STEAL

By: H. Lee, hlear8@yahoo.com

Spoilers: the episode where Mac becomes a judge and
Harm becomes a big baby; the one with the lesbian
commander who gets in trouble for flirting with dudes

Disclaimer: the usual

Rating: R

Summary: Like a lot of us, I thought Harm got off way
too easily for his horrible behavior in the Judge Mac
episode and the one preceding. Here’s how I think Mac
had every right to deal with it. This story picks up
in the middle of the Robertses’ party and goes off on
its own tangent from there. As with all my stories,
all the “facts” included herein are complete
fabrication – including and especially time difference
and distance from Germany to DC. Note: I used the
phrase, “slept her way into law school,” a few times,
which Vivienne also uses in her wonderful story
“Defensive Action.” I highly recommend it, even if
she’s nicer to Harm than I am!! 



THE ROBERTS RESIDENCE, House-Warming Party 



Harm bit into a canapé and glanced around the Roberts
living room. Harriet had really gone all out for an
office house-warming party, he thought in a grousing
fashion that was becoming typical of him. Especially
considering her husband didn’t even like the place. 



Turning his attention from the room itself, he focused
on a particular person in it. He shot his partner a
look and opened his mouth to jeer again at her
judicial prowess, but she beat him to the punch. 



“We’re not doing this here,” she informed him, her
voice cool and firm as she turned her back to him. 



“Auntie Mac!” Before Harm could think of a subtler way
to jab at Mac about their case, a three-year-old ball
of mischief and mayhem flung itself into her legs.
“Can you come and play?” 



Her face brightening in a genuine smile, she stroked
little AJ’s cheek and hair with an absent affection
Harm would’ve killed to experience from her. “Hey, big
guy. Say hi to your Uncle Harm first.” 



It irked him to no end that by instructing AJ to greet
him, Mac seemed to have effectively branded him an
outsider. 



Worse was AJ’s shrug, accompanied by a distracted,
“Hi, Uncle Harm.” Then he turned to Mac with
infinitely more excitement, “Can we go outside?” 



“Sure, sweetie. I’m going to spend some time with a
more mature member of the gender, Harm,” she murmured
over her shoulder as the little boy dragged her to the
kitchen door. 



He could tell she’d meant the comment teasingly,
despite its accuracy. Still, it only made him angrier.
Spotting Sturgis in the corner, he stalked over to
bitch about judges, Marines, and women in general.  



Fifteen minutes later, after getting the brush-off
from a surprisingly unreceptive Commander Turner, Harm
made his way to the kitchen for something to drink.
Through the sliding door behind the breakfast table,
he caught a glimpse of Mac frantically running across
the yard on her hands while AJ held her feet in the
air, pushing his “wheelbarrow” faster. When at last
her arms gave out, the child shrieked with delight and
jumped on top of her. Mac gave as good as she got,
swinging him into the air and tickling mercilessly
under his arms. 



Against his will and his better judgment, Harm found
himself drawn to the glass, leaning against it to
watch more closely. 



“Looks like they’re having fun out there,” Meredith
remarked from the kitchen. 



He glanced up quickly, sure he’d been caught staring,
only to see Meredith’s and Harriet’s waists in the gap
between the kitchen cabinets and the counter that
separated the breakfast nook from the cooking area.
Knowing at least his face was blocked from their view,
he decided to keep quiet for awhile. 



“I know.” Warmth and love were obvious in Harriet’s
voice. “I’ve told him not to be so rough with her.” 



Meredith only chuckled. “It doesn’t look like she
minds.” 



“She doesn’t,” Harriet confirmed. “She’s a godsend.
She’s been so wonderful to us this past year.” 



His ears perked at that. While he figured he’d been
pretty great to the Robertses while Bud was away, he
wasn’t aware of Mac doing anything above and beyond
the call. And as far as he knew, Harriet had never
referred to him as a ‘godsend.’ 



“When Bud was on the Seahawk,” Harriet elaborated,
“she came over at least once a week with pizza or
Chinese or a casserole. She practically unpacked all
our things single-handedly when we moved here. She
picked AJ up at the sitter’s for me when I got stuck
at work. Even took him to a doctor’s appointment once
so I could stay at the office and talk to Bud on
videophone. And now that Bud’s back, she baby-sits
every Thursday so we can go out to dinner or see a
movie or something.” 



Harm bumped heavily into the glass at his back. He’d
had no idea, no clue, Mac had done all of that for
their friends. They’d been close during Bud’s absence,
finally regaining ground that Mic Brumby and Renee
Peterson had stolen from them. Of course she’d
mentioned a few times something about visiting with
Harriet, but he hadn’t realized it had been a weekly
engagement. And no one ever told him about the
baby-sitting. It wasn’t that he felt deceived or
misled – it probably hadn’t occurred to either of the
women to bring it up specifically, and it hadn’t come
up in conversation – but he did feel a little . . .
left out. Especially now, seeing how close Mac and
little AJ had become. 



Someone jostled some plates, dropped ice into clean
cups. “ . . . I call dedication,” he heard Meredith
say. “You think she’ll have kids of her own someday?” 



“I don’t know.” He knew Harriet was frowning with that
tiny line of worry between her brows. “A while ago, I
would’ve said so for sure. Now . . . ” 



The uncertainty in Harriet’s voice made Harm wince.
Mostly because he knew it was due in part – large part
– to his recent behavior. Mac would have kids someday,
_his_ kids, just as soon as she stopped being so
damned stubborn. He shook his head exasperatedly in an
effort to convince himself he was right and turned his
attention back to the scene outside. 



Mac was holding little AJ’s legs as he hung
upside-down in a handstand. After a few seconds, his
beet-red face cracked into a grin and he tumbled down.
“Now you, Mac!” Harm heard him call through an open
window. 



With a furtive glance back at the house, Mac tucked
her shirt into her waistband, took a few steps away
from her godson. Graceful as a gymnast, she swung up
into a handstand and stayed in place, telling AJ
something Harm couldn’t hear. 



“Wow, look at that,” Meredith gasped from the kitchen.




“It’s AJ’s favorite trick of hers. She’s got amazing
balance. He’s been pestering her to teach him
forever.” 



Harm hadn’t even known she could do that. 



Dejected, staggered, and residually pissed, he glared
out the window, forbidding his heart to melt as he saw
his godson and the woman he loved jump and splash in
an enormous pile of leaves. 



He stood there for a long time, watching the activity
wind down until there was only Mac, sitting serene in
the leaves, talking softly to the little boy whose
head lay on her lap. It wasn’t until Harriet stepped
up behind him with a quiet, “It’s getting late – looks
like AJ’s zonked out,” that he realized he’d been
standing sentry for over an hour. 



“I’d better go put him in his bed so we can get the
most out of his nap.” With that, she slid the door
open and started across the lawn, Harm following
reluctantly. He didn’t want to fight with Mac,
especially not after seeing her so pleased and
content. But like a child with a loose tooth, he
couldn’t stop poking at her, needling her, because he,
at the moment, was neither happy nor content. 



“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Harriet whispered, kneeling
beside the restful pair. “He’s such a handful – thank
you for watching him.” 



“My pleasure, Harriet,” Mac assured her, stroking the
little one’s hair one last time. “I think I wore him
down enough that he’ll sleep through the rest of the
party at least.” 



“I owe you one.” With a small grunt and a hand up from
Harm, Harriet rose with her son in her arms and headed
back toward the house. Harm remained standing,
towering over his partner, arms crossed forebodingly. 



“I hear you’ve been hanging out with little AJ quite a
bit lately.” It came out with more bitterness than
he’d intended. 



Luckily, she chose not to call him on it. “I come over
once in awhile to play.” 



His brow quirked stiffly. “Ah, the illustrious judge
is also a small-time babysitter.” He really hadn’t
meant to say it, certainly hadn’t meant for it to
sound as sarcastic as it had. 



She drew a deep breath and released it slowly,
disheartened. “So, we’re really going to do this now.”
It wasn’t meant as a question. She knew Harm; he
wouldn’t have sought her out to be friendly the way
he’d been acting the past week. 



“I guess so.” He didn’t even look at her, just sat
down in the pile of leaves, now mostly scattered by
games and the wind. Three feet of distance lay between
them that wouldn’t have been there at another time in
their relationship. 



Despite being the one who apparently wanted this
discussion, Harm remained stubbornly silent, shredding
dead leaf flesh from equally dead stems, tossing the
skeletons over his shoulder. At last, Mac heaved a
sigh and gave in. It seemed she always did these days.




“I can understand you being jealous,” she conceded,
the better part of her trying to start off on at least
a neutral foot. “I probably would be too in your
position. But why do you have to be so damn _petty_ ,
Harm?” 



“I don’t know, Mac.” Another stem flew back into the
pile. “I just – ” 



“I do.” She shook her head, jaw jutting out in
frustration and smothered hurt. “It’s because you
don’t think I deserve to be a judge.” 



“Mac, that’s not – ” 



“Just like you don’t think I deserve to be chief of
staff, just like you don’t think I deserved to be
promoted before you, just like you don’t think I ever
deserved to go to law school, because I slept my way
in, right?” 



His head jerked up at that, and the surprise and anger
in his eyes were almost enough to convince her she was
wrong. Still, she didn’t give him a chance to reply
before hurrying on, showing him with every word how
much his conduct the past month had hurt her. 



“Well, I hate to break it to you, Harm, but John and I
didn’t start our ‘torrid affair’ until _after_ my
transfer orders came through. Guess I’m not as big a
slut as you thought.” 



And then she was gone. Before he could process the
horrible way she’d interpreted his surly behavior on
this case, not to mention his thoughtless comment a
few weeks before about her law school recommendation,
she had flown into the house, leaving only a dip in
the leaf pile and the memory of blunted tears in her
voice behind. 



Harriet didn’t have to see her friend’s drawn face to
know something was wrong when Mac darted into the
living room. With barely an acknowledgment to Sturgis,
she brushed by him to offer quick excuses to her
hostess. 



“Harriet, I’m sorry, I – I’m not feeling well.” The
flood had risen so far behind her eyes, Mac wasn’t
even sure it was Harriet she was addressing. Running
on pure emotion, she turned to go, her only thought to
get away from Harm and everyone else as soon as
possible. “Thank you for inviting me. Please tell Bud
I said good-bye.” She called the last over her
shoulder as she rushed past Lieutenant Roberts himself
and out the door. 



No one was surprised by the sudden commotion at the
back of the house. Harm barreled into the room,
calling for his partner with an urgency that made the
heart sink. Sturgis stepped into his path, put a
restraining hand on his chest. There were few people
in his life of whom he felt protective; Sarah
MacKenzie was fast becoming one of them. 



“Maybe you’ve done enough for today, buddy,” he
suggested in a tone that implied Harm was anything but
his ‘buddy.’ 



Hardly registering the obstacle, Harm twisted to
survey the living room, knowing it was useless, that
she was already long gone. All he got in response was
a sympathetic stare from Bud and a vaguely hostile one
from the Admiral. As he pushed for the door, Harriet
came from the den, Mac’s bag in her hand. 



“She forgot this, sir.” And in her eyes, Harm saw a
small spark of hope along with the subtle
recrimination. It was all he needed to urge him on. 



“Thanks, Harriet,” he muttered as he headed outside. 



Even as he ran for her, Mac peeled away. As far as she
knew, her purse was somewhere in the pile on the guest
bed, but she’d learned long ago to always keep her
keys on her person for just such an eventuality. She
didn’t even see Harm as she pulled away from the curb.




Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised to find a
classic Corvette in her rearview mirror less than a
mile onto the Beltway. Deciding it would be immature,
not to mention dangerous, to try to lose him, she took
the exit to his place, as it was closer, resigned to
settling this sooner rather than later. 



As she jerked to a stop outside his building, she
swiped furiously at her cheeks, ordering herself with
each breath not to break down in front of him. Like a
pair of gunfighters, they exited their cars at the
same time, slammed their doors with equal impatience.
Harm strode to where she stood and tossed the purse
distractedly into her car, but his irritation deflated
when he saw the wet trails on her face, noticed she
avoided looking in his eyes. 



“Listen, Mac, I . . . ” Feeling awkward and
ineffective as he so often did when faced with a pain
he’d inflicted, he ran a hand through his hair,
scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Do you want to come
up?” 



