For it becomes your destiny.

Author's note: Every once in a while, you stumble across a saying that you have to take to heart, or, in this case, develop into a story. I hope you like it.

Spoilers: What should have happened right after Mac took Mic's ring.

Disclaimer: Don't own the saying, don't own the characters. Don't own this computer. Come to think of it…I don't own all that much. Poor me. Oh well.

On with it.

Watch your thoughts, for they become words…

It didn't bother him. Not at all. So what if Mac was wearing another man's ring, just because he was too chicken to let go. Let go of what?

Besides, it was still on her right hand, not her left. They weren't engaged. So there was still time. Not yet never meant not ever, so there still was time. Time to let go. Let go of what?

Of his insecurities, his past, his upbringing. Of the uniform him was so conveniently hiding behind. Till he found the man beneath it all and deemed him worthy. Of her love, her attention…if she was willing to give it when faced with just the man.

He hadn't said all this to her, hoping she would understand without the words. He scowled in self-contempt. He was supposed to be a lawyer, a razor sharp litigator, ready to say anything to get the court to see his way. More often than not, they did. But when it came to words to convince just one of them, just one person of matters close to the heart, he clammed up. Of course, Mac wasn't just a person, but still.

He should talk to her. Try and make her see. He did want her. A future. He just couldn't commit himself right now. He just couldn't let go. Let go of what?

Choose your words, for they become actions…

Days had passed, and the only good thing was that the ring remained on the right finger. Upon her return, the entire bullpen had gathered around her as she did the whole show and tell thing. He carefully huddled in the background, not giving opinions, not joining in the chorus of congratulations.

He knew he had to talk to her someday.

He thought he'd found an opportunity when, on a dreary, rainy day, they got stuck inside the break-room together to go over some settlement.

He was watching her hands intently as they played with the pen she was holding, tapping it against her folder as she was lost in thought.

Before he knew it, the words were out.

"I see you haven't made up your mind yet. What are you waiting for?"

She looked up, startled, but caught on when she followed his gaze, which was currently resting on her right hand. On the ring.

She sighed, obviously not liking the distraction. Her answer came out as gunfire, aimed directly at his heart.

"I should ask you the same thing commander. Oh wait, I did."

He stood so fast his chair swayed severely before it keeled over and hit the floor with a thud only muffled by the room's thick carpet. He didn't know why, but he felt he needed the advantage of his height. What kind of a man did that make him? He didn't want to think about that.

"Yes, you did. And I gave you an answer!"

Now she stood too, precariously shifting her chair and getting up in one swift elegant motion. Not even the dust bunnies in the room seemed to be deterred. The same action and still so different. His blown fuse against her cold rage.

"Not yet can hardly be considered an answer, Commander."

He made a grab for his briefcase, pulling out his day-planner, roughly turning some pages, leaving them creased and smudged. He didn't care, didn't even notice. He threw the black, leather bound object across the table in her general direction and she caught it just before it would slide onto the floor.

"Set a date, Major."

"For what exactly?"

"Either for your engagement or for the day I'm supposed to be ready. You figure it out."

"Impossible man! How am I supposed to know when you're ready when you don't even know."

"That's the point, Mac! I don't know. Honestly, I don't know when I can let go, but if you're giving me an ultimatum, I'd like to know about it."

"And force you into letting go, so you can just go on and put the blame on me when things go wrong? Rub it in my face every chance you get?"

"If you're so convinced things will go wrong between us, than what was that suggestion on the ferry all about? Just a roll in the hay? An itch to scratch?"

Not noticing her face gone bleak, he effectively finished their death match.

"Tell me something, Mac. Would you still have taken his ring after you slept with me?"

He hardly heard the door slam as his hand quickly shot up to caress his burning cheek where the outline of her hand could still be seen. Including, ironically, the imprint of her ring.

Understand actions, for they become habits.

For the next few days they avoided each other, which was nothing new. They communicated either by e-mail (only business) or with the interference of their coworkers. He wasn't willing to make any declarations out loud, childishly refusing to be the first to admit the painful outcome of their fight, or to apologize for his fateful part in it, but he hated the tension between them. No more shared lunches, no more weekends with pizza and a movie. He missed her, but feared that things were beyond repair.

Mac had long since regretted slapping him, he had long since forgiven her (she had every right to do exactly that), but both their stubborn natures prevented them from voicing their regrets.

It drove their coworkers crazy, he was well aware of it. They all acted like nothing was wrong, though, used to it as they were by now. They all knew it was just their habit. They knew they just had to wait out the storm, even if this one was the worst so far.

