem to fit together. Cuddling with Mic is like someone trying to shove two puzzle pieces together, not realizing that their shapes don’t match at all. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ How can this feel so right when it’s completely wrong? Mac has Brumby; I have Renee. Granted, it’s not always smooth sailing with her. Tonight’s not the first time I’ve done something to make her walk out on me, but she is still my girlfriend, and it’s not right to have those thoughts about Mac. If only my head and my heart were on speaking terms, maybe then I could learn that lesson. Or if only Mac wasn’t here, and her skin wasn’t so luminous in the candlelight and it didn’t make the highlights in her hair stand out like flames, and she wasn’t so close that I can smell her perfume and get more intoxicated in one breath of it than after tanking three beers. Dammit, Rabb! Get a grip! This is your partner. And if that wasn’t enough to stop you, she’s another man’s fiancee. You could at least respect that. But who are you kidding? You’ll never respect Brumby. Not from the first second, when he tried to pin Chris’ murder on Mac, and especially not now with his 1-800-SUE-NAVY law firm. Hell, for all his arrogance, he’d probably wet himself in a tomcat. I chuckle at that. “What’s so funny, Flyboy?” “Huh?” I ask, bolting upright. “What are you laughing at?” I scan the room quickly, looking for something funny, searching for an excuse. “Nothing. Just this movie. She keeps calling him ‘Farmboy,’ and then orders him around like a slave. And he just says ‘As you wish,’ and does whatever she tells him to. “Why’s that funny?” “I was thinking if it were you and me, you’d call me ‘Flyboy’ instead of ‘Farmboy,’ and instead of ‘as you wish,’ I’d tell you to kiss my six.” “Gee Harm, that is funny. Hilarious. Because I came over to cheer up a friend and this is the thanks I get.” “Mac! Come on,” I say. “That’s not what I meant.” I hate when she’s like this. She knows I’m kidding around and it’s like she’s trying to pick a fight. Lord knows we manage to do that enough without blowing things like this out of proportion. I sit up and look at her, her lips in a straight line of frustration. “Mac, please. Don’t take that out of context. I was just joking.” We were having such a good time, and as usual, I said something without thinking and she’s mad at me. For a marine, she’s got a pretty thin skin sometimes. “Let’s not ruin what has been a very fun evening because I said something stupid and you ran with it.” “Harm-” “Mac.” Mac sighs, and I see her shoulders relax. “Thank you,” I tell her. “I get enough of that from Renee. Most times I figure you know me well enough to let it roll off your back. You know I’m never serious.” “Yeah, I know. But shouldn’t Renee, too? I mean, she knows you well enough.” “I don’t know, Mac. I think I’m still largely a mystery to her.” Mac looks at me, wanting to hear the rest of that story, I’m sure, but I don’t want to get into it. Not tonight. “Although, she did tell me that I was born without that filter that checks every thought in my head before it comes out of my mouth.” “Really? Wow. Put up a point for Renee!” I roll my eyes. “It’s not really that profound an observation, Mac. I know it’s a flaw, but it did open my eyes to hear it from someone else, and I’m . . .look, let’s drop it, okay? We’re missing the movie.” “As you wish.” I lay down again, the spot on Mac’s leg still warm from where my head was before. She does make a comfy pillow, though it might be even nicer if her thighs weren’t so muscular. But that’s the Marine Corps for ya, that’s her, and if she were anything less, you wouldn’t love her so much. My heart stops for a second, and I feel like I’ve dissolved into a puddle. Admitting that to myself is like my own private earthquake, tremors in my chest, shockwaves reaching every inch of my body. So what. So you love her. She obviously doesn’t love you. She’s marrying someone else, isn’t she? You’ve never heard her say that she loves him, but she must. And anyway, it’s none of your business. As a friend, you should be able to ask her about it, to know what they actually have between them. But you have no right to ask. Not anymore. She handed you an engraved invitation on that ferry in Sydney, and you, in typical Rabb fashion, all but ripped it up and threw it back in her face. But then, you never imagined she’d jump that ship altogether and sail off into the sunset with Brumby of all people. Harmon. Harm. What an appropriate name. Judging by your track record, judging by what your leaving JAG did to Mac, not to mention the fact that now, not one, but two of your girlfriends are dead, all you seem to be able to do is cause harm. Is it any wonder Mac doesn’t want you? For God’s sake, you’re a train wreck. I sigh loudly. “What is it, Harm?” Mac asks. I’m silent for a few seconds, thinking about where to begin. “What are you doing, Mac? I stare blankly at the TV. “Umm, watching a movie?” “No. What are you doing here, with me? I’m hopeless. Stop wasting your time.” “What are you talking about? Where is this coming from?” I don’t say anything. Mac cups my chin in her hand and turns my face toward her. “Look at me, Harm. I’m here because we’re friends. Best friends. And you’re going through something extremely difficult, and this is what friends do. They listen when you talk. They respect when you don’t talk. They sit with you in case you need a shoulder, and they stand with you when you need someone to help you be strong.” She strokes my cheek gently with her soft hands and then brushes her fingers slowly through my hair. “And sometimes, they bring you movies and food when you need to forget things for a while.” She smiles at me, and it’s like a rainbow lighting up a bleak horizon. Finally, it all catches up with me: Renee running out, the coldness of Jordan’s death, and Mac. Mac, here with me, my body against hers, so warm and alive. A tear trickles slowly down my cheek, and Mac wipes it away tenderly. “Harm,” she whispers, her eyes fixed on mine, “it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” I shake my head. How can any of this ever be okay? “Yes, it will Harm. Things will work out. They always do.” I don’t know that I believe her, but her words give me comfort, and her touch, solace. She’ll make such an amazing mother someday. But I stop that thought in its tracks. The idea of her being mother to Brumby’s kids turns my stomach, and I think my little tearful display was enough physical response for one night. I take her hand away from my hair and place a delicate kiss on it, lingering a few seconds, savoring the feel of her skin under my lips. “Mac,” I say softly, “you’re incredible.” She smiles. “No more than a certain Navy Commander who’s wiped away more of my tears than I care to count, and who told me it wasn’t my fault about all the men left in the wake of Hurricane Sarah.” I take a calm, deep breath and exhale slowly. “It’s never this easy with Renee.” “What isn’t?” “Being like this, just talking. Just being myself without feeling like I’m going to get ambushed.” “Maybe love shouldn’t be so difficult.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ What do I know about love? I love Mic. I love him because he loves me, and what else can I do? Harm turns back to face the TV again, and I resume gently running my fingers through his hair, letting him know I’m with him. We’re both quickly re-absorbed into the movie. Princess Buttercup, the Princess Bride, falls angelically from the castle tower, into the arms of the giant. Her long, flaxen hair flows behind her like liquid gold. “I wish I could have hair like that. But I’ve got brown in the genes, and I’m not the type for blonde in a bottle. Not to mention that cut would be against regs, and I’d have to keep it in a bun anyway.” “Blonde hair is overrated,” Harm says through a yawn. When the movie ends, I ask, “Do you think that’s possible, Harm? A fairy tale ending? Does true love always survive?” But he is already asleep. THE END.