He didn’t really expect her to refuse. It never
occurred to him they wouldn’t be able to settle their
differences or at least start the process in motion
within the next half hour. 



So he was duly surprised when she shook her head and
gazed, defeated, at the ground. 



“I can’t do this anymore, Harm,” she murmured
tonelessly, and his hand dropped to his side as if
severed. “We keep dancing around the issue, but
somehow, when we address it, we’re just . . . beating
a dead horse.” 



And that was the issue, the core of it. Not so much
that he implied she’d basically hooked her way into
law school, that her entire career was illegitimate.
But that, by doing so – whether he felt that way or
not – he’d proved once again that he paid less regard
to her feelings than to making some stupid, semantic
point in an argument. He said hurtful, terrible things
and took for granted that she would overlook them or
get past them because he couldn’t be bothered to think
about them again. Hard as she’d tried over the years
to convince herself otherwise, that wasn’t love. It
wasn’t even behavior she’d have tolerated from a
casual acquaintance. It was just a sign that she was
as meaningless to Harmon Rabb as she’d been to almost
every other man in her life. 



And the worst of it was, he had no idea he’d done
anything wrong. Her feelings had fallen so far off his
radar, they no longer merited a second’s thought. 



“What do you mean?” It was a careful question, posed
on a breath so delicate, he prayed she wouldn’t hear
him, wouldn’t answer. 



But she did hear him, and her answer was a sad,
sardonic smile. “You really don’t know, do you?” Harm
watched something inside her shatter a little more and
hated himself for making her explain. “I’m in love
with you, and you’re not in love with me. I want more
from you than you have ever been able to give.” 



And then he hated himself not only for making her hurt
but for the irrepressible spurt of joy that shot
through him at her words. Mac was in love with him.
Now, all he had to do was clear up her misconception
about his feelings and everything would be fine again.




“I don’t blame you, Harm,” she continued while he
stood stupefied by her latest admission. “It’s no
one’s fault, it’s just . . . the way things are. But I
. . . they can’t be that way anymore.” 



‘They’re not,’ he wanted to shout, but she was still
talking, and Harm was still learning just how far he’d
allowed her to fall. Sometimes when Mac looked at him,
Harm was reminded with a gratifying rush of all the
things he could do, all those powers she imbued him
with simply by believing they existed. When he caught
her eyes at that moment, fear rocked him back on his
heels. He didn’t see hope or pride, or even tolerance
in their brown depths. No images of their past or
their future. For the first time, he saw nothing. All
he knew he was capable of at that moment was hurting
her. 



“Harm, I look at you everyday, and I _miss_ you,” she
whispered achingly. “I miss the way things used to be.
We had such a strong connection, like a thick rope
between us, you know? But over the years we both
pulled it, stretched it ‘til there was almost nothing
left. Then one of us would notice and try to patch it,
but it’s never as strong as it was.” 



Watching her shoulders hunch, her arms wrap tightly
around herself, he realized that this idea, this awful
concern, was killing her and had been doing so for
some time. 



“I can’t patch anymore, Harm,” she admitted, and the
first tears escaped despite her struggle to avoid
them. “I feel like I lost myself somewhere in all the
band-aids. I’m tired and just . . . empty. 



“About a year ago, we were here, or somewhere close. I
asked you where it left us, and you said at the end. I
finally agree with you, Harm.” And he stared at her,
daring the next words to leave her lips. Words he’d
been afraid to hear since the day he’d met her. She
wouldn’t say it. Couldn’t. 



“This is the end.” Did. “It has to be. I have nothing
left. I’m sorry.” 



“_Mac_.” He grabbed her under the elbows, dropped
desperate lips on top of hers, trying to steal the
words or push them back inside. 



At first she twisted against him, tugged ineffectually
in his vise-like grip. Then, helpless to resist what
she wanted more than her next breath, she gave in, her
mouth softening under his. 



He grasped at her response, pounced on it, drinking
her in as fast and as deep as he could. Until he
tasted her tears. Shocked, he drew back, lifted his
hand to her face. 



“Stop,” she rasped, broken and dissonant. “_Please,
don’t_. I can’t handle another knee-jerk reaction,
Harm. You – you do this because you think you’re
afraid to lose me, because it’s habit. And I can’t be
a habit anymore.” 



Before he even realized he’d let her go, she was
turning, slipping into her car. Outwardly frozen,
agony wringing his chest, he watched her drive away. 

 



Things returned to a stiff, strained version of
normalcy at the office. In the two remaining days of
the trial, Mac retreated behind a veneer of cool
formality to those around her. To Harm, she was
downright cold, avoiding him at all costs outside the
courtroom, staring straight ahead when addressing him
at trial, and spending her time at the office secluded
in the judge’s chambers she was borrowing from Captain
Seabring. 



Harm was well aware those in the office who knew Mac
well enough to recognize the change blamed him for it,
and for once, he was in complete agreement. Though her
judicial performance hadn’t suffered in the slightest,
he could see the toll their argument had taken. Her
eyes were dull and ringed with shadows. No matter how
many pleading looks and apologetic smiles he sent her
from the defense table, she refused to acknowledge his
presence as anything more than an advocate. 



He trudged into his apartment the night the
proceedings concluded, certain the past two days were
the worst of his life. At staff call the following
morning, he discovered he’d been wrong. 



Usually the first one present at their bi-weekly
meetings, Mac’s absence was noticed by all, remarked
on by none. Harm felt the emptiness of her usual chair
beside him like a gaping hold in his lung. Twice, the
Admiral called him on his flagging attention. It
wasn’t until the end of the meeting that their CO
finally answered the question on everyone’s minds. 



“As you can see,” he announced, already rising to
gather his papers, “Colonel MacKenzie is currently out
of the office on assignment. We expect her back within
a month. Direct any questions regarding those cases of
hers which I’ve redistributed to myself or to Lt.
Simms. That’ll be all.” 



Quickly, the others filed out to the bullpen. Harm
stayed glued to his seat. ‘A month?’ he thought
frantically. A month? Mac had left for a month without
so much as a word to him? Without giving him a chance
to – 



“Rabb, with me.” 



It wasn’t until the command penetrated his shock that
Harm realized the Admiral had moved to the door and
was waiting not quite patiently for him. 



He managed to keep silent as he followed Chegwidden to
his office, but as soon as he closed the hatch behind
him, the questions poured out. 



“Sir, where is she? What is she working on? I need – ”




“Stand down, Commander,” the Admiral instructed in his
familiar tone of almost-strained patience. “I’ll tell
you what I can. The colonel left early this morning
for Qatar, where she’ll rendezvous with Agent Webb,
and they’ll continue on to Afghanistan – ” 



“Afghanistan! Sir – ” 



Harm barely choked down his outburst when the Admiral
lifted a hand and shot him a glare. 



“Webb has been after me for some time to send Mac back
in country to help him deal with some local operations
and translate the information he’s compiled along the
way.” 



“But, sir – ” 



“Recently, he’s gotten some higher-ups to start
breathing down my neck about it as well. I approached
the colonel about the situation yesterday afternoon
with the strict understanding that I am more than
capable of resisting their pressure and more. She
volunteered to go at my convenience, and seeing as how
she just concluded her first case on the bench, I
decided to send her immediately.” 



Harm set this aside for later digestion. At that
point, he knew only one thing: Mac was in a war zone
with a man who’d failed to protect her before; Harm
needed to get to her. 



“Sir, request permi– ” 



“Denied.” The quiet finality of the word booked no
argument. “I offered to send you along, Harm. I know
things have been a bit . . . tense between you two the
past few days, but she didn’t reject it out of hand.
After discussing the mission and its dangers in more
detail with Webb, she requested to go in alone, and I
agreed.” 



So she’d done it to protect him. Angry as she’d been,
hurt as she was, her first thought wasn’t to her own
safety, but to his. If it was possible, Harm felt his
heart sink a little lower in his chest. 



“What am I supposed to do now, sir?” he asked,
frustration and concern ripe in his voice. “Sit here
with my thumb up my ass while Clayton Webb drags my
partner through sandstorms and enemy fire?” 



Though he raised a brow at the uncharacteristic
profanity, Chegwidden fixed the junior officer with a
nonplussed stare and nodded once. “Yes, Commander,
that’s right. I’ve asked the colonel to phone in as
she’s able, keep me updated on her progress. If you’re
not busy, you’re welcome to sit in on the briefings.” 



Harm’s nod was more warning than thankful. Anxiously,
he squirmed in his seat, torn between wanting to put
his fist through a wall and needing to weep with fear.




The Admiral turned his attention to the file in front
of him. Knowing he’d been effectively dismissed, Harm
rose and headed for the door. 



“And, Rabb?” 



Reluctantly, he turned back, hoping against hope
Chegwidden might reconsider his decision not to send
him along. 



“This information isn’t exactly top secret,” the
Admiral drawled, crushing Harm’s wish without a
glance. “But I didn’t tell the rest of the staff for a
reason. No use getting everyone worked up. You’ll
follow my lead on this.” 



“Yes, sir.” 

 



The next three weeks were tense around JAG
headquarters, and for once, not because of a
MacKenzie-Rabb fight. This time, the hostility was
between Harm and the Admiral himself, and there didn’t
seem to be a thing anyone could do about it. Even Bud,
back at the office on limited duty, who was friends
with both men and generally oblivious to all
surrounding conflict, walked on egg shells in the
no-man’s land between the Commander’s corner of the
bullpen and their CO’s anteroom. 



Harm had almost – almost – gotten over his resentment
at the Admiral’s refusal to include him on the
mission. Then Mac’s first phone call had come while he
was in court, and no one had come to inform him. When
the Admiral blithely informed Harm that his
participation in these conversations was conditional
on his being unoccupied when they came in, Harm had
stalked away before being dismissed, half-seriously
considering resigning has commission. 



Things had only gotten worse at the next phone call,
when the Admiral had to kick Harm out of the room for
interrupting Webb and the Admiral himself, and for
clearly upsetting Mac with his participation. Harm
became a bear thereafter, snapping at anyone who got
close, letting his attention drift in the courtroom,
responding bluntly and laconically to Chegwidden, and
skipping meals and sleep in favor of watching ZNN’s
coverage of the Middle East. When Mac phoned in once
or twice a week, he was a stony presence in the
corner, listening with ferocious intensity and
declining to speak unless spoken to. 



At first, the Admiral bore the strain with nominal
patience. But as Harm’s performance at JAG started to
suffer, that patience stretched, then vanished. In
less than a week, he found himself dressing Harm down
for everything that went wrong at the office. Harm, in
turn, not only shouldered the blame but jumped to it,
contradicting the Admiral more often than anyone had
ever dared to do in the past. 



All came to a head the day before Mac was due to
return. AJ had gone into work especially early due to
disturbing news reports about a Taliban attack on an
American military camp in eastern Afghanistan. It was
the camp Mac and Clay were scheduled to have left the
day before, but since he hadn’t heard from her, he was
hoping for a call letting him know she was okay. 



Before he had a chance to more than sit down, Harm
came barreling into the office without knock or
announcement, strode to the television, and flipped it
on to ZNN, which, fittingly, was airing pictures of
the bombed out camp. 



“She’s in trouble, Admiral!” Harm yelled in
frustration. “Mac’s probably lying in a ditch
somewhere, hurt or dead, trying to save Clayton Webb’s
sorry ass, and I should damn well be there with her!” 



“COMMANDER RABB, YOU WILL STAND DOWN!” 



The bellow was so loud, it was a wonder it hadn’t
deafened both of them. At the very least, it shut Harm
up more effectively than anything else the Admiral had
managed over the past month. 



Furious, Chegwidden stormed around his desk until his
nose was mere inches from Harm’s and shouted at only
slightly lower decibel, “You have been an intolerable
wreck since Colonel MacKenzie took the bench, and I
will NOT allow it to continue any further under my
command. Your performance has been so far below
standard, I’ve had to remove you from any case more
substantial than a traffic violation. You’re a
disgrace to the profession, a disgrace to the uniform,
and Mac would be ASHAMED to call you her partner the
way you’ve been acting.” 



It was a low blow, one he might not have stooped to a
week or even a day previous, but it had the desired
effect. Harm’s jaw snapped shut, his spine
straightened violently, and the color drained from his
face. Taking only a small step back in concession, AJ
continued. 