But meanwhile, as another habit, he still spotted that tiny ray of hope, that last straw.

There was still time.

The ring hadn't been moved. Yet.

Study your habits, for they become character

It took too long. He'd kind off hoped she would be the one to succumb under the stress first. He'd half expected she would have shown up on his doorstep by now, deli-bags in tow. He fondly remembered the first time they'd shared a meal like that. She was so relaxed, completely undeterred by the fact they were sitting on his bed, laughing and joking with him. Ah…the good old days.

What had happened after that?

Simple. He'd fallen in love. And he wasn't ready to let go yet.

Let go of what?

He'd had all the time in the world to think about that. Mac hadn't budged first. Was still not coming to him, was still wearing another man's ring. Still hadn't given him an ultimatum.

But that couldn't take long. The ring was beautiful, the promise that came with it even more and he was offering nothing in return, nothing that could match the other guy's generosity. The life she wanted, the life she deserved. All because he wasn't ready to let go. Let go of what?

Of his past? His dad? That should no longer be an excuse. He'd sorted it out, she was there for the most part of it. Of his military training? The rules of conduct? Thinking about it, even he had to admit it was more an excuse than an impossible obstacle. Look at Bud and Harriet, for example.

Of Diane?

No. Much as he had loved her, she was in his past and should stay there. Thanks to Mac and her forgiving nature (not this time, pal), he'd been given a unique chance to literally kiss her ghost goodbye, so mostly, he was at peace with her death now.

Then what was it he needed to let go of?

Of himself. Of his character. His flaws and his fear of letting them show. Of his need to be superman. Of the hiding place and sometimes prison that was his uniform and the Naval career it represented. Of the excuse that this was "just who he was". It was nothing more than that, an excuse. A pathetic one.

An unnecessary one. Mac knew the man behind the dress whites and gold wings, hell, she even seemed to take a liking to him. It was his own fear of being found inferior that had driven them to this.

With new determination, now knowing exactly what to do, he grabbed his jacket and car keys. He had someplace he needed to be.

Develop you character, for it becomes your destiny.

Please let her be home, please let her open the door, please let her open her heart, please let that damned ring still be on her right hand, please let me have just one more chance. He was doing a lot of pleading on the memorized drive to her apartment building, was still praying when he took the stairs to her floor, too restless to wait for the elevator.

He heaved a sigh, mumbled 'Go Navy' to himself and pounded on her door.

It took a while, a very long while before it was opened. Her eyes looked it him, guarded and tired, lacking their normal spark. He cursed himself, knowing he'd extinguished that spark himself.

"What do you want, Harm?"

Stay focused. This is it. No more running. Just stay focused.

"We need to talk."

Did they ever. But she still wouldn't let him in.

"Talk."

"Don't you think we should do this inside?"

She shrugged and let him in without any comment, leaving him to close the door. She didn't offer him a seat, didn't sit down herself.

"Talk."

An idea hit him.

"Come with me."

He gently dragged her over to her kitchen, where her day-planner hung next to the fridge. Somehow, the mundane things like 'dentist appointment' and 'dry-cleaners', scribbled in her familiar handwriting, soothed him. See? She was just another human being, flaws and all.

Feeling a bit more steady, he rummaged in one of her kitchen drawers to find a pen. When he found one, he uncapped it and drew one single heart over the present date. Underneath, he wrote in big clear letters:

"Harm: Letting go."

He knew Mac had been watching him intently, heard her involuntary sharp intake of breath and the suspicious sniffling that followed it.

Without saying anything, she lifted her hand and traced the words as if they were written in Braille. She didn't try to stop the tears.

"Are you ready?"

Her voice was laden with unshed tears, quivering with anticipation. His was all the more clear.

"I am. With your help."

He turned to her, took both her small hands in his bigger ones, pulling them against his chest. She looked up at him, the spark flickering back to life.

"You'll have to be patient, Sarah. I can't change who I am overnight, but I'll try. I'll try my hardest."

He kissed the fingertips of her left hand.

"Someday you'll wear my ring, preferably on this side. If…if it's what you want. If I'm not too late."

As if the idea had suddenly just occurred to him, he took one tentative step back.

"Please tell me I'm not too late."

She took two steps forward, without hesitation, bridging the gap he'd just created. His breath was eerily shaky when he gathered her in his arms, letting go of the last part of his fear, never again letting go of her.

Behind his back, Mac pulled the ring off her right hand and placed it on the kitchen counter…

THE END