White Lie
A/N - Takes place beginning/mid-season 8. Reaction to Meredith harassing Harm for the flying lessons, and how he'd try to weasel out of 'em. I am going to throw in a bit of romance here and there.
Friday...
"If anything in this world is horrible, that was it," he exclaimed as he threw his hands up in the air. "I swear to God. I respect the Admiral and Meredith more than anyone could imagine, but the woman just didn't get it!"
"She stepped on the rudder?" Mac arched and eyebrow and took a demure sip of her tonic water through the straw, trying to hold back a smile. "Even I didn't do that."
"Mac, you got were borderline unconscious one time, nearly puked on the back of my helmet the other, but you were still a better flying partner than her," Harm smiled, "and I don't say that too often."
"I appreciate it," she murmured as she slid off the barstool and dipped forward graciously as she suppressed a snort. "I'll be right back."
She turned around without waiting for a response and left in the direction of the restroom. He sighed and folded his arms over the bar. His mind drifted to the mishap in Afghanistan, and its aftermath.
As much as he had hated to admit it, being with Bud in the new house was awkward. Harm had tried to strike up some conversation with Harriet, in hope that his friend would join in, but he failed to emit that joviality that characterized him so well. Despite Harriet's tireless efforts to involve Bud with the guests, it would end up being just him and Mac, sharing surreptitious, quick glances at one another of mixed embarrassment and doubt. What would they do, to help Bud, if he wasn't allowed back?
"Hey, you ok?" Mac brushed her fingers across his shoulder boards tentatively from behind. "Lost you for a minute."
"Fine," Harm sighed. He glanced to the nearest table, where a young woman, no older than twenty-five, shot him a shy smile. She took a long, shuddering drag of her cigarette, which had been worn down to a mere nub, and crushed it into the small ashtray that sat in the middle of the table. He averted his eyes. "Want to carpool over to Bud and Harriet's this weekend?"
She nodded, but furrowed her brow. "Their house is nice." She sat down beside him again and pushed her empty glass back slightly. "Harriet has good taste."
"I think Bud likes it too," he replied. "He's improving." He knew Mac would catch his hesitancy. After all, she always had before.
"What's wrong, Harm?" she asked as she fingered the Marine Corps ring on her finger idly.
"I don't know," he admitted. "You know I feel this overwhelming sense of happiness that Bud's alright. I know he'll recover – I've never met a more persistent, determined or steadfast man, but…"
"He didn't deserve it," Mac finished. "People like Bud shouldn't get hurt like that. People with four year old sons, loving wives, people as nice as Bud."
He nodded. "Jesus, if it'd been me…"
"Don't say that," Mac swallowed hard, "don't be stupid."
"If it were me," he continued, "a lot less people would've suffered from loss. Bud has more to live for, we both know that."
"You act as if no one cares about you," she snapped, "that's being stupid."
"Really?" He pulled out a few dollar bills from his wallet and threw them on the polished oak surface in front of him. "If I were even half as lucky as he is, I'd have a family."
"You've had more than enough opportunities," Mac said. "Like Renée, she was just waiting for you. If you'd just made a move, you would have had a band around your finger."
"And six months later, it'd have been off – along with half my stuff," he laughed. "I'm talking about finding someone like Harriet."
She slapped his arm quickly. "She's taken, Harm."
He shot her a pointed look and got off the stool in a huff. "You know what I mean."
"I know," Mac sighed and followed him.
They went to the coat rack in silence. He pulled her jacket from the top hook and held it out to her. She draped it over her arm and nodded out towards the exit, and he went obediently.
"He'll make it," she said, "and if he needs a little nudge or two, he's got two of his friends advocating for him. The best and second best attorneys at JAG."
"Mac, you're not second," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "…third at most."
"Oh yeah?" she arched a brow as they walked down the street to their parked cars. "I take it back then. The best and most annoying JAGs will be helping Bud out. You're the most annoying by the way."
He put his hands up in mock surrender. "I had no idea."
"Taking Meredith up again next weekend?"
"I think so…" he sighed, losing his joviality. "Unless something really big pops up."
Chegwidden would probably find a tactful way to nudge him into the flying lessons again. It wouldn't be an order, because that would step over his lines as a superior officer. However, it wouldn't be a total open-ended question either, because then Harm could just say 'no'. It would be worded in such a way that he would feel bad about weaseling out of doing the Admiral a favor.