“Injured or not, if you dare try to go after her this
time, Rabb, I’ll reassign you so fast you won’t get a
chance to say good-bye before you leave. And if you
try to resign, I’ll reassign _her_, straight from
Qatar, to someplace you’ll never find her. Do I make
myself clear?” 



If it was possible, Harm’s face blanched a little
more, though his gaze never wavered from a point over
the Admiral’s right shoulder. AJ sighed and throttled
back his anger, half-annoyed that he’d been reduced to
using one of his officers against the other,
half-disgusted with himself for not thinking to use
this secret weapon sooner. 



“I was about to check my voice messages to see if Mac
left any word.” Though his voice had returned to
normal volume, the Admiral stared warily at Harm as he
resumed his seat and reached for his phone. “If you
stay, I will not hear one word from you.” 



Harm didn’t move as Chegwidden punched in his mail
code, switched on his speakerphone. A brief message
from the SecNav sputtered out; Harm only clenched his
fists behind his back. Then her voice, clear and
smooth, came through, and every muscle in his body
pulled taut. 



“ ‘Admiral, this is Colonel MacKenzie,’” she began.
Then a pause, a shuffle, and some mixed shouts from
the background. “ ‘It’s about 0330 your time, sir. I’m
not sure if they’ve televised it yet, but you might’ve
heard the camp suffered an attack early this morning.
I just wanted to let you know I’m okay, sir. Webb and
I stayed longer in camp than we’d anticipated and got
caught in the fray, but we’re both doing fine and I’ll
be returning to Washington as scheduled. If you would,
sir, please tell – everyone – I’m fine . . . if they
ask . . .’” Another voice came over the line then, and
Mac muffled a response. “ ‘Thank you, Admiral. I’ll
see you at the office on Thursday, sir.’” And she was
gone. 



The caffeine and nerves that had gotten him through
the night flooded rapidly through Harm’s feet into the
floor, and he felt himself start to cave after them.
Knowing he had to get somewhere by himself or faint
with relief, he turned tail and ran before the Admiral
even looked up. 



AJ glared after him for a minute, then let the anger
dissolve as he shook his head, more sympathetic with
his young officer than he’d like to admit. Shoulders
slumped, he breathed a sigh of relief and sent up a
quick thank-you to the higher power for keeping her
safe. 



JAG HEADQUARTERS, the next day 



After coasting under the Admiral’s radar for a day and
a half, Harm emerged from his office and headed for
his favorite yeoman. 



“Tiner, what time does the colonel’s transport land?” 



The young petty officer looked up at Harm like a
proverbial deer in the headlights. “Uh, well, sir, it
– it comes in at 1855, but, ah, the colonel
specifically requested that I, uh, go and get her,
sir.” 



It took nearly everything Harm had to remain
reasonable. After all, Tiner couldn’t know how that
request cut at his heart. 



“Well, I’m specifically ordering you to take the night
off and let me take care of her – IT. Take care of it.
Understood?” 



Tiner glanced to the right; Harm could almost feel the
Admiral nodding his consent from the doorway. “Yes,
sir.” 



He strode out of the office without turning around.
The last thing he needed was another confrontation
with an ex-Navy SEAL before he went to meet his
partner. 

 



He showed up at Andrews nearly an hour early. It was
something Tiner did as a matter of course. Something
Harm himself would never have thought to do for anyone
but Mac. After forty-five minutes of nervous pacing,
he finally caught sight of her aircraft, the wide hulk
of the cargo plane dogging gamely up to the hangar. It
took another ten to secure the craft enough for the
passengers to disembark. 



Two Marines in camouflage jumped out first, followed
after a moment by a slighter form in wrinkled
Class-A’s. His eyes took her in, traveling fretfully
from her cover to her shoes, noting every detail in
between. Her eyes were bone tired, circled blue with
exhaustion. A greenish, once-angry bruise covered her
right cheek down to her jaw. She’d lost weight in her
face and her hips. Probably in her shoulders too, but
they were obscured by the sling holding her left arm
against her side. His gaze caught there and held as
fury built up from his toes. Someone had done this,
marred her beautiful features, caused her unknowable
pain, and fucking Clayton Webb hadn’t protected her.
Hadn’t stopped it. What’s worse was that neither had
he. 



She scanned the crowd for only a second before finding
him, and strangely, she didn’t look surprised at his
presence. He saw only fatigue and a haunting,
bottomless desolation in her brown eyes. 



“Commander,” she greeted without really seeing him,
spine stiff and brittle. It wasn’t that she would
never call him ‘Harm’ again – it was his name, and
they had worked together for seven years; it would be
foolish to use his rank each time she addressed him.
But just then, the title was all she could manage
without dissolving. Just another half hour, she
thought desperately, and this hateful façade of
professionalism she’d somehow maintained for the last
six weeks could crumble in the privacy of her own
home. 



And then, by accident, she looked at him, really
looked, for the first time since things had taken such
an awful turn. The wrinkles of his forehead and around
his mouth, where dimples always threatened . . . the
long, straight line of his nose, the shadow of evening
on his jaw. Those eyes, in which she knew every brush
of blue and dot of green. Eyes that reminded her of
all the things he’d said, told her of the things he
hadn’t. She knew he was sorry – she’d always known.
That didn’t make it enough, but just then the
knowledge gave her something she’d desperately needed,
something for which she wasn’t sure she’d known how to
ask. 



But with Harm, she didn’t have to. Even as she closed
her eyes, anxiously shielding her vulnerability, he
was lifting a hand to her face. Letting it hang there
uncertainly. 



“Mac – ” the sound made her realize how much she’d
missed hearing it on his lips – “I know you’re angry,
and that I’m the last person you want to see right
now. And I know this doesn’t solve anything, and I
don’t – God.” Utterly frustrated, he plowed a hand
through his hair, ordering himself to stop babbling.
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore. But I have to – ” 



He couldn’t go any further without her. Careful, so
careful of her injuries, he wrapped her in his arms,
pulled her close against his heart. “Just for a
minute,” he whispered mindlessly, relief overwhelming
him. “I’m sorry . . . just for a minute.” 



The tears flowed hot and silent into his shoulder, and
Mac was too spent to worry about them. He was right;
this didn’t solve anything. She couldn’t go back to
the way things had been, couldn’t get to forgiveness
alone as she had so often before. The gulf between
them was too big now for this single, instinctive act
to bridge. All of that understood, she needed this as
sorely as he did, and the comfort of it, the
rightness, was worth the cost of the temporary truce. 



He held her for a long time, while those around them
bustled back to their lives. His big hand stroked from
the crown of her head to the small of her back,
lifting only to make the trip again. His throat was
bursting with things he wanted to say, and tight with
the knowledge that words wouldn’t be enough to fix
this horrible thing he’d done. For now, he was
pathetically grateful for the chance to breathe her
in, to gather her close as she wept. If comfort was
all she would take from him, he’d give it, and gladly.




When at last she pulled away, he let her go, accepting
her need to avert her gaze, and not daring to make a
grab for her sea bag despite her wounded arm. He
didn’t press her to speak, though he sensed her
withdrawal; following her lead, he remained silent for
the ride to her apartment. As soon as he pulled up
beside her building, she unfastened her seatbelt and
slipped out of the car. Moving quickly, he barely made
it to the trunk before her. 



“Here you go.” He made sure their fingers brushed as
he handed her her duffel. 



With a murmured a thank-you, she started up the walk. 



“Mac?” he called tentatively, deciding not to care
about the pleading in his tone. 



She didn’t reply but turned wary eyes back to him. 



“Good to have you home.” 



He thought he saw her nod before hurrying up the steps
and into the foyer. It was enough to fan the tenuous
flame of hope inside him. 

 



A summons from the Admiral greeted Harm when he
arrived at the office the next morning. He detoured
briefly into Mac’s open, brightly-lit office,
something warm and content settling in his chest at
seeing it occupied again. 



Chegwidden called for him to enter at his first knock
and motioned him to a chair even as he came to
attention. Mac was seated beside him, back stiff, legs
crossed, eyes straight ahead. 



“Good morning, Commander,” the Admiral greeted. 



“Sir.” Then he turned to Mac and frowned in concern.
Makeup skillfully hid the bruises, but . . . “Where’s
your sling?” 



She shot him a fulminating glare before she remembered
her resolution to ignore him. Without answering, she
focused on her CO and blocked Harmon Rabb from her
mind. 



“Colonel?” The Admiral was scowling as well, looking
her over from head to toe. “Were you injured?” 



“It’s nothing, sir,” she replied immediately with a
stubborn lift of her chin. “Just a small shrapnel
wound.” 



“Have you been cleared for duty?” AJ persisted, well
aware of her tendency to minimize injury to the point
of flagrant disregard for her health. 



“I was treated and released by the camp medic, sir.”
Both men noted she’d neatly dodged the Admiral’s
question. 



Chegwidden sighed and moved to sit on the corner of
his desk, directly in front of her. “Let’s see,
Colonel.” 



“Sir?” A trace of surprise broke through her shell of
cool calm. 



Checking his officers’ wounds was definitely not
standard operating procedure, but AJ wanted to make
sure she was well enough to be back at work, though
her bearing and appearance had given him no cause to
doubt that to this point. He had a feeling Rabb needed
a look at the injury as well. Just to make sure. 



With no more than a nod of his head, he instructed her
to roll up her sleeve. Mac did so reluctantly, sending
her partner another infuriated glance. A thin layer of
gauze was wrapped high on her forearm and around her
elbow. At the Admiral’s signal, she peeled it back to
reveal two long, angry gashes, the edges of which were
lashed together by a series of precise, crusted-over
stitches. The area around the cuts was bruised and
swollen, burned at the center. Her CO’s eyes widened
only slightly; Harm sucked in a shocked breath and
instinctively leaned closer. 



“Mac,” he breathed brokenly, forgetting their current
situation and reaching out to touch her. 



She, however, was busily reminding herself how mad she
was at him, and all too aware that they were currently
in the Admiral’s office, under his watchful gaze.
Incensed, she yanked her arm back and rolled her
sleeve down. 



“Looks like that hurt, Colonel,” Chegwidden commented
mildly, realizing she wouldn’t want or accept sympathy
from him under the circumstances. 



“Nothing I couldn’t handle, sir.” Her tone was
detached, almost impersonal. “Did you want me to
continue debriefing with Commander Rabb in the room?” 



The subtle snub didn’t go unnoticed by Harm; summoning
all his patience, he forced himself to remain
unaffected, to watch her impassively, though he wanted
to reach out and pull her into his arms . . . to shake
some sense into her . . . to kiss her until she
couldn’t see straight . . . to get his hands on the
bastards who’d marked her. 



“Go ahead, Colonel. The commander is cleared to hear
all the details, and he’s been privy to most of our
phone conversations in the past month.” 



She’d suspected as much, but her eyes still narrowed,
her jaw still clenched, at his presumptuous behavior.
As if he had the right to be overprotective after what
he’d said and done . . .  



Firmly banishing any and every non-work-related
thought from her mind, Mac concentrated solely on the
events that had transpired between the attack on the
camp and her return flight from Qatar. When she’d
finished relating the story, passing on Webb’s
messages, answering all the Admiral’s questions and
brushing off Harm’s, she stood woodenly until
dismissed, then made for her office at a quick clip,
refusing to deal with Harm until she could do so
without any emotion whatsoever surfacing to betray
her. 



The letter had come in a blue envelope with a clean
white rose on top and was waiting for her on her desk.
She told herself she wasn’t going to open it, held
back for the better part of an hour. But when all her
phone calls were returned and e-mail read, it was in
her hands before she could stop herself. 

 



‘Dear Sarah’ – she battled back a sliver of hope at
the sight of his handwriting – ‘Usually a white rose
means a secret admirer. But I’m done with secrets
between us. Today, the white symbolizes peace and
surrender (mine, not yours). Mac, the last thing I
want to do is hurt you, but I’m asking you for another
chance. If you never give me anything else, please
give me this. Let me do the patching for once. Because
you’re the best thing in my life, because I’ve missed
you more these past four weeks than I’ve ever missed
anyone, and . . . because of a lot of other reasons
I’m not going to say in a damned letter. You are many
things to me, Sarah MacKenzie, but a habit isn’t one
of them. Please forgive me for treating you like one.
And give me a chance to make it up to you. I’ll go as
slow as you want, Mac, make it as strong as you want,
just please don’t shut me out. Don’t hate me, Sarah,
because I don’t think I could deal with both of us
hating me at once. Harm.’ 

