Six Months

Disclaimer: JAG and its characters belong to Bellisarius Productions. I'm just borrowing them for my, and hopefully other people's entertainment.

AN: Boring train ride led to a spurt of inspiration and the scribbling down of this little piece. Written in answer to the HBX May Challenge; the lines used are from the episode "Contemtuous Words."

AN: Imagine the last 7.5 min of FW&FS never happened. gasp! choke! Yes, I know. But I believe Harm and Mac were just meant to be. So this is just another short exploration of the if, how or when they might eventually figure it out. Told from Mac's POV.

Warmest Thanks go out, as always, to Staz, for providing the boost I usually need between the point the writing is finished and the moment I actually put a story out there.
Please enjoy, and all feedback is very much appreciated.

o o o o o o

Six Months

It's been six months. Six painfully-slowly-passing months. So slowly, in fact, that she sometimes found herself counting along the seconds with her infallible internal clock as they ticked by in mocking certainty.

With a sigh, Mac snuggled farther under the skimpy complementary blanket. A vain attempt at finding a somewhat comfortable position to catch some sleep. It was fruitless, she knew. Sleep would allude her, just like it had so often during those last six months. Those six lonely months. Six lonely months without a single contact with him.

The last time she'd seen him had been at his frocking ceremony. His mess dress in impeccable order, the four stripes on his shoulders had gleamed, proud and golden, in the warm, artificial glow of the old banquet hall. She had swelled with pride for him.

Had danced with him one last time. While time stood still. Feeling that ancient pull between them once more. So strongly that it robbed her of her breath. With his hands on her back he had held her close, the imprint of his fingers burning through her jacket and straight into her skin. She had fit her head under his chin. Overwhelmed by the realization how well they fit together.

Had kissed him under the large oak frame of the door, when he was leaving and neither one of them wanted to be the first to say goodbye. Or maybe he had kissed her.

Ignoring all military protocol during that one suspended moment in time, their mouths had met with such aching tenderness that the tears she had suppressed for three days welled up and trailed down her cheeks in hot, salty drips. The world dropped away around them as he moulded his mouth to hers. As they kissed through the sorrow, preparing for the heartache. Simultaneously acknowledging that once more, 'this thing' between them would elude their grasp. They had chased it away. They had missed it. Or maybe it was never meant to be.

When at last they pulled apart, his hands cradled her face, wiping away the lingering moisture with his thumbs.

They hadn't said goodbye. Neither could. 'Good luck,' she had whispered, trying to add a smile to her face, just like that first time he had left, all those many years ago. And just like then, she couldn't find the words. While she felt as if she was slowly being ripped apart, torn into marine-green shreds that would never be whole again.

And when the door had closed behind him, when the dark, carved, hundred-year old oak wood separated his retreating form from her forever, her heart had crashed to the floor. And nobody but her seemed to hear the deafening shatters.

As if by mutual understanding, neither had contacted the other. She knew he was okay; common friends subtly tried to assure that she was informed of his achievements, as she was certain he was of hers. He was a complete success in his command position, but that didn't surprise her in the least. Mattie was with him and doing better, much better than initial prognosis had predicted. Mac was happy for the girl, and glad for him. At least he wasn't alone. Not like her. 'Self-pity doesn't become you, Mackenzie,' she chided her own thoughts.

Trying to occupy her restless mind, she grabbed the book she had brought, but the letters swam in front of her eyes, blurring together into big black blobs. Damn tears!

Six months ago, she had picked up her boxes, and the thousand pieces of her broken heart, and had moved all of them to San Diego. Where she unpacked those boxes, moved things on shelves and in closets, before she attempted to assemble this thousand-piece-puzzle her heart had once been, only to find that it was impossible. The largest piece was missing.

Twice before, they had been separated for such a long stretch of time, but this time, it felt different. Time seemed to stand still, and every day seemed a little longer than the last. Instead of getting better, every day she had felt a little worse for wear. Exponentially growing desperation.

It's been six months. Six long, heartbreakingly lonely months in which she had missed him so much that her bones ached. In which she found that the sun she had so craved during long winter months in Washington could no longer warm her. That the tang of the ocean she had always loved now tasted too salty, and the air always had a chilling bite. In which this career she thought she had wanted no longer held its previous appeal, because she couldn't share it with him.

In which memories, sentences spoken and words left unsaid revolved in her mind like a carousel that never stopped, and every turn on its axis brought back the same, vivid, mockingly colorful images. Over and over and over again.

'Come to me. You know the reason.'

'What matters to me is that it happens between the two of us.'

'Nothing's changed, I'm still here.'

'When you're ready, let me know.'

And then one morning she had woken up to another beautiful, meaningless sunrise and to the realization that she had spent almost six months to the day without him. To find that nothing had changed. And she decided that she would.

Her email had been short and to the point:

Harm,

United Airlines, flight # 1227
Departs: San Diego, 28 Oct 2005, 1300 PST
Arrives: London Heathrow, 29 Oct 2005, 0730 GMT.