"Like what?"
He let his hands drop down and sighed greatly. "Like…having a near-fatal car accident, or me getting the Ebola virus or-"
"I get it." She jabbed him with her elbow and rolled her eyes. "Say you have plans, if he brings it up again."
"Plans?"
"Oh, I don't know, with a person maybe?"
"Sergei is gone, Mac. I have no one else," he said sharply. The veracity behind the words stung, and he hung his head down in bitter disappointment.
"Make up a woman," she said as if was the simplest thing in the world. "I'm sure the Admiral would approve of you getting out of the office once in a while."
Harm slowed his pace notably. The car was still quite a ways off, since the block had been considerably busy after they had headed out after work. He was in no hurry to end the conversation. "Oh yeah? What would her name be?"
"Doctor Elizabeth…Vandelay," she laughed.
"You mean like Art Vandelay? Mac, I'm not going to be dating someone named after a Seinfeld character."
She continued without skipping a beat. "…and she could be a neurosurgeon or neurological specialist. That's a very interesting field." He arched an eyebrow and she smiled at his dubious reaction. "Need to dumb it down, a bit, eh? Why not an accountant."
Harm needed a successful woman, someone to challenge him and stack up to his aviator ego. Even if an initial glance at Renée screamed bimbo, Mac did eventually realize the woman had an air of intelligence about her. To herself, Mac changed that notion. Rather than outright intelligence, Renée had 'feminine wiles'; just the thing that Harm seemed so enraptured by.
"Boring," he yawned theatrically, covering his hand over his mouth and all. "Need more excitement."
"Clothing designer?" He stuck out his tongue at her, whether in disgust or amusement, she didn't know. It was a gesture that he really wouldn't show to anyone but her. "What's wrong with clothing designer?"
"Shallow. Too shallow," Harm muttered as he shook his head fervently.
She brought her hand to her chin and studied the cracks on the pavement as they walked on. "Business executive."
Harm tilted his head and sharply inhaled a breath. "On TV they always seem like such harpies, yammering on their cell phones day and night, all that."
"You don't own a TV," she pointed out.
"Well," he frowned at her visibly, even in the dim light, "I don't live under a rock, you know."
He certainly was being choosy. "Fine, how about," she thought for a moment, "another lawyer."
He crossed his arms and stopped. They had reached the car, but his expression bid her to continue. "You know the movie, Adam's Rib? I recall one character saying something about why lawyers should never marry other lawyers."
"Why's that?" She was embarrassed to feel her heart fall slightly, but recognized that familiar underlying raillery in his voice.
"Idiot children who become more lawyers. I think many people see us as the scum of the earth," he said with a laugh. "But continue, I'm interested in Ms. Vandelay."
"She'd be very good at what she does," Mac said and leaned against the hood of his Lexus, "and a hard worker, that Liz Vandelay. Not that scummy, if you ask me."
"What type of law is she into?" For a reason unknown, he had suddenly become immersed in this little game. It was stupid, childish even, but he indulged.
Mac peered at the light overhead. "What type of law would you like?"
"I don't know," he decided after a moment and traced his foot around the manhole on the ground. "Surprise me."
"Corporate for all the big D.C. companies," Mac said, "and she's 5 foot 9, drop dead gorgeous blonde, and leggy, just like you like em'. It'd be like she had a big label stamped on her forehead – 'Harmon Rabb's dream woman'."
"I'm not some gawking teenager," he muttered.
"Alright," she drawled and shrugged coolly.
Harm nodded, ignored Mac's comment, and watched her as she tapped her foot on the ground steadily to some unheard tune. He came and half-leaned, half-sat against the hood with her. "So, if the Admiral asks me to take Ms. Cavanaugh out in Sarah again, I just say 'Unfortunately, Sir, I have plans with a charming woman, Ms. Elizabeth Vandelay. She's actually a lawyer, small world, huh?' and that'd be the end of it?"
"Exactly," Mac smiled and gave his thigh an affirming pat. "Now, you're getting it. And if it doesn't work, it's a money back guarantee."
"I didn't spend any money-" he began.
"You're buying me a pizza," she interrupted as she slid off the car and started towards the passenger side. "All this advice isn't free you know, and I'm giving you a discount."
He elicited a low chuckle and went to his own seat, revved up the engine, and started towards the nearest pizza place. Going out with Sarah Mackenzie as payback for anything was generally a win-win situation.
TBC