 



After reading it three times, she simply stared at the
words, lost in thought. She’d been expecting some
overture from him, some small concession of the kind
he usually made in order to satisfy his conscience and
give her the responsibility of completing repairs. She
hadn’t anticipated honesty, hadn’t expected him to
voluntarily accept blame and ask for a chance at
forgiveness. Couldn’t steel herself against his humble
request that she not hate him. 



She didn’t, after all. She never had. Somewhere deep
within, she knew that hating Harmon Rabb would
fundamentally undermine her entire being. It would
nullify not only the last six years of her life, but
all the visions she’d ever had of a future. No matter
what he’d said or hadn’t, how he felt or didn’t, Harm
had given her more since she’d known him than anyone
else had given her her whole life. For that alone, he
deserved more than hatred, and more, she realized,
than her indifference. 



‘I don’t blame you,’ she’d told him, yet out of a
strong instinct for self-preservation, she was acting
like she did, and in doing so, hurting him. Regardless
of how bad it may have gotten between them, she didn’t
want that. 



It was inescapable that things had to change; leaving
them the way they’d been before she’d gone to
Afghanistan would slowly kill her, just as it had been
doing for months. But Harm’s offer to ‘do the patching
for once’ was as big a step in the right direction as
he’d ever taken. Mac knew how he worked; the offer
was, for him, an enormous revelation and an even
bigger risk. After six years, and all the times he’d
torn her heart only to mend it again, she owed him at
least the opportunity to try. 

 



It was early afternoon when the knock sounded at his
office door. He called a distracted “Enter,” looked up
to see Mac standing in his doorway, and bolted out of
his chair before he could stop himself. Then stood
stupidly glancing around, searching for some excuse to
have risen so abruptly, and finally settled on shoving
his hands in his pockets and looking dumb. 



She didn’t smile, but it was a near thing. 



Her eyes were less guarded than they’d been that
morning, only slightly, but it was something. In her
hands, she held her cover, her briefcase . . . and the
letter. His heart skidded to a halt. 



“I’m, ah, going to Bethesda to do some interviews for
a med-mal,” she said quietly, her gaze darting between
his face and the floor. “I won’t be back in the office
today . . .” She trailed off and tapped the envelope
nervously against her side. “So I’ll see you
tomorrow.” 



Without waiting for a response, she headed out,
pulling the door shut behind her. 



Releasing the giant breath that had clogged in his
lungs, Harm sank into his chair and, slowly, began to
smile. Then he grinned. Then he was laughing silently,
in gusts so great he had to cover his face to hide
tears of mirth and relief. 



Two months ago, the exchange would’ve meant nothing.
She’d have thrown the words at him over her shoulder
along with a sassy grin, and he’d have waved her off
with some comment about letting private practice turn
her head. But today, it was everything. Harm knew how
she worked; the simple good-bye was, to her, an
admission, an acceptance. She was letting him in,
giving him another chance, and he vowed to make the
most of it. 



Sarah MacKenzie didn’t hate him. 



Now all he had to do was show her she still loved him
. . . and find a way to prove just how much he loved
her. 



JAG HEADQUARTERS, the next day 



The second letter sat beside her in-box, covered with
another rose, this one a light cream with dusky blush
towards the stem. Her practical side gave a token
protest, which curiosity quickly snuffed. Running her
finger gently along the petals, she moved the flower
aside and tore open the envelope. 



‘Dear Sarah,

‘The first thing I owe you is an explanation for my
childish behavior in your courtroom. I know the reason
– I’ve always known, it’s just hard to put into words
without feeling even stupider than I already do. It
comes down to our differences and our knowledge of
each other. You, Sarah, are a great lawyer. You know
the law better than anyone I’ve ever met. When you put
it to a set of facts, with your straight delivery and
professional presence, you’re almost impossible to
beat. I, on the other hand, am a good attorney.
Instead of relying on the law, I look for emotional
appeals, scare tactics, and dramatics – all show and
no substance, just like a lot of things in my life, I
guess. On some level, I always knew you saw through
me, but as a fellow attorney, you had to respect those
tactics to a certain extent, if for no other reason
than that they can get results with a jury. Facing you
as a judge, I was somehow suddenly terrified you’d cut
right through, see me clearly and be disappointed, or
worse yet, unsurprised. So every time you shot down
one of my tricks, I fought back harder, hoping you
would blink first.

‘I’m not sure this makes sense, but believe me, Sarah,
it was _never_ because I didn’t think you deserved the
appointment. More than anyone, I know you deserve all
you’ve earned, and so much more. There’s no excuse for
what I said that night at the hangar about you and
John Farrow, but I never meant to imply I thought you
– that you didn’t deserve to get into law school. I
was trying for a stupid analogy, just to get you to
see my client’s point. Like an idiot, I jumped to the
first thing that came to mind and didn’t realize how
awful it would sound until the words were already out.
Sarah, I respect you more than anyone else is my life,
and I am so sorry for letting you think for a minute
that might not be true. Please don’t let my
thoughtless mistake make you feel less than the
amazing woman you are. And don’t ever think I see
anything but that woman every time I look at you.
Harm.’ 



She stared at the words for a long time, trying to
compensate for her fierce need to believe them by
scrutinizing them with extra care. The thing was, hard
as that part of herself fought against it, they did
ring true. 



The explanation made sense. No, scratch that; coming
from anyone else, that convoluted justification
would’ve sounded insane. But benevolent
thoughtlessness and the self-destructive search for
validation were Harm’s stock in trade. This wasn’t
some story he’d hacked out because he wanted things at
the office back to normal. It was her best friend
trying to explain something he probably didn’t
completely understand himself. But, for once, the
important things managed to come through loud and
clear. He didn’t resent her past or begrudge her her
promotions. He respected her as a lawyer and a woman.
He thought she was amazing. 



Just like that, she felt the walls she’d constructed
so hastily for protection shift and crack, letting her
heart leak through. This wasn’t a new beginning;
they’d come too far for that. But now, with both of
them willing, at last they could go further. 



She looked up, caught his gaze through double layers
of glass and blinds. And her smile was soft and
encouraging. It was everything he’d ever wanted to
see. He ached to leap from his chair, close the
distance between them, and take her in his arms, but
was distracted by a brisk knock at his office door.
With a last long look at the quiet promise in her
brown eyes, he shot her a tender smile and turned his
attention to Sturgis. 

 



He walked her to her car that night and the next.
Things between them were still subdued. With
bittersweet anticipation, he accepted that they
couldn’t fall back into the old rhythm, at least not
right away. But this new quiet was the comfortably
charged, waiting sort. He had only to be patient and
see where it would take them. 



On the third day, he found out. They’d just finished
eating lunch together in that wordless fugue that
seemed to overtake them lately, as he watched her with
infinite warmth and happiness in his eyes while she
looked back with bated wonder and shyness in hers.
That look made him feel almost dangerously strong,
like an awkward giant next to her lithe form, who
could either crush her or protect her with his last
breath. He firmly intended to prove to her he meant to
do the latter for as long as she allowed it. 



“So, that Schneider case we’ve got looks like a
doozy,” she commented as they gathered up the refuse
of their meal. 



“Sure does.” He made sure his hand brushed hers as he
grabbed his empty cup. Touching her as often and
unobtrusively as possible was the first step in his
new campaign to get her comfortable with him again on
a physical as well as an emotional level. 



She glanced up, but his head was bent innocently over
his task. “I, um, wondered if maybe you wanted to come
over later and work on it. With a pizza or something,
I mean.” 



He didn’t need to see her furtive eyes or slight blush
to know how much the request cost her. Though he
realized she was still a little uncertain where they
stood and more guarded than usual where he was
concerned, his heart soared with each step they took
across the chasm that had slowly built between them. 



“That sounds great,” he smiled. “I’ll tell you what.
If you let me use your kitchen, I’ll cook.” 



She arched an eyebrow in his direction, a far more
familiar _expression. “Cook what?” 



“Anything you want.” 



Considering, she narrowed her eyes, chewed lightly on
her bottom lip. “Anything?” 



“Anything.” 



“Seafood linguini?” 



He grinned, unsurprised at her choice. In a lucky
twist of fate, one of his specialty dishes also
happened to be Mac’s all-time favorite. “You got it.” 



“With white sauce?” 



Now his grin was arrogant as it could get. The white
sauce was his own invention, designed especially for
Mac, with a few special ingredients to replace the
wine called for by the recipe. Even he had to admit it
was pretty damn good – he’d considered getting a
patent. 



“Of course,” he promised gallantly. “What time do you
want to eat?” 



“I don’t know, seven?” 



“Sounds good. Give me an hour to change and pick up
the groceries, and I’ll be over around six?” 



Suddenly she remembered she hadn’t meant to move
things along so quickly. But setting the plan,
slipping back into the light tempo of their familiar
conversations felt right, and she was already excited
for their evening together. So was he, if the glint in
his eyes was any indication. 



“I’ll see you then.” 

 



The knock came at 6:06. His tardiness wasn’t unusual;
his profuse apology was. 



Harm, for his part, could’ve kicked himself in the
face. Hard as he’d worked to regain her trust, and he
had to show up late. Typical. 



“Harm,” she chuckled, dismissing his worried excuses.
“It’s only six minutes. No big deal. Come on, I’ll
show you where I keep my pot and pan.” 



He grinned at the joke. Mac did have more than one pot
and pan. In fact, she had his old middle-weight set,
which he’d given her last year after upgrading his
cookware. She’d already gotten out every dish he
needed and the staple ingredients for the sauce. After
six years, she could probably make this as well as he
could. But as far as he knew, she’d never tried, and
he adored her for keeping that space reserved for him,
for giving him the distinction of being the only one
who could cook her favorite meal. 



“All right, Marine.” He plunked the two grocery bags
down on the counter and began unloading. “Let’s get
started.” 



“Don’t you want your bib?” He face was guileless, but
her eyes shone with mirth. Their ritual had begun. 



“It’s called an apron,” he reminded her with prim
authority. “And yes, I do.” 



She pasted on a properly chastised _expression and
retrieved the large cammo-patterned apron Harriet had
made her from the broom closet. Inwardly, her nerves
were thrumming, thrilled to be flirting with him like
this again. 



While he set two pots of water to boil, she slipped
the neck strap over his head. “There you go,” she
soothed in her most patronizing tone. “Now you won’t
have to get all dirty.” 



“Hey, I paid six dollars for this shirt!” Indignantly,
he tied the strings at his waist, making a show of
assuring the entire front of his simple black t-shirt
was covered. 



“Actually . . . ” she squinted for a closer look at
the fabric. “_I_ paid six dollars for it at a TJ Maxx
in the middle of nowhere when we had to go on stakeout
and _somebody_ forgot to pack any dark clothes.” 



He had the sense to look chagrined, even if it was a
poor act. 



“ ‘Go ahead, Mac,’” she mimicked in a low,
Neanderthalish voice. “ ‘Pick me up something while
you’re out. You know I’ll pay you back.’” 



A dangerous gleam lit his eyes as he leaned in close,
his nose mere inches from hers. Fighting back a
giggle, Mac braced herself for retaliation.  



All he did was flash her a saccharine, almost
challenging smile. “Put it on my tab,” he suggested,
smooth and soft as thunder. 



Recovering quickly, she only shrugged when he turned
back to the stove. “Okay. But you already owe me
eighty-six thousand, four hundred seventy-one dollars
and nineteen cents.” 



He snorted, shooting her a skeptical glance. “How do
you figure that, ninja-girl?” 



“Well for starters, there’s the interest on the six
dollars.” He bit back a grin at her thoughtful frown.
“I’d really have to check my receipts for more
detailed information. Sorry.” 



This time, he did laugh, though most of it could be
disguised by a cough. “Go unpack the groceries
already,” he ordered, flicking a dishtowel
threateningly in her direction as he moved to the
sink. “I bought you some milk and a few apples.” 



“So I see.” With effort, she hefted a 5-pound bag of
MacIntosh from one of the sacks, then retrieved a
smaller item from the bottom. “I’m assuming these
Women’s One-a-Day are also for me?” 



