Author: lisa
Subject: August 2008 HBX Challenge - To Have and to Hold

This is unbetaed. Please excuse all mistakes.

A/N: This story is set during the season 9 episode, Posse Comitatus, which takes place not long after Harm returned to JAG. I know it isn’t a very popular season – it’s not one of my favorites either – but I hope the dialog I refer to is familiar. (In my opinion, that little exchange between Harm and Mac was about as close to a shipper moment as we got from the gorilla at the time.) This story is what I would’ve liked to have happened following that scene.

Special thanks to Hope who helped me out as I hadn’t seen this episode since it originally aired.


To Have and to Hold


Restlessly turning, tangled in the cheap cotton sheets, I glance at the glowing red light of the hotel alarm clock. 1:58 a.m. I should be asleep. Today’s investigation was exhausting and tomorrow promises more of the same. I usually have no trouble sleeping when away on a case. Years of coming and going, sleeping in noisy aircraft carriers, sparsely furnished VOQs, and strange hotel rooms have taught me to sleep pretty much anywhere – even in the rocky deserts of Afghanistan; on prickly pine boughs in the Appalachians; or a cramped chair in a Russian hotel room.

Staring at the ceiling, I think about those times that I’ve slept with Mac. Certainly not in the way I long to sleep with her. Not making slow, sweet love with her and falling asleep with our bodies entwined together in a tangle or arms and legs and love. Yet, those few nights when I have had her in my arms - doing nothing more than holding and protecting her - those rare nights have been more fulfilling than any passionate encounter I’ve ever had with other women.

And yet, the last time we shared a bed I didn’t hold her in my arms. Instead, I kept her at arm’s length – physically and emotionally. How would things be different if I hadn’t? If I hadn’t kept my hands to myself? If I hadn’t pushed her away with a snide ‘you can have him.’

Even though she pushed back with a ‘never’ and went back to her life at JAG while I was left out in the cold, like two magnetic forces, fate has once again drawn us together. We’re partners again. Friendly, if not exactly friends. We slipped back into the safe patterns of the past – bantering, competing, arguing over investigations. After six months away from JAG - away from her - six months of wallowing in hurt and anger and resentment, I suddenly woke up back in Kansas and found myself in the comfort of my old life. In some ways it feels as if nothing has changed, and yet things couldn’t be more different. Mac and I may have an unspoken truce, but underneath is a rift that is jagged and deep and, quite possibly, irreparable.

And that is the crux of why sleep will not come. Her head is resting just on the other side of the wall separating us, but the distance between us rivals the Grand Canyon.

I am thankful to be back at JAG, though. And I think she’s glad to have me back, too. Today, as we were debating - well arguing - the finer points of posse comitatus and our investigation, she suddenly stopped and her face lit with the smile that has always sent a spark of happiness to my soul. Although our relationship has been turned on its head, she once again demonstrated that she still ‘gets’ me like no one ever has before. “You really love this,” she had said. “The investigations, the interviews, and yes, our arguments.” And she’s right, I do love the challenge of investigating and the challenge of debating with her. I love that I know just how to get a rise out of her. I love that she is about the only one who can best me and leave me without a comeback. And lying here staring at the ceiling I can admit, if only to myself, the fact is I simply love her - although there’s nothing remotely simple about it.

Giving up on sleep, I sit up leaning against the headboard and catch faint sounds of music coming from the other side of the wall. Mac’s always battled insomnia and it seems she still does. Rising, I pull on a tee shirt, but leave my boxers, making my way to the door between our rooms. Another thing she’s always done when we’ve had adjoining rooms is leave her door unlocked. I always knew her intent. By unlocking the door between us she was giving me a silent invitation, a statement of welcome and trust and need. An opportunity to accept what she was offering – herself. Each time we traveled, after retiring to our respective rooms, I would hear that click as she unlocked the door. With that small sound her unspoken question asked once again, ‘are you ready to let go?’ And just like in Sydney and Paraguay and countless times in between, I always told myself, ‘not yet’.

Tonight I never heard the click, but this time I do turn the handle, hoping that Mac hasn’t completely given up on me, hoping that her invitation still stands. Maybe it’s time to let go. I smile as I find the door unlocked and silently swing it open.