Sarah.

Then she had erased 'Sarah' and replaced it with 'Love, Sarah.' That, too, fell victim to the back button on her keyboard, until she settled for 'Love, Mac.' That was the essence. Her.

She had put her most senior attorney on staff in charge and had taken an obscene amount of leave days in one go. Had packed a suitcase full of sweaters and raincoats and boots while the sun twinkled gaily into her bedroom window.

And here she was, on a plane with her barely cobbled together heart jumping out of her throat and her mind in constant turmoil.

He hadn't replied to her email. She hadn't expected him to.

She had made no plans in case he… just in case. There were options, she knew; a last minute trip to some secluded island came to mind. Where she would be able to hide from the world, preferably forever. But she blatantly refused to think about any of this.

And then it was time. Time to unbuckle her seatbelt. Time to put on her jacket, and shoulder her purse, and to face whatever may come of this. The beginning – or the end. With every minute that passed during that hour she stood around, first waiting for her suitcase, then in line at customs, she grew more nervous. Until her hands were shaking so badly that she could barely hand her passport to the immigration officer, which earned her an unfriendly glare.

She had gone through so much, yet in that moment when she stepped through the doors of the arrival's hall of the airport, she thought she had never been as afraid before in her life. Rooted to the spot, she glanced over the masses of people. Bile rose in her throat when she couldn't spot a familiar face, but she gulped it down. Suddenly she felt so silly; flying ten and a half hours due to a spur-of-the-moment decision, even though it had been bred for six months… Tears welled up while her mind raced through the possibility that maybe it had all been imagination on her part, maybe it was too late, maybe it was never meant to be, maybe he had already moved on; maybe, maybe, maybe.

Then she felt it. That familiar tingle on the back of her neck, spreading down her arms and her spine in warming lassitude. This feeling that had always been there, even in their darkest hours. The one that told her he was close.

She spun around and there he stood. Harm. Her best friend. Her soul mate. Her other half. The love of her life. He smiled, a warm, tender smile that crinkled his eyes with the soft lines he had developed over the years. Oh what a fool she had been to believe that she could ever get over him. He was her destiny.

Their eyes connected, and then she flew into his arms. Suitcase and purse dropped to the ground while her arms clung around his neck and his hands held her tightly around her waist. She needed to feel him close. Closer still. His shirt absorbed her tears and she inhaled his deeply familiar scent, revelled in the strength he exuded and the warmth his hands sent into her skin.

She felt one of his hands leave her waist, travel up her back, over her shoulder. His fingertips trailed along her jaw. Until he cradled her chin between his thumb and index finger and turned her face away from his neck. Up to face him. She gazed up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, her whole body infused by a delicious weightlessness that only he could create in her.

He kissed her then. Fit his lips to hers with soft touches and nips. She eagerly responded, and then he delved deeply into the hidden recesses of her mouth. He kissed her slowly, passionately, and laced with the same gut-wrenching desperation pouring out of him that she had felt for the past six months. She matched his strength and catered to his weakness. Waves of pleasure washed over her body, finally infusing her fingertips and toes with a warmth that they had lacked ever since their separation. Her skin tingled and she kissed him even deeper, and the gaping hole in her heart filled with an almost audible click.

These last six months of pain and desperation, of loneliness and aching, had only served to strengthen this thing between them once more, and now it was time. For them. When at last they pulled apart, Mac cradled his cheek with her hand, feeling his very light stubble tickle against her palm.

"I'm glad you came," she whispered raggedly, still breathless from his heart-stopping kisses.

"So am I," he answered with a smile, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. Growing serious, he held her eyes with his and added, "but it wasn't an easy decision."

She gazed over his shoulder into the distance, not really seeing any of the flurry of activity in the crowded terminal. His kiss had been more revealing than any words ever could. It told her that whatever she had gone through these past months, her feelings were matched by his. It was a stunning eye-opener. Why had she always so desperately needed words?

"I know," she acknowledged, and then she turned back to face him and smiled softly. "But it was right, I promise."

He nodded, still serious, and played with a few strands of her hair that fell around her face in long waves. His fingers then trailed across her cheeks, down her nose, and across her lips. She wanted to close her eyes, overwhelmed by his tenderness, but she couldn't. She was captured by his eyes.

And then it broke out of him, something she hadn't seen on him in a long time – his full-blown flyboy smile, the one that had captured her heart that very first time he had ever flashed it at her, even though she would never admit it. She didn't think she had ever been this happy before in her life.

He picked her up under her arms and twirled her around until she was cheering with joy, feeling free and young and carefree and ecstatic. When at last he stopped, she looked down on his face and gave him the answer that had taken her years to reach.

"I'm ready. You?"

He slowly led her slide down until her feet were back on the ground, but didn't relinquish his grasp on her. Holding her eyes with his piercing gaze, he cemented their future.

"I love you Mac. Let's get married."

THE END