“That’s right,” he confirmed, gazing at her pointedly.
If she expected him to be embarrassed, he’d have to
disappoint her. “Are you going to take them this
time?” 



Indignant, she tossed the apples into her crisper and
crossed her arms. “Hey, I took the last ones.” 



“Oh, yeah?” Barely breaking his shrimp-shelling
rhythm, he popped open the narrow cupboard to his
right and held out to her the bottle of Centrum he’d
picked up a year before. A quick shake revealed it was
still at least half-full. 



Mac huffed in sham disgust, knowing she’d been beaten,
but insanely happy at the gesture. Before Harm, no one
had ever bought her vitamins, much less cared one way
or the other whether she took them. In a move that
said more than a simple “thank you” could, she stepped
beside him at the sink and covered his hands with
hers, squeezing softly and neatly divesting him of the
shrimp he was working on. It was a task she knew he
hated. 



“I’ll do this,” she volunteered, glancing up briefly
only to be swamped in the sea of desire in his eyes.
He nodded and held her gaze as he backed away to
prepare the scallops and crabmeat. 



By the time they finished cleaning the seafood – a
process that took longer than usual, as they each
looked up at odd moments and were snared in heated
staring contests with the other – the water on the
stove was nearly boiling over. Mac dumped the meat
into the pot on the left; Harm eased the pasta into
the one on the right. 



“All right,” he announced, dispelling the atmosphere
of unresolved romance in favor of casual friendship.
He’d have preferred the former, but until he regained
her trust completely, knew it was best to stick with
the latter. “Hit the road. I’m starting the sauce.” 



“Can’t I see this time?” she asked, turning those
pleading doe eyes up at him. “Please?” 



Though he could rarely resist this secret weapon, they
both knew it was all part of the game. “Nope. It’s
strictly confidential. Absolutely no peeking.” 



“But, Harm, I promise not to tell anybody.” She was
almost whining now, and her lip stuck out just
slightly, as close to a pout as she ever got. He
wanted to lap her up like cream. 



“Do you still want me to name it after you?” he asked
with a warning lift of his eyebrow. 



“Yes.” It was all he could do not to close his teeth
around that sexy lower lip. 



“Then go clean a dinosaur bone or something.” Gently,
he turned her around and guided her towards the living
room with his hands on her shoulders. “Dinner’ll be
ready in 20 minutes.” 



“Yes, Iron Chef,” she sighed dramatically. Then cast
him a grin and a wink before leaving. 



Harm winked back and started to whistle as he got out
the ingredients for the sauce. He really did love this
game. 

 



And so, they started a pattern. It wasn’t every night.
It wasn’t even every other. But two or three times a
week, they had dinner together and settled in on the
couch afterwards to talk or watch TV. With every night
that passed, Harm felt things slide a little closer to
how they’d been, and then beyond. He touched her more
frequently now than ever in the past, and, after a
brief period of skittishness, she became increasingly
affectionate with him. She held his arm every now and
then while they walked and toyed with his hair or his
tie when she got fidgety at work. In the evenings, she
sat close enough that he could smell her shampoo; when
his limbs weren’t positioned to her satisfaction, she
simply picked them up and moved them where she wanted
them. And sometimes, if he was really good, she’d
scratch his back. 



“Lower . . . lower . . . ahhhh, right there.” Catlike,
he stretched beneath her hand, heaving a sigh of
relief as the itch dissipated. Then his muscles jumped
crazily as he shifted so her hand was at his other
side. “Right shoulder, right shoulder!” 



“Harm,” Mac laughed with a mixture of exasperation and
amusement. “This is the third day in a row it’s been
this bad.” 



He breathed into the itch, relaxing as her skillful
fingers chased it away. “Well, that’s why God gave
women long fingernails, Mac.” 



“To pick the lice and fleas off our menfolk?” 



“I don’t have lice and fleas,” he countered
implacably. “Could you move up just a bit?” 



Without warning, she yanked his shirt up by the hem,
and sucked air through her teeth in an audible wince.
“Oh, Harm.” 



“What?” He twisted in a futile attempt to see what had
her so upset. “It’s not that bad, Mac.” 



“Not that bad?” To his distress, she sounded more
troubled than stern. “You’re all red. I scratched
welts onto you.” 



Soft as a breath, she ran her fingertips over an angry
mark on the shoulder she’d just scratched vigorously.
In an effort to distract herself from the absurd pull
of tears, she tossed a pillow on the carpet and rose
from the couch. “Lie down.” 



“Where are you going?” 



Moving briskly, she headed through the bedroom to the
bathroom. “To get some lotion. Your skin is so dry it
hurts to look at.” 



He could’ve protested, but what was the point? Mac was
about to give him a backrub, complete with body
lotion. He was no idiot. 



“Nothing girly,” he called as he stretched out on the
floor. 



She came back a moment later on her way to the
kitchen. When he next looked up, she held a dishtowel
wrapped around something bulky. “What’s that?” 



“Frozen corn,” she answered, glancing down at him in
askance. “You taking off your shirt, or did you want
me to just put the lotion on and let it soak through?”




With a monumental groan, he hauled himself back up,
stripped off his t-shirt, and threw it onto a nearby
chair, not thinking twice about doing so in front of
his partner. Mac not only thought, but looked, twice
at the gorgeous expanse of masculine chest revealed
with the oddly graceful gesture before he flopped back
onto his stomach. 



Biting back a wistful sigh, she straddled his hips and
sat on his six. Carefully, she pressed the
cloth-covered vegetables to the red spots on his skin,
soothing the peeled blotches. He gave a heartfelt moan
that liquefied her insides. 



She continued the treatment down the left side of his
back and up the right until all the problem areas were
cool and faded. Then she set the bag on the coffee
table and tugged lightly on his ear. “You have to
start taking better care of your skin, Harm,” she
scolded. “It gets dry in the winter. You’re not a kid
anymore, you know.” 



He mumbled something in a sing-song voice that sounded
suspiciously like, “Yes, dear,” and continued to drift
in the peaceful world of a domesticated, well-spoiled
man who had the woman of his dreams perched
comfortably on his ass. 



“Does it smell like a girl?” he asked at the sound of
lotion squirting from the bottle. 



“Harm, my lotions don’t smell ‘girly.’ And this is the
most neutral one I could find.” 



He caught a whiff of vanilla and decided to take the
high road. It felt like heaven on his abused skin, and
the way Mac was rubbing it in in long, deep circles
was unbelievably soothing and arousing at the same
time. She continued up and down his back, kneading and
easing the muscles in his shoulders, down his spine,
above his ass. He moaned and groaned at the sore spots
until finally his breaths were just drawn out rumbles
that receded gradually to heavy sighs. 



When she pulled back and slid off his backside, he
grunted his displeasure. “Why’d you stop, Mac?” 



She bit back a smile and rolled her eyes. “I thought
you were asleep.” 



“I was ‘til you stopped.” 



“My wrists are tired,” she protested, but with a
half-hearted huff, resumed her massage and pretended
not to notice the smug grin on his face. 



“Five more minutes, baby,” he pronounced, closing his
eyes again. Though not without a good deal of
grumbling, she rubbed his back gently until he drifted
off, then crawled onto the couch just to look at him. 



He’d been so different since her return from
Afghanistan, more open and affectionate than ever
before. Each time he wrapped an arm around her while
they walked or sat on the sofa, tugged on her hair to
tease her, ran a hand down her back to guide her out
of a room, she wondered how she’d ever managed without
his touch; when he told her stupid jokes or stories
about his childhood, she fell in love with him all
over again. He’d asked for a chance to patch things up
between them, but he’d taken that further than she’d
ever imagined he could. For the first time, Harm told
her how he felt – really felt – about things . . .
about her. Quiet, steady, small admissions, all the
more genuine for their subtlety. And she couldn’t get
enough of it, of him. 



Over the past few weeks, he’d stolen back into her
heart only to show her he had always been there and
was now entrenched so completely he could never leave.
And, just as importantly, he’d had no qualms about
showing her that her place in his heart was just as
deep-rooted, just as secure. With a tiny, secret
smile, she stretched out, watching him until her eyes
slid closed. 



When she woke, it was 0437, she was covered with an
afghan, and Harm was gone. Lying beneath one of the
roses he must’ve taken from the vase on the table was
a note. 



“Mac,

“IOU a really sensational backrub. Thanks, sweetheart.
I’m sorry I didn’t move you, but you seemed to be
sleeping pretty well, and I didn’t want to wake you.
What do you say to dinner at that greasy little diner
you like tonight? I promise not to gripe about the
low-grade beef . . . or the battery acid coffee . . .
or the dirty silverware. See you at work, Harm.” 



With a happy sigh, she rolled over and fell back to
sleep, the message hugged tight to her chest. 



JAG HQ, THE NEXT DAY 



“Harm.” She slipped into his office, watched him
glance up at her with a wrinkled brow of patient
expectation. Why that simple gesture, that familiar
_expression, should make her suddenly, achingly
homesick, she had no idea. 



His face fell along with his heart. Her eyes, so
bright when she’d looked at him lately, were dull and
fretful. “What is it, Mac?” 



“I, ah – ” She blinked, shook herself in exasperation.
This was no different from any other assignment she’d
taken in her career. Silly to be so upset now. 



“I have to go to Germany.” 



It was all she could say before her throat closed
unexpectedly. Feeling ridiculous and miserable, she
crossed her arms and gazed out the window, waiting for
the wave to pass. 



His reaction helped. He was on his feet and moving
toward her with his next breath. The instant tug of
dread was new and unwelcome and wouldn’t be shrugged
off. 



It wasn’t until he’d reached for her that he
remembered he couldn’t hold her. Sparing the open
window a wary glance, he traced a finger through her
hair, rested a hand briefly on her shoulder. “How
long?” 



“A couple weeks.” 



At the sighs that escaped them both, it might’ve been
years. Now his hands hung useless at his sides. “When
do you leave?” 



Brown eyes met his, skittered away. “Seventeen
hundred.” 



“I’ll take you to Andrews,” he announced with a firm
nod. 



“You’ve got a meeting with Bud and Sturgis at four.”
There was no reason to sound accusatory, to be angry
with him for doing his job. Knowing that didn’t ease
the panic climbing crazily up her stomach. 



Harm only took her hand, past caring about the breach
in protocol. “So I’ll reschedule. This is more
important.” 



For the first time, her eyes met his and held, shone
with warmth and gratitude. “Thanks, Harm.” And her
fingers squeezed his tightly. 



“Go home,” he instructed gently. “Pack up. I’ll come
get you by 1500, okay?” 



“Okay.” 

 



They arrived at Andrews nearly an hour before her
flight was scheduled to take off and sat on a corner
bench in not-quite-comfortable silence. He wanted to
pace but was unable to pull himself far enough away
from her to manage it. Instead, he perched gingerly
beside her, bouncing his leg incessantly on the ball
of his foot. 



This was it – now, today, this minute . . . or at
least sometime in the next twenty or so. Somehow, he
had to show her before she went just what she meant to
him, just how lost he’d be if she didn’t come back.
Memories of the awful month he’d spent waiting for her
to return from Afghanistan had flooded him since the
morning – the way he’d felt when he looked at himself
in the mirror and remembered how badly he’d hurt her,
nightmares of Mac stranded in the desert, wounded and
wasting, her last image of him one of anger and
regret. 



When she placed a hand over his knee to still it, he
seized on the distraction and took out his nervous
energy by fiddling with her fingers. They were
beautiful fingers, he thought foolishly. Long and
slender, graceful like the rest of her body. He traced
the neatly-rounded tips, marveled at the pale pink of
her nails as if they were the first he’d ever seen. 



“What do they need you for in Germany for two weeks,
anyway?” he burst out crossly, shifting awkward and
restless on the seat. Whatever was going on in that
country, they didn’t need her there as much as he
needed her with him. This was what he had to tell her
before she shipped out – he didn’t think he’d survive
it if she left again without knowing how he felt.
Finding the way to express this, however, was steadily
eating away at him. 