My breath catches at the sight before me. Standing at the window with her back to me, she’s bathed in the ethereal light from the full moon shining upon her. She’s clad in a shimmery negligee and I grin at the thought that once again she didn’t leave the lingerie at home. The form of her body underneath the opaque fabric is silhouetted by the spotlight cast by the heavenly body of light, revealing each sensuous curve. Mesmerizing, arousing, beckoning. The light of the moon travels behind her in a path across the floor, leading from Mac to me. She’s not aware of my presence, seemingly lost in the view of the dark line of mountains out her window and the sultry music flowing from the small, bedside radio. It’s as if she’s one with the night - the darkness, the light, the mountains, the music. She sways to a dance all her own. She and the lyrics, a soulful mix of loneliness and longing.

I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last past Saturday night
And I’d like to know it’s more than love at first sight
And I want a Sunday kind of love

I want a love that’s on the square
Can’t seem to find somebody
Someone to care
And I’m on a lonely road that leads to nowhere
I need a Sunday kind of love

I’m enraptured as I watch her move while Etta James sings of love unfulfilled. I desperately wonder what, or whom, she’s thinking of. I catch a glimpse of her profile as she sways in the moonlight. Her expression sadly pensive, a wistful yearning that matches the aching need of my own heart.

…Oh I’m hoping to discover
A certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way

And my arms need someone
Someone to enfold
To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold
Love for all my life to have and to hold
Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love…

Her arms wrap around her waist as her movement slows. Her head lowers and I hear the distinct sound of sniffling. I cannot stand here and watch her cry. Without giving thought to my words, I intrude on the mystical moment. “It works better with your arms around someone.”

She gasps, and whirls around, immediately masking her tears. “Harm! You scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I couldn’t sleep and I heard the music... ” My voice trails off as our eyes connect.

“It’s okay. Obvious I can’t sleep either.” She walks over to the radio and turns it off and then seems to remember my comment. “What works better with my arms around someone?”

Her voice is little more than a whisper and I answer in kind - as if not to break the spell surrounding us. “Dancing. It works better with another person. And hugging…”

She smiles slightly. “Who’s to say I wasn’t with someone?”

Immediately I feel as if I received a kick in the gut as I think that she’s been dreaming of Webb holding her. I don’t filter the words that spring out at that thought. “Well, it’s too bad you’re stuck here with me instead of being with your spook boyfriend.” I don’t even try to mask the bitterness and hurt in my voice. “I apologize for interrupting your little fantasy…”

I’m cut short by her sharp response. “Stop it!” It’s not so much the volume of her voice that gives me pause; she still has barely raised her voice above a whisper. It’s the pain in her own voice.

“If you came in here to make another snide comment about pillow talk with Webb or taking his pants off - I don’t want to hear any more of it, Harm. I’ve told you before that I am not involved with Clay, other than as friends. But if you don’t believe that – don’t believe me – go ahead and think what you want. I’m done, Harm.”

I’m chagrined at her rightful implication. If there’s one thing I can count on is that Mac wouldn’t lie – especially to me. If anything, she’s always been brutally honest. My heart finally accepts what she’s told me before, what I should have known all along. It’s just that in the fallout of Paraguay, it was easier to accept what my mind construed while my hurt pride kept me from believing her.

Now I’m faced with one last chance to mend that rift between us. The three little words that have always been so difficult to say to her before, I now speak with all sincerity. “I’m sorry, Mac. If you say you’re not involved with Webb, well, I do believe you. It’s just when you said there’d never be an ‘us’ … Hell, Mac, it just hurt so damn much. It was easier to cast the blame on someone other than myself for that mess.”

I run a hand through my hair in frustration as I try to figure out how to put my jumbled feelings into words. Baring my heart does not come easily. Mac’s eyes haven’t left mine, but in the dim light I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Abruptly, she turns back to the window and I’m left staring at her back. A moment later she breaks the silence.

“You know, I never answered your question today.”

It takes a moment to recall what I had asked.

“If you’re glad to have me back?” I ask.

Still facing the window, she nods. “The answer is yes. These last six months, it nearly killed me to be away from you, to not know where you were, if you were safe. If someone was watching your back when I couldn’t. I realized I’m lost, Harm, without you in my life.”

The last sentence was spoken so softly, I barely heard it. But her quiet declaration reverberates throughout my being like a clanging gong. I move to stand behind her, placing my hands on her shoulders.

