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Sunshine on a Cloudy Day
Authors: Pixie and The Captain Rating: G Category: Vignette, Episode Reaction Spoilers: Anything's fair game, but especially Fit for Duty Disclaimers: If Harm was ours, do you really think we'd be spending our time writing stories about him? And before you ask, we don't own any of the others, either. We just like to play. We'll clean up after ourselves – maybe. Feedback: Always welcome, but please flame privately. Author’s Note (The Captain): The ending of “Fit for Duty” just screamed “Episode Reaction.” So, being the good friend that I am, I dragged Pixie into my nefarious scheme. Thankfully, we share a brain, so she gracefully complied. The result is this short fic. Author's Note (Pixie): There I was, minding my own business, working on my own story (okay then, saga), when The Captain decided to yank me kicking and screaming into another one of her dastardly round robin experiments. Then, after dragging me in, she tried to abandon ship, claiming a headache (likely story) and exhaustion (don't believe a word of it). Luckily, she's scared of me (if you believe that, I've got a bridge I'd like to sell to you), and she finally caved to my repeated demands that she do her share of the work. What you see here is the result. Read it at your own risk.
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Mac was just pulling her dinner out of the microwave when the knock on her front door startled her. She nearly dropped the container in surprise, but quick reflexes saved it in the nick of time. She opened the door to find a smiling Harmon Rabb on her doorstep, holding two bags that smelled sinful. “Harm?” He shook the bags gently. “I come bearing food. Can I come in?” Baffled yet hungry, Mac stepped aside and allowed him entrance. Wordlessly she followed in his wake to the kitchen, where he set the bags down on the counter and sniffed at the microwaveable tray holding her dinner. His disapproving frown was predictable, yet endearing. “Mac. This isn't food.” Deciding to play along, at least until she found out why he was there, Mac picked up the TV dinner box and held it out to him. “See? Chicken. Potatoes. Corn. Brownie. All edible. And getting cold.” He opened the fridge, and then picked up the tray and shoved it inside. “Have it for breakfast, then. I brought Italian.” Okay. That was enough. Mac couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Out with it, Harm.” He arched an eyebrow. “Out with what?” She sighed. “The reason you’re here. You were supposed to be having dinner with your…” The words “blonde bimbo” floated through her head. “With that psychiatrist. Dr. Elgin.” “I cancelled.” Sometimes he just wouldn’t shut up, and other times, like now, getting words out of him was like fishing in a swimming pool. Pointless and totally unrewarding. And a tad insane. “You cancelled. Isn’t that… I don’t know. Rude?” He shrugged and handed her a plate of steaming pasta. “Probably. I don’t really care.” The smell of the food was warring with her curiosity, but this was just too interesting to give up on. “Harm. You’re never intentionally rude. What’s going on?” The look he gave her then sent an oddly pleasant ripple down her spine. His voice, when he spoke, was low and gentle, yet firm. “I didn’t want to have dinner with her. Not tonight, not ever. I wanted to have dinner with you.” “But…” He shook his head, silencing her. “The time I spent with her during the hearing was business. The hearing is over. Unless, by some twist of fate, she ends up part of another hearing or trial we’re participating in, I won’t see her again. I have no need to. I do, however, need to spend time with you.” Mac’s eyes, by this point, were as wide as saucers. The only word she managed to get out was the one word that had been on a screaming loop through her mind the last few minutes. “Why?” His eyes, so serious a moment before, now twinkled with humor. “During the case out in California a while back, the woman whose father was killed asked me if I had a girl back home. I said that the girl wasn’t mine yet, but I was working on it.” Mischievously, he reached over the counter and stole a piece of garlic toast off her plate. “A guy has to spend time with the girl if he wants her to be his.” Mac choked on the bite of pasta in her mouth, and for a few moments the conversation was put aside as Harm leaped to her assistance, giving her a thump on the back that nearly caused her chin to land in the pasta, and then handing her a glass of water to sip and a napkin with which to wipe her streaming eyes. When relative order had been restored, and Mac was nearly breathing normally again, Harm resettled himself in his chair across from her, a vaguely pleased expression on his face. "I'm sorry," Mac said finally, her voice slightly hoarse from coughing. "Could you repeat that?" Harm sighed theatrically, making a mental note to surprise Mac with a box of q-tips sometime soon. "I said…" He scooted his chair closer to hers, delighted at the wary look that she gave him when he did. "A guy has to spend time with the girl if he wants her to be his." This time, Mac had been careful to push her plate aside, so she was spared a second fit of coughing. She shook her head slightly as though clearing water from her ears, and then cocked it to one side, observing him carefully. "All right," she said after a few moments. "Who are you and what've you done with my partner?" Then, remembering something from their past, she reached across the table and pinched a fold of skin behind his ear, tugging lightly. "Ow!" Harm yelped, grabbing her hand in his and pulling it away from his vulnerable neck. "What was that for?" "Just checking," Mac grinned. "It wouldn't be