Mac squeezed his hand, unalarmed by the outburst. His
frustration matched her own, but she’d always been
better at hiding things than he. “Their JAG left the
Navy for ‘mental health reasons,’” she explained
wryly, doing her best to inject some levity into the
situation. “Apparently he left things in such a mess
no one can make heads or tails of it. They just need
someone to go in and straighten everything out before
the newbie comes in.” 



“Why you?” The gentleness with which he wound her
index finger around his own belied the agitation in
his voice. 



She shrugged with all the affability she could muster,
covering the homesickness that grew every minute.
“Wouldn’t be the first time a Marine had to clean up
after the Navy.” 



With a sigh, he settled back and tugged her a little
closer. Her explanation hadn’t calmed him much, but he
appreciated the effort and could’ve strangled himself
for being such an ass with only fifteen minutes
remaining. 



“I just – ” 



He squinted at the cargo plane that would take her
away, already lowering its stairs in a silent signal
to the passengers. Time was running out, and the words
throbbed inside him as though, once torn from his soul
with a horse and plow, they couldn’t wait to be freed.




“I just don’t want you to go,” he admitted quietly,
still looking away. 



She didn’t speak for so long, he began to wonder if
she’d heard him. Christ, to have finally confessed
what – to him – was a substantial indication of his
feelings and her not to have heard, or worse, to
ignore him would be a fate worse than death. Just as
he screwed up his courage to look down at her, he felt
her head drop to his shoulder, nestle there, lost and
lonely. 



“Me neither,” she murmured miserably. 



They sat that way, thrilled at the contact, aching at
the circumstances, until a hoarse call for passenger
boarding filled the hangar. As usual, Mac gathered
herself first and stood, pulling lightly at the large
hand she still held to draw him up beside her. She
shouldered her sea bag and started off; Harm trailed
after her, toting her laptop. 



“Two weeks isn’t so bad,” she said with false bravery
as they ambled closer to the jet. 



He only stared back at her with enough intensity and
heat to make her breath catch. It was, after all, that
bad. Two weeks was ten days he’d have to walk into the
bullpen to see her office door closed and the lights
off. It was ten lunches she’d have to eat at the
Landstuhl mess hall instead of over his desk as they
hammered out a plea bargain. Six or seven dinners
they’d have shared at her place or his; fourteen
nights they’d have to fall asleep at different times,
without the comfort of the other only a few miles
away. 



When she felt tears punch hard behind her nose, Mac
rolled her eyes at both of them and forced a watery
chuckle. “Jesus, Harm, it’s two weeks! I’ll be back
before you know I’m gone. This is no different than
any other time one of us has gone on assignment
without the other.” 



She almost had herself convinced when he shook his
head slowly, looking down at her with just the hint of
a solemn smile. “Yes it is, Sarah,” he countered
softly. “I’m saying it this time. I always feel it,
but at least now you’ll know.” 



As he lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed her palm
and held it against his jaw, her eyes and mouth
rounded in disbelief. There had been several times
she’d suspected this man was about to make some kind
of monumental declaration, but never with the absolute
certainty she knew it now. At that moment, there was
no room in her world for anything but him. 



“I love you,” he whispered into her wrist, pressing
her hand against his cheek for one more long heartbeat
before releasing her, wrapping her fingers around her
laptop case. Then, unable to stop himself, he tilted
her chin up, kissed her with no more than a wisp of
his lips on hers. “Come home soon.” 



Before she could shake herself out of the daze enough
to reply, he turned and walked briskly away. 



NAVAL BASE, GERMANY, The next day 



She snatched the buzzing phone and practically threw
it at her head. It was after 2200 local time, and then
end of her paperwork was nowhere in sight; whoever was
calling had better have a damn good reason. 



“MacKenzie!” she barked uninvitingly. 



“Hi, hon.” Harm’s greeting was sweet, cheerful, and
completely oblivious to the irritation in her voice.
Instantly, her anger dissipated as warm loneliness
stretched her stomach. 



“Harm.” She sounded more lost and unsteady than she’d
have liked, and cleared her throat in automatic
correction. “How’d you know to call me at the office?”




“Are you kidding? I knew you’d be hard at work like
the dedicated Marine you are.” 



She rolled her eyes affectionately and rested her chin
on her elbow. “You forgot about the time difference,
didn’t you?” 



He sighed into the phone, and something squeaked in
the background. She imagined him leaning back in his
chair, propping his feet on his desk. “Yeah,” he
admitted, chagrined. “So what _are_ you still doing at
work anyway? It’s like ten o’clock by you.” 



“Tell me about it.” She heaved a sigh of her own and
chucked the file she’d been reading onto the table.
“I’m still familiarizing myself with Lt. Deiner’s
system. You’ll never guess how he’s been organizing
his files.” 



“Alphabetically?” 



“Nope.” 



“Chronologically?” 



“I wish.” 



He paused, considering. “Client’s date of birth?” 



“Close,” she conceded, and decided to put an end to
the game. “Client’s _weight_.” 



He snorted in disbelief. “What the hell? How’d you
figure that one out?” 



“It took me about two hours of useless searching
before I realized that cataloguing clients’ weights
isn’t SOP. When I asked around, I heard he’d become
obsessed with it – dieting to gain weight, to lose it,
cutting meat, cutting carbs, playing guess-your-weight
with everyone he met. Apparently, he had three
harassment suits pending when he got his Section
Eight.” 



“Jeez,” Harm commiserated. “What a head case.” 



“Yeah, well . . .” She shrugged and dismissed it,
putting Jared Deiner and his problems out of her mind
for the moment. “So what’s up? You’re still at work
too, did you need something?” 



His grin was audible. “You added a new one on me.” 



“What?” 



“S-P-L-C-R,” he explained somewhat cryptically,
trusting her to get the drift. 



“Oh, splicer,” she declared, and he scribbled the word
next to the abbreviation. “Sorry, that med-mal had a
bunch of doctor terms, and I forgot to put my notes
into longhand before I left.” 



Mac’s note-taking style was unlike any Harm had ever
seen. For the most part, it consisted of eliminating
vowels at nearly every opportunity, which wasn’t all
that complex or unusual. But she also included
scientific symbols for words like “therefore,”
“proportional,” and “period,” not to mention the
foreign letters and words she used on a fairly regular
basis. Her notations invariably featured Arabic, Greek
and Cyrillic characters, German phonetics, and Russian
comparatives spelled out in English. It had taken him
the better part of two years to master her system, and
he was the only one in the office who could manage it,
though Bud did a passable job. This dubious
distinction did have its downside, however. 



“You know, Mac, Sturgis has had me running ragged
decrypting these notes for him. If you’d just write
things down in plain English, I’d have it a lot easier
when you’re away,” he teased. In truth, he didn’t mind
at all; translating her notes, being the only one who
could do so, made him feel close to her in a way he
couldn’t describe. 



“I can’t even think in plain English anymore, Harm.
Besides,” she countered, “turn about is fair play.
When you’re gone, everyone knocks on my door to
decipher your chicken scratch. At least I usually type
my notes up before I leave.” 



“Mac, half the time I can’t understand my notes to
type them up. You’re the only one who can read my
handwriting, you know that.” 



Because she did, she grinned into the phone. He did
the same. For a moment, they sat in comfortable
silence, enjoying the other’s company though half a
dozen countries away. 



“Harm?” she prompted hesitantly. “Did you need
something else?” 



‘_You_,’ he wanted to shout, trying hard to convince
himself he could feel her sitting next to him if only
he concentrated. ‘Your voice, your laugh, your breath
. . .’ He’d searched the damn file for fifteen minutes
to find an abbreviation he was unsure of as an excuse
to call. Almost afraid of how crazily he missed her,
he tried for a casual answer. “No, I, ah, just wanted
to see . . . how your room is, how you’re settling in
. . .” 



“Harm.” She’d adopted that tone of tolerant amusement
that said she thought he was being absurd. “I called
you last night to tell you all that. I woke you up,
remember?” 



“I was up!” he protested, though he’d been fast
asleep. A change of subject seemed the wisest choice.
“You should hit the rack, Marine. You must be dead on
your feet.” 



With a despairing glance at the folders piled all
around her, she sighed and slumped into her chair. “I
can ride the jet lag for a few more hours.” But she
wasn’t ready to hang up yet. “How are things going
with you?” 



Lonely. Empty. Dull. “Okay,” he replied
non-committally. “Bud and Sturgis just got a big new
case.” 



“Oh, yeah? What about you?” 



“I’m still on the Admiral’s shit list from the last
time you were gone,” he admitted without much remorse.
He wasn’t exactly proud of the way he’d behaved while
she was away in Afghanistan, but now that things were
finally going well between them, he wasn’t looking
back. “I’ll be riding the pines for a week or so yet.”




Another sigh came across the line, this one knowing
and indulgent. Harriet had explained in gruesome
detail Harm’s actions during her month-long absence.
Luckily, this time, she wasn’t anticipating a relapse.
“Try to play nice with the other kids until I get
back,” she advised patiently. 



He nodded, though she couldn’t see. A sick feeling
crept up his throat as he realized the conversation
was at an end. “Yes, ma’am . . . You should, um, get
some sleep, okay? Don’t work so hard.” 



“Okay.” If her response was thick with unshed tears,
she could always blame it on a bad connection. “And,
Harm?” 



“Yeah?” 



“Thanks for calling.” 



“G’night, Sarah.” 



She hung up, but the heat in his voice stayed with her
long after she left the office that night. 



NAVAL BASE, GERMANY, Friday 



Mac grabbed for the phone, already knowing who would
be on the other end. “Colonel MacKenzie.” 



“Tiner’s after me to teach him how to build an
armoire,” he announced without introduction. 



She only smiled. “Really. What’s that all about?” 



“Apparently, he met some girl at a bar, and she told
him he looked just like a carpenter on one of those
home improvement shows. Then he told her he could do
that kind of thing, and she’s commissioned him to
build her a cabinet.” 



“Ah, just like Cirano Debourgeoraq,” she said with a
laugh. “Try to keep him away from the nail gun, okay?”




Harm bristled on principle. “I haven’t agreed to
anything yet.” 



“You will,” she answered confidently. “Tiner’s a good
person to have in your debt, and you’re a sucker for
puppy love.” 



“Look who’s talking. Bud and Harriet send their best,
by the way. I had to fill in for you on babysitting
duty last night.” 



“Oh, really? How did that go?” 



“Pretty smoothly until bedtime hit. As soon as I
pulled out the books, he bolted downstairs. It took me
half an hour to find him and another half to get him
to sleep.” 



“Was he in the kitchen cupboard?” 



“Yeah, how’d you know?” 



“It’s his favorite hiding spot. What book did you
start with?” 



“ ‘Goodnight, Moon,’ why?” 



“Rookie mistake. If you do that, he catches on that
you really expect him to fall asleep. Next time, save
that one for when he can barely keep his eyes open.” 



“Now you tell me.” Idly, he tossed a stress ball
against the door and caught it on the rebound. “He
misses you, you know.” ‘And so do I,’ he added
silently. 



“Well, I miss him too.” ‘And you.’ “You filling in for
me again next week?” 



His murmur was an audible shrug. “That kid’s got a lot
of energy, Mac. I mean, _a lot_ of energy. I’m still
sore.” 



“Harm, you just have to know how to set limits. You’ll
get the hang of it. Besides, if we want any more
godchildren out of Bud and Harriet, we’ve got to get
them some time alone once in a while.” 



There was a short pause in which she could almost hear
him grimace. “Mac,” he said, words painfully
enunciated. “You are completely grossing me out. All
they did was go to a movie.” 



“Uh-huh.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Whatever
you say, flyboy.” 



“On that note – I’m going to be late for court.” 



Recognizing a ploy when she heard it, Mac only
snickered at him. “You big baby – ” 



“I’m hanging up now, Mac.” 



“Okay then, dear,” she teased. “Just remember: when
that mini-van’s a-rockin’--” 



He growled warningly, making her snort with delight.
“Just wait ‘til you get home,” he threatened as he
hung up the phone. 



Mac hung up with a smile, then sighed wistfully. ‘Just
wait ‘til I get home . . .’ 



NAVAL BASE, GERMANY, Ten days in 



The phone rang just as she walked in the door. Still
out of breath, she rushed to answer it, sitting to
pull off her shoes and socks as she spoke. 



“Colonel MacKenzie.” 



“Hey, gorgeous. How was your run?” 