My voice, too, is hushed as I say, “You know, Mac, when I asked if you’re glad I’m back, that’s not the question I really wanted to ask. You said that I need JAG just as much as JAG needs me. But what I have to know, Mac, is if you need me half as much as I need you. Because I do need you, Sarah. And not just as someone to watch my back. And not just as the best partner and the best friend I’ve ever had. I need you like I need air to breathe. I’m glad to be back at JAG, but where I really want to be is back in your life and, if it’s not too late, in your heart.”

She turns to look at me, those big, brown eyes widened in surprise, and my hands fall to my side. “My interest has never faded, Mac. Not once. And if you haven’t given up on me, I’m finally ready to follow through.” Her breath catches in a shocked gasp as I utter the other three words that I haven’t been able to say to her. “I love you.” I’m surprised myself at how easily the words fell off my tongue.

Her face lights up and her smile rivals the beauty of the brightest moon. “I love you, too, Harm - so much. And the answer is yes.”

It’s my turn to be taken aback. “Wow, uh Mac, that’s wonderful, but aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves? I haven’t actually proposed - yet.” Afraid she’ll think I’m pushing her away, I rush on to add, “Not that I don’t want to, you’re it for me, Mac. It’s just a little sudden …”

I stop rambling as she rolls her eyes, shaking her head in amusement. She’s laughing at me. That’s a good sign - I think.

“That wasn’t the question I was answering, Harm. I was telling you, ‘yes, I do need you – I need you in my life, in my heart, my arms, my bed.”

I waggle my eyebrows and grin at the mention of bed.

She gives me a mock glare in return. “That’s a very nice smile, and I’m sure most of the time it gets you what you want….

I laugh at the memory. “How about this time? Will it get me you? Because that’s what I want more than anything. And I should have told you that years ago. You know, Mac, we’ve come full circle. We’re back where it all began – in Yuma.”

She turns to once again look out at the mountains. “You’re right. Red Rock Mesa. It seems so long ago, so much has happened…” Her voice has turned wistful and I imagine she’s thinking, as I am, of the years we wasted.

“But we’re still here, Mac. Red Rock Mesa brought us together all those years ago, and now it has again. Only this time there’ll be no more wasted time. In fact, I think it’s fitting that we’re making a fresh start here. Our place for new beginnings. What do you say we see about taking a day or two when this case is wrapped up and go back to Red Rock Mesa? You can take me ichnite hunting.”

She spins around and I’m pleased at the delighted expression on her face. “Really? I would love that! It’s been so long since I’ve been there. It was never the same without Uncle Matt.”

“Well, now you and I can make new memories together. There’s just one thing – no helos.”

She grins and echoes, “No helos. Besides, I’m not sure I could still pull you up. You’re not exactly a stick boy anymore.”

With mock indignation I reply, “Are you calling me fat?”

Mac smiles and places her hands at my waist and pinches. “Nah, all muscle.” She stretches up and silences my retort with a kiss. Her mouth moves over mine and my lips are quick to catch up. Just as I’m reaching for her, she backs away ending the kiss, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

Her amused look tells me that it’s written all over my face how affected I am by the kiss.

“You know,” she quips, “I’ve been told that it works better if you put your arms around someone.”

“What does?”

“Hugging… and kissing.”

“Oh really? So who were you imagining you had your arms around earlier?” My tone is light, but there’s still a part of me that needs affirmation that I’m the only one for her, as she is for me.

“Well, it wasn’t Webb, that’s for sure.”

I’m relived at her answer, but it doesn’t completely erase my insecurities. I hesitate, and silently ask for more.

Mac heaves a theatrical sigh. “You’re going to make me admit it, aren’t you? It was you, Harm. It’s your arms that I’ve always longed to be in.”

Inordinately pleased, I tease, “So, you say this hugging and kissing stuff works better with my arms around someone? And what someone should I put my arms around, I wonder?”

“Let me clarify, Sailor, it works better if you put your arms around me.”

“I think I better test that theory.” I enfold her in my arms, pulling her flush against me. Her eyes are bright with anticipation as my mouth lowers to hers as together we bask in the glow of moonlight and our love.


The End

A/N2: If you're unfamilar with the song "A Sunday Kind of Love" by Etta James, here's a link to listen to it: http://www.last.fm/music/Etta+James/_/Sunday+Kind+of+Love