the first time somebody impersonated you." Harm snorted and shook his head at her. "Not to worry, Mac. Last I checked, Clark Palmer was still safely ensconced at Leavenworth." "Hmm…" Mac said, noncommittally. She took a bite of pasta and watched him while she chewed. He munched on his pilfered garlic bread and stared back, one eyebrow slightly raised as he waited for her next move. Mac pushed her plate away and sat back in her chair. Two could play at this game. She folded her arms across her stomach, just under her breasts, pleased when Harm's eyes flickered down and then back up again. He swallowed, and she grinned at him. "Answer me this, flyboy. Why now?" Ogling Mac had momentarily distracted him, and it took him a moment to respond. When he did, his voice was light, but his eyes belied the seriousness of the minefield they were both carefully tiptoeing through. “It’s time, Mac. After nine years, we’re finally growing up. I’d like to think I’m getting a little wiser in my old age,” he offered with a smile. Then he sobered. “And you become more beautiful as the years go by.” He reached over and laid a gentle hand on her face, his thumb softly brushing an unexpected tear from her cheek. “The last couple of years, we’ve both dealt with a lot. And we keep circling back to each other. We’re better together than apart. No matter how hard we’ve tried, we haven’t been able to get over this thing between us. Fate seems determined to keep us together. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting fate and start fighting for us.” Mac remembered accusing Harm once of not being able to state his intentions towards her. It now appeared that was a fault he had overcome. The idea both intrigued and terrified her. A relationship-challenged, ambiguous Harmon Rabb was one she knew how to handle. His predictability in fleeing from commitment was almost comforting, in a way. The “new” Harmon Rabb, on the other hand, was a man she hadn’t quite figured out yet. He was mature, responsible, and after parenting a teenager for months, he had learned about commitment. He had learned that people were not whims for his amusement, or objects for his obsession. She had thought the “old” Harm was desirable enough, despite his flaws. This new Harm, though, sent a quiver through her very soul that she had never felt before. It was a feeling that both baffled her and made her want to run very, very far away. She settled for putting some space between them as she stood up and walked over to stare out the window at nothing. Suddenly, the playful note had gone out of the evening and things had become deadly serious. After all that had happened, everything that they, and she, had been through, could she do this? Was she finally ready to reach out for the dream? She started as she felt his hands settle on her shoulders. Those hands, long, lean, and strong, were almost as familiar to her as her own. She'd watched them for years, had seen them calm small children and fire deadly weapons. She'd been witness to them making a point, defending a friend's honor, and fighting for justice. She knew they were capable of heart-stopping gentleness and lightning quick action. She loved those hands, had probably always loved them, and probably always would. Memories flashed through her mind; images, fragments of conversation, shared sights, sounds and experiences. So much time. So many mistakes and wrong turns. She knew what she wanted. She'd known for a long time. It was just that, through whatever cruel irony contrived by the three sisters of fate, she and Harm had never been ready at the same time. Thoughts of lost chances and missed opportunities brought tears to her eyes, and she wiped them impatiently away, feeling Harm's hand tighten on her shoulder when she did so. "Mac, I'm sorry," he sounded truly contrite. "I didn't come here to make you cry." She smiled a little at that. Ever the gentleman. Without turning around, she twined her fingers through his, squeezing lightly. "I know you didn't." She sniffled a little, and then laughed when a handkerchief appeared to dance in front of her eyes. "Need this?" he asked. "Thanks." She took it and wiped away the dampness on her cheeks, then dabbed at her nose. She folded it and tucked it into her pocket. She'd wash it and return it tomorrow – maybe. "Are you going to tell me what you're thinking?" Harm asked from behind her. "And is there any chance I can convince you to turn around so I don't have to talk to the back of your head?" She heard the smile in his voice then and felt her lips twitch in response. The man could find cause for humor at the oddest times. She turned around, resting her hands against his chest. His pulse beat firm and strong beneath her touch. He radiated warmth and security, which had both been lacking in her life for so long. All she needed to do now was simply hold on to him, in more ways than one. “You’re pretty smart sometimes, you know? For a squid, that is.” Like the tide, tension ebbed away. Harm smiled the wide flyboy smile she loved so much, the one that usually made her heart lose rhythm for the briefest of moments. “You have your moments too, Jarhead,” he shot back. She laughed and slipped her arms around him to give him a quick hug. “Are we okay, then?” she asked, her cheek pressed against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “Of course we are. Now, can we get back to dinner? I have to keep my Marine fed, you know.” She leaned back and looked up at him, her eyebrows rising. “Your Marine?” He nodded. “My Marine. Is that okay?” She stared at him for a long moment. Then, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she smiled. “Yes. It’s perfect.”
**** The End ****
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