With an unconscious smile, she sank back in her chair,
cradling the phone closer to her ear. “Harm, it’s 0200
in Washington – you should be sleeping,” she scolded
even as she beamed at the sound of his voice. 



“I have been,” he answered, leaning back against a
pillow and imagining her. “Just set my alarm a little
earlier this morning, that’s all.” 



“Harm,” her laugh destroyed the sternness in her
voice, “you could’ve waited ‘til tonight. I’m not
going anywhere for a few days at least.” 



“I miss talking to you in the morning,” he insisted,
warning himself to stop before he sounded too
desperate. “How are things going over there?” 



She sighed, and he heard loneliness to match his own. 



“Okay. I went out to dinner with the senior staff and
their wives last night. They’ve all lived here
anywhere from two to six years, and I was still the
only one who spoke German. The waiter ate it up.” 



He rolled his eyes, guessing the waiter had been more
interested in his patron’s body than her linguistic
skills. “I’ll bet. Did you have a good time?” 



“It was all right.” Her answer was noncommittal. She
would make an effort if he really wanted to talk about
the dinner, but all she wanted was for him to be there
with her. “There was some tension between a few of the
women over an issue with the wives’ club, but Captain
Oswald told some nice stories about his grandkids and
their farm in Iowa. And I had a decent bratwurst for
the first time since my last trip to the Midwest.” 



“I’m not even going to start.” 



Her laugh echoed through the wire, sending light from
his ear through the rest of him. “So how are things
back at JAG?” 



“Pretty dull,” he shrugged, though she couldn’t see.
“I’m up against Manetti and Sturgis in a drug
trafficking case, and I’m representing a lieutenant
commander in district court next week for failure to
appear.” 



“Ooo, you get to brush off your civilian suit.” She
hoped she’d be around to see it; Harm looked great in
civilian suits. “But an FTA is pretty small potatoes.
Are you in trouble with the Admiral again?” 



“No, nosy,” he scolded with a smirk. “He loves me more
than ever.” 



“Is that even possible?” she rejoined dryly. 



“I assure you, it is. I’m doing the civvie case on my
day off.” 



“You’re a true man among men. Now, how’s your armoire
coming?” 



He huffed a breath into the receiver and plowed his
hand through his hair. “Rough. I had to take Tiner off
the power saw permanently – even the electric sander’s
a risk. Yesterday, he hit his thumb with the hammer so
hard his fingernail almost came off.” 



She didn’t hide her grin since he wasn’t there to see
it, but did try to keep her voice serious when she
commiserated, “Yikes, poor thing.” 



“Hey, _I’m_ the poor thing!” he protested, feeling
insane for the spark of jealousy that lit in his gut.
“So far, he’s dented my doorframe, wood-glued a
package of nails to my floor, and dropped a mallet on
my foot.” 



With a roll of her eyes, Mac cooed in dramatic
sympathy, forcing a grudging chuckle out of him. Then
they lapsed to a silence that bored holes into her
heart. More than anything, she wanted to be home,
where she could bemoan the bent frame, help him fix
the floor, rub his injured foot, in person. She had
never imagined she could miss the simple evenings
they’d shared so much that every night she sat in the
VOQ reading or surfing the Internet she could feel his
absence like a constant tug at her heart, dragging it
lower with each day until she could practically feel
it beating in her toes. 



She was almost in tears when he finally broke the
silence. 



“When can you come home?” 



His tone was plaintive, almost wheedling, as if he
thought he could bargain with her to get her back to
DC sooner. As if bargaining would’ve really been
necessary if there was any chance she could do so. 



“Mmm, soon I hope.” She swallowed hard and pressed a
smile. “Let’s see, two days ‘til my replacement comes
in, then a day for me to brief him, and another day to
travel . . . I should be back in the office by next
Wednesday.” 



“What time does your flight get in on Tuesday?” 



She thought a minute, doing the time math in her head
– it was a comforting habit. “Well, I’m on an 11 a.m.
transport, with a three-hour layover in Edinburgh, so
with the time difference, I should be in at Andrews by
. . . 2000 hours or so.” 



“Good. I’ll come get you.” 



“Harm, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll just catch a cab
or commandeer a Jeep.” 



“You’ll be exhausted. I don’t want you driving home
tired.” 



“I can catch up on my sleep on the plane – ” 



“No, you can’t,” he countered implacably. It was one
of his favorite secrets about Mac that she couldn’t
sleep on a plane or in the car unless he was with her.




She sighed, knowing she was defeated and not minding a
bit. “If you’re sure you don’t mind . . . ” 



“I’m sure. You’ll tell me if your flight changes?” 



“Will do.” 



“Good.” 



They lapsed into silence again, neither willing to
sever the connection, both denying it was time to
return to a day that didn’t include the other’s
presence. 



“I guess I should shower and get moving,” Mac said at
last with another monumental sigh. 



“Yeah . . .” 



“You should go back to bed for a few more hours . . .”




“Yeah . . . Mac?” 



Something in his voice sent a shiver of nerves through
her. Suddenly, she couldn’t talk fast enough,
half-breathless in anticipation of what he might say
next, half-dreading the words she wasn’t sure she was
ready to hear for only the second time over 10,000
miles of phone cord. 



“If I don’t hurry the grunts will get all the warm
eggs – ” 



“Mac – ” 



“I’ll call you on Monday night to confirm – ” 



“Mac.” His voice was patient but firm. “I miss you.
I’ll see you in five days.” 



Before she could reply, he hung up. 



ANDREWS AFB, 2012 EST 



One of the jg’s she’d been with since Munich handed
her down from the plane. Her eyes felt like her skull
was trying to suck them back in, and she was sure the
next time her stomach growled it would jump straight
up her throat. She’d abandoned her tried and true rule
against skirts on transports in favor of wearing
something clean for Harm; as a result, her sock-less
feet were freezing. Stomping them a bit, she headed to
the hold to pick up her sea bag and scanned the hangar
for her partner. 



It wasn’t until a throng of zoomies parted before her
that she saw him. He looked better than she’d
remembered, taller somehow in his worn jeans and blue
button-down shirt. His smile dawned bright, drew her
in like a beacon. Before she realized she was moving,
she stood before him, dropped her duffel and fell into
the arms that opened wide for her. 



“Hi,” she whispered against his shoulder, winding her
arms tightly around his neck. The tears prickling
behind her eyes, burning her throat, were only because
she was so tired. 



Sheer happiness to see her, to feel her, welled
inside. Planting his face in the crook of her neck, he
felt the tension slide from his body and simply
breathed her in. He held her close at the waist and
hips, drawing her up, accepting her weight. “Hey,
sweetheart.” His voice, ragged and warm, sent shivers
down her spine. “How you doing?” 



Exhausted, starving, weepy. “I’m a little cold.” She
saw no reason to pull away just yet, barely noticed
that her feet were no longer touching the ground. “You
don’t have an extra pair of socks in your car, do
you?” 



“Mmm, I can do better than that.” He set her down
reluctantly, held open the plastic bag he’d brought
along to reveal several more comfortable wardrobe
options. 



She thanked him with a bright grin. “You’re the best.”




He merely nodded, bent to grab her duffel and laptop,
and guided her to the restroom. “Take your time.” 



Five minutes later, she returned, wearing a pair of
his sweatpants cinched at the waist, a long-sleeved
t-shirt he’d gotten in a 5K charity run the year
before that hung down to her knees, and her high heels
– the socks would have to wait, as her shoes wouldn’t
fit over them. 



He smiled indulgently at the exhaustion on her face
and wrapped her up in his jacket for the walk to the
car. “Let’s go home.” 



She nodded wanly, content to let him guide her to the
staff lot. 



“How was your flight?” He figured if he could keep her
talking he had a better chance of getting her to the
car awake. 



“Good,” she yawned, leaning in close as he settled his
arm across her shoulders. “The landing at Edinburgh
was a little rough.” 



“Oh, yeah? What did you do on your layover?” 



“Umm, I wrote my report and bought a book.” 



He steered her around a battered pickup, watched in
amusement as her eyelids drooped closed and popped
open. “What book?” 



She had to think for a moment. “Nora Roberts.” 



“Was it good?” 



“Of course.” 



They walked a few more minutes, she wilting more and
more heavily against his side, until they reached his
Lexus. 



“Okay, honey,” he said softly, stowing her things in
the back seat before opening the passenger door. “In
you go. Watch your head.” He buckled her in and

closed the door, almost giddy at this unusual
opportunity to take care of her. 



He climbed behind the steering wheel and glanced over,
expecting to find her already asleep. But she leaned
against the door and watched him, eyes half-mast.
“Harm?” 



“Yeah, Mac?” 



So many questions buzzed through her mind. She wanted
to ask him if he’d ever tell her he loved her again.
When he would kiss her the next time. If he regretted
what he’d said when last they were at the base. What
he wanted to do now that she was back. 



“Thank you,” was all that came out. 



He picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm,
closing her fingers around it. “Anytime, honey,” he
whispered as her eyes drifted shut. 



Silently, he drove to her apartment, tracing the back
of her hand, careful not to wake her. There was so
much he wanted to say to her, do with her. Ideas that
flashed so quick they nearly burst from his head,
dreams that spun to fill the space between them. But
for now, just this, just having her home was all he
needed. 



When he pulled in next to her corvette, she stirred
and opened bleary, trusting eyes to him. “Home?” 



“Yeah,” he grinned. “Stay put.” 



He got her duffel and laptop from the back and came
around for her. Reaching in, he took her hand and
helped her down, righting her when she stumbled and
leaving his arm around her waist. “When was the last
time you had a decent meal?” he scowled, pulling her
close against his side. If there was one thing he
knew, it was Mac’s body – Lord knew he’d spent enough
time staring at it the past six years. And though he
couldn’t see her now, buried beneath his jacket and
sweats, he felt sharp angles where there should’ve
been toned muscle. She hadn’t lost much, but her body
showed change quickly, and despite his best culinary
efforts, she hadn’t gained back what she’d lost in
Afghanistan before she’d left. 



“Even I can only eat so many brats, Harm,” she
mumbled, her feet dragging. “You wouldn’t believe how
nasty the mess was – you’d have starved there for
sure.” 



“Nice to know.” Huffing only a little, he pulled open
the front door and half-steered, half-lugged her up
the stairs to her apartment. “Keys?” 



“Uh-huh . . .” She trailed off vaguely and leaned more
heavily against his shoulder, digging through the
pockets of his coat. “They’re in here somewhere.” 



He chuckled softly, slipped his own key into the bar
lock. “That’s my jacket, baby.” The door opened with
its usual squeak and they tumbled inside. He slapped
the switch for the living room lights, dropped her
bags, and guided her to the bedroom. 



“Okay, now.” Propping her up against the door frame,
he pulled back the covers and all but lifted her into
bed. “Sweet dreams, Marine. Welcome home.” 



With impressive aim given her considerable exhaustion,
she grabbed his hand as he stood to tuck her in.
“Stay?” 



“Yeah.” He grinned and brushed a strand of hair from
her face. “I’ll be right outside if you need
anything.” 



She shook her head and gazed up at him, eyes luminous
and surprisingly lucid. “Stay here.” 



He debated with himself for all of thirty seconds . .
. well, maybe twenty. She might regret her request in
the morning – might not even remember it – but he
would have all night to hold her, and he could wake up
early for once and reassess the situation then. The
reward was definitely worth the risk. 



“Okay. Let me just go lock up.” 



In less than a minute, he was back at her side in
nothing but his boxers. He’d never been readier for
bed in his life. For a long minute, he simply stood,
watching her. Her lashes covered the shadows beneath
her eyes; against the dark red sheets, her skin was
dull and pale, but eight hours of sleep would
hopefully take care of that. She was the most
beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 



Quietly, he shut off the light and went to the other
side of the bed, crawling in beside her. She rolled
into him automatically, resting a hand on his chest
and tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder. 



“Harm?” she whispered in a small voice just when he
was sure she’d drifted off. 



“Mm-hmm?” Absently, he stroked her back, threw a leg
over hers to pull her closer. 



“Are you ever gonna say it again?” 



He smiled into the darkness. For once, he didn’t need
her to explain; he’d been expecting the question since
she’d climbed off the plane. “I love you, Mac.” 



With a contented hum, she cuddled in and brushed her
lips against his neck. All was quiet for another
minute, until she sighed and strummed her fingers
along his collarbone. “Then are you ever gonna kiss me
again?” 



“Yes,” he assured her firmly. “But I think I’ll wait
until you’re awake enough to enjoy it.” 



Without any warning whatsoever, she leaned up and
covered his mouth with her own. As she pulled away,
her tongue darted out and caught the edge of his lower
lip, making him growl deep in his throat. 



“I think I enjoyed that pretty well,” she yawned,
settling back into her pillow. “Sleep tight.” 



Frozen in place, Harm breathed deeply as he waited for
the bolt of arousal that pulled taut every muscle in
his body to subside. Sleep was a long time coming. 

 



He woke the next morning to find her watching him,
eyes the color and warmth of aged bourbon. Blinking to
clear the blur of sleep from his vision, he smiled at
her, saw her face light up in return. God, she was
pretty . . . and warm . . . her skin smelled nice, and
her hair was delightfully rumpled . . . He was
distantly embarrassed and vaguely stunned to realize
he was sporting an erection the size of which he
hadn’t displayed since his early twenties. Apparently
spending the night with Mac had an effect on more of
him than he’d thought, but he decided not to worry
about it until she did. 



“Hey.” 



“Hey,” she replied, her voice low and rusty. 



“What time is it?” 



She grinned and patted his chest with her chin. “Too
late to call in sick.” It wasn’t, but they couldn’t
both call in on the day after she returned from a TAD
overseas – far too suspicious. 



“Damn.” Gently, he combed the hair from her face, then
plunged his fingers through the back and tilted her
head for a kiss on her crown. “How you feeling?” 



Eyes narrow, she considered him. His knees bumped
companionably against hers, his jaw was clouded
pleasantly with five a.m. stubble, his morning wood
was about a centimeter away from her stomach, and he
had a hold of . . .  



“Nervous,” she answered with unaccustomed candor. 



He scowled in alarm. “Why nervous?” 



“Because of where your hand is.” Her tone was
guileless and just the slightest bit sly. 



He glanced at the hand buried in her hair, looked back
at her in confusion. 



“Other hand, flyboy.” 



An exploratory turn of his wrist and wiggle of his
fingers, and his face fell, slack and flushed. His
right hand was cupping her left breast. “Um, I, ah . .
.guess I’m pretty smooth first thing in the morning,”
he finished lamely. Instinctively, he squeezed before
forcing his hand to shift lower on her waist. And
stared open-mouthed as her eyes glaze over with
helpless excitement. 



“Too bad,” she murmured, sliding her leg between his,
tantalizingly close to his now-throbbing dick, to
lever herself further up his body. When her face was
directly above his, she leaned closer, tapped his nose
with hers. “’Cause I was gonna have to kiss you if you
left it there any longer.” 



Harm gulped and blinked violently in shock. He’d woken
up hard as a rock, palming Mac’s breast, and not only
didn’t she mind, she was making a pass at him. This
had to be a dream – the best in his life, but a dream
nonetheless. 



Deciding to make the most of it, he flashed her the
grin he knew she couldn’t resist. “You just can’t keep
your hands off me when I’m in this bed, can you,
Marine?” 



Her eyebrow lifted at that, and her hand . . . her
hand slipped between them to cradle him intimately.
All right, he thought dimly as his body jerked in
response. This had shot straight from ‘dream’ to
‘sheer paradise.’ 



“Apparently not.” Her voice was low and throaty, the
caress of it making him shudder. “Care to indulge me?”




Before the words left her mouth, he’d swallowed them,
rearing up to crush his lips to hers. In stark
contrast to the chaste pecks they’d shared in the past
month, this kiss was savage and hungry. He craved the
taste of her, the textures, and thrust his tongue past
lips that opened eagerly beneath his. Of their own
volition, his hands winnowed up the back of her
sweatshirt, crazy for the feel of her skin. She was
soft . . . so soft . . . under his fingers, and he
couldn’t get enough, drinking her in as deeply as
possible. He needed her, had to have her, would die if
she didn’t somehow assuage the throbbing fire inside
him. 



“Mmm, Mac,” he moaned, dragging himself away. She only
followed him, skimming her hands up his chest to
capture his neck, pulling his mouth back to hers. With
a groan, he gave in, letting her take charge for now,
doing his best to make himself putty in her hands. 



Sensing his submission, she reigned in her assault,
changed tactics to tease the living hell out of him.
Slowly, she dampened the kiss, flicking her tongue
rather than plunging it, nibbling daintily on his
lower lip. Then she moved to nip along his jaw, down
the strong column of his neck, and back up to suck for
a moment on his earlobe. 



He growled her name, his fingers seizing around her
waist, groping blindly for her breasts beneath the
cotton. When she lifted a leg to straddle him, he
thrust up against her recklessly. “Mac!” he cried,
concluding she’d gone far enough when she started
playing with his nipples, turning his guts to water.
“God, honey – ” 



He’d been ready to stop, or at least to pause for
breath, when he saw her mouth, swollen from his own,
her eyes black with passion and out of focus. “We have
to –” nimble and hasty, he sipped at her lips,
returned for one last, hard taste – “mmm, we have to .
. . stop.” And he moved to sample her neck. “Sarah . .
.” 



Panting, he pulled back, rested his forehead carefully
on hers. “Baby, you have to stop me now, if-if you
want to . . .” 



“Okay,” she nodded, panting as well. 



For one heart-stopping minute, he thought that was it,
that that was her answer and he was doomed to a
lifetime of unfulfilled arousal. 



Then he felt her hand sweeping up his thigh. “Holy
shit,” he breathed, and just before she reached the
point of no return, he twisted abruptly, pinning her
to the mattress beneath him. “My turn,” he rumbled,
tugging the t-shirt up from her waist. “Just let me .
. .” 



His lips followed the trail of the fabric, up her
belly and straight to her breast. Absently, he whipped
the shirt off her and tossed it away, his mouth never
leaving its goal. Without preamble, he latched onto
her nipple, suckled with everything he had, starved
for her. 



“Haaarm,” she moaned, grasping his head to hold him
near. The fire of his mouth shot direct to her center,
melting everything she was till it pooled between her
legs. His tongue and teeth were doing things to her
she’d never thought possible, drawing out her thoughts
one by one until all she knew was their bodies and the
heat they created. 



She whimpered her disappointment when he left her
breast, only to groan in approval as he clamped onto
the other. Unconsciously, her hips drove upwards,
frantically seeking his. “God, Harm.” She shivered
when he drew back to nibble. “Ahh . . . I need . . .” 



Before she could ask, his mouth was on the move,
cruising down her torso, pausing briefly to play with
her bellybutton, then tracing the line of her hip. Her
breath was sobbing now, in curses, prayers, his name.
It was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. Resting his
chin on her thigh, he simply watched her, memorizing
the magnificent picture she made spilled over the red
linens. 



“Mac,” he called in a sing-song voice, then again.
“Mac.” His fingers kneaded her legs, his thumbs
creeping so close to where she needed him, while he
waited for her attention. “Watch,” he suggested softly
when at last she opened her eyes enough to look at
him. 



Then he introduced his tongue with a long, slow lick. 



She nearly came off the bed. He had no choice but to
add his hands to keep her where he wanted her. Even as
he rolled his tongue around her clit, he speared one
long finger inside her. So slowly, so carefully. Her
head thrashed against the pillow as she grasped at the
sheets. And then the screaming started. 



So Mac was a screamer, he thought distantly, still
intent on his task. Good to know. 



Okay, so it wasn’t screaming exactly, he amended as he
added another finger and started to suckle. More like
urgent, ceaseless cries of his name. They got louder
when he touched her just . . . there, became more
desperate when he flattened his tongue against her and
scraped ever so gently with his teeth. 



Mac knew she wouldn’t last much longer. Couldn’t
possibly survive the flames flying through her system.
His fingers pushed inside her and withdrew only to
furiously return. And his tongue – Lord, his tongue –
rasped against her demandingly. Just a little . . .
faster . . . Harm . . . harder . . . 



“Harm! God –” 



Every muscle in her body snapped to attention, then
liquefied, leaving her pulsing and limp and blind.
Before she could catch her breath, he was there,
kissing her, making new demands she didn’t know if she
was ready to meet. He pressed his palm to her center,
drawing out her release and kindling the fires anew. 



“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, balancing on his
elbow to comb through her hair with his other hand and
doing his best to ignore the arousal pounding
painfully in his blood. Her misty brown eyes and
flushed face were hell on his willpower. 



“That was – ” She shook deliciously, held an
aftershock to her like a precious memory. “That was
incredible, Harm.” With fleeting touches that drove
him wild, she ran her hands from his waist to his
shoulders, strumming along lines of muscle and bone,
learning every detail. Then they slid back down his
body, tunneled under the band of his boxers to work
his throbbing member free. “Next time you’ll come with
me,” she declared with silky determination, squeezing
him lightly as his face contorted with pleasure. This
direct assault on the heels of witnessing the sexiest
display of female sensuality he’d ever imagined was
almost too much for his beleaguered mind and body. 



“Mac,” he gasped, knowing he should push her hand away
but unable to make himself do so. “Just a sec,
sweetheart – ” She interrupted him with a deep kiss
and a lingering stroke of her torso against his. He
groaned in agony and slipped a finger into her,
mindless with hunger. “Y-you have to let me . . .
settle down a minute . . . God, you’re soaking wet . .
.” 



She mumbled agreement against his mouth and ground
herself into his hand. Despite the earth-shattering
climax he’d just given her, she suddenly found she
needed more, needed him. “Harm,” she sighed, shaky and
exposed. “Inside . . . please . . .” 



With a groan of surrender, he slipped into her, an
inch, then two, then all the way, with excruciating
slowness. She was so hot, so incredibly tight, and
when he was in to the hilt, he found he never wanted
to leave. His baser instincts took over, though, and
soon he was rocking in and out of her, then pounding
as she wrapped her legs around his hips and begged him
to go faster. Only too happy to oblige, he bade sanity
farewell and let himself go. White-hot greed and dark
desperation clawed at his spine, pushing him on. His
vision greyed at the edges, his lungs burned with pent
up breath, and then she called out his name and her
core clutched around him and he was lost . . .  



He surfaced to the feel of her fingertips running up
and down his spine. He had collapsed on top of her,
but she didn’t seem to mind – was actually breathing
steadier than he was at the moment. With a colossal
effort on his part he raised his head and shot her a
drunken half-grin. “Hello,” he said, feeling goofy and
wonderfully light. 



She smiled back with quiet wonder. “Hi.” 



It was a struggle to climb up her body, to plant a
warm, sated kiss on her lips when all he wanted to do
was lapse into a coma and sleep for about ten years.
The bedsprings squeaked in protest as he plopped onto
his back and pulled her into his side. He couldn’t
seem to stop touching her; his fingers traced from her
shoulder to her elbow, jumped to her waist and
continued to her hip, thrilling at the goose bumps
that rose in their wake. 



“Mac?” he murmured at length, twisting to look down at
her. 



“Yes?” She reached up and drummed her fingers across
his chin, apparently feeling a little silly herself. 



Chewing anxiously at the inside of his cheek, he
gathered his courage and swallowed the unexpected lump
in his throat. 



“Are _you_ ever gonna say it again?” 



She thought back to the last time she’d told him – as
angry and unbelievably hurt as she’d felt, as confused
and furious as he’d been. Not a very impressive first
declaration, but inescapably true, and more so today
than it had been then. Cradling his jaw, she gazed up
at him, eyes bright with more than just happiness. 



“I love you, Harm.” 



He released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding,
muted joy glowing in his _expression. 



“I love you too.” Funny how the words got a bit easier
each time he said them, how naturally they slipped out
in response to hers. Quirking a brow, he continued,
“And are you ever gonna kiss me again?” 



With a sigh of mock exasperation, she pulled his head
down and granted him a peck on his waiting mouth.
“There you go.” 



“Please,” he snorted as he yanked her closer for a
serious kiss of tongues and teeth and mounting ardor.
When at last they came up for air, he spun them around
so she lay sprawled across his chest. 



“Let’s play hooky, honey,” he invited, his voice low
and dangerous. “I’ve got a plan.” 



She smiled and reached for the phone . . .  



The End.

Thanks for reading!