Title: To Dance With Possibility

Author: Pixie

Wordcount: 1,817

Rating: Suitable for everyone

Prompt: For Deemus, who said “What if Mic hadn’t shown up at the end of Surface Warfare?”

A/N: For those of you who aren't quite sure where Surface Warfare fits in the grand scheme of the JAG timeline, it's the last episode in season 5, so it takes place several episodes after Boomerang, and an entire season before Lifeline.


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People came in pairs to these things, like animals to the Ark. And though she’d never admit it to anybody, she was painfully aware that she was messing with the numbers, screwing up the balance. The chair next to her at dinner had remained stubbornly, awkwardly empty, and everybody had avoided looking it until a waiter had removed it with a soft-spoken apology. They hadn’t been told, he'd said, that their table was to seat only seven guests instead of the customary eight.

Mac had rolled her eyes and turned away. It was Harm who murmured a quiet thank you and shifted his chair to close the mocking gap.

The dinner had lasted forever. And then there were the speeches. And by the time the dancing started, Mac was desperate for some fresh air. She’d wanted to run to the open French doors and through them to the patio beyond. To the sweet anonymity of cool darkness and fireflies.

She hadn’t run, though. She’d managed a dignified stroll instead, a fact of which she was really quite proud. And when she finally stood by the low stone wall, she inhaled a deep breath of the cool night air and blew it out on a sigh of relief. Below her, wide stone steps led down to a paved walkway and then through a flower garden dressed in its formal best, complete with thousands of tiny lights that sparkled in the moonlight. Lilac scented freedom beckoned to her from the shadows.

A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that nobody was looking her way. Her shoes tapped out a quick rhythm down the steps. At the bottom she slipped them off. She'd probably ruin her stockings, but right now she didn't give a damn. All she wanted was to distance herself from noise, and lights, and crowds--to disappear into the shimmering silence of fragrant greenery that wouldn't ask questions or offer sympathy.

“You okay?”

She jumped, spun, and blew out a startled breath that faded into a smile when she saw who it was. “Yeah. I'm fine. Just...It's a little stuffy in there. I needed some fresh air.”

He glanced back the way he'd come. Music and light spilled out of the open doors, brightening the edges of the night. "Come on," he said. "Walk with me."

Raising her eyebrow, she tilted her head. "What about Renee?"

He dismissed the question with a wave of the hand. "She's caught herself a senator. She'll be fine. Besides, I could use some fresh air, too. All that politically correct conversation is stifling."

She searched his eyes for a moment before nodding. Then, with a quick smile, she turned and headed down the path.

The flagstones were cool beneath her feet, damp with moisture from the sprinklers-- smooth and safe and somehow comforting. She curled her toes into their edges, felt them snag at the fine silk of her stockings, and reached out a hand to sweep drops of water from the glossy green leaves of a lilac bush. Harm stayed by her side, his arms swinging easily as he walked, his eyes, like hers, on the stones at their feet. They'd left the ballroom behind, but the music followed them, drifting through the shadows on rose petal wings.

Mac slipped her eyes sideways--up and over the gleaming white jacket, past the bright colored ribbons, and on to the gold wings, his badge of honor, emblem and connection to past, present, and future. What manner of man was this? And who would answer the question, should she ever have the courage to ask it? The pilot? The lawyer? The son? The friend? Or would he just answer as a man?

"You're awfully quiet tonight," he said, the low tones of his voice mingling with the floating murmur of a solo violin.

She shrugged. "Tired, I guess. It's been a long week." It was a half truth, shades of honesty hiding loneliness.

He glanced over at her. "Hear anything from Brumby lately?"

"Yesterday," she said, nodding. But Mic was the last thing she wanted to talk about tonight. Her relationship with him was so...murky, as though when she was with him, she was someone else--someone not quite Mac, but not quite Sarah, either. She shook her head, putting the depressing thought aside.

They rounded a bend in the path and came upon a small fountain. Water bubbled up and spilled over to trickle down a graduated series of clamshells that caught the water, held it, and then overflowed into the clamshell below. Her relationship with Harm was rather like that water, she thought whimsically. It had started small, but it kept spilling over into more and more areas of her life. Where, she wondered, would it stop?

"Are you happy, Harm?" The question surprised her as much as it seemed to surprise him. She hadn't meant to let the thought get away from her like that.

He turned to her, his eyes sharp, inquisitive. Lawyer eyes. "Are you?"

She shrugged and turned away to cup her hand under the falling water. "I'm not sure I even know what happy feels like."

His eyes were on her--she could feel their warmth--but she kept her own gaze on the water as it slid across her skin in a million silky ripples and then fell away, moving on. Always moving on.

"Hey." He caught her shoulders and turned her to face him. His fingers were warm on her bare skin. "Give it time, Mac. Things will work out. They always do."

"Do they?" Those elusive things--the gorilla in the room, the elephant in the closet, the unnamed...whatever it was between them that made her feel, always, as though she were just half a step this side of insanity--would they really work out?

"Yeah," he said. "They do."

The music had changed while they talked, mellowed and blended into a smooth waltz that called to them through the lilac scented air. Harm tilted his head, listening. Then he smiled and extended his arms to her.

"Dance with me."

She blinked. "Here?"

"Why not?" He made a point of looking around. They were alone, hidden from the ballroom by trees and shrubs and darkness. "Can't I dance with a friend?"

They were friends. Good friends. Best friends, even. What harm could come of a single dance?

She took a breath, trying without success to slow the sudden rush of her heart, and stepped forward. His fingers closed over hers, his other arm went around her waist, and he eased into the music, his eyes holding hers as they slipped through the shadows.

He was an excellent dancer, as she'd known he would be—graceful and lithe, with perfect rhythm and self-control. They moved with the music, flowing in and around the notes, and gradually the careful distance between them narrowed as Mac gave in to the moment, closing her eyes and trusting herself to his guidance.

Around and around they went; the stones firm beneath her feet, the night air soft against her skin, the music of violins and falling water echoing in her ears. Lilacs and roses perfumed the air, but under those scents, a deeper, distinctly masculine aroma tickled her senses, luring her closer.

Without warning, he spun her into a twirl, and she laughed as her dress swirled around her ankles. His answering smile was warm as he pulled her back in and then swung her out again, and Mac spun on her toes this time, ballerina style, and pretended, just for a moment, that he was hers and she was his and they were going to live happily ever after—the lucky princess and her handsome prince.

The music slowed then, still a waltz, but stately now, and he pulled her in close and she tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her arms around his neck and they swayed more than danced. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, and the music played on, but she knew it was nearing an end, and she willed it back, wished it away, demanded in her mind that it go on forever.

But it didn’t go on forever. It couldn’t. And as the last note faded on the night air they drifted, slowly, to a stop. She didn’t move, didn’t pull away, didn’t lift her head from his shoulder or unwrap her arms from around his neck even though she could’ve sworn she heard the trumpet of an elephant in the distance.

Soft wool brushed against her cheek as he took a deep breath, and when he sighed, regret whispered through her hair.

“I should get back. Renee’s probably starting to wonder where I am.” But his arms tightened around her waist, and he made no move to step away.

Renee. And Mic. And their careers. The elephants were louder now, and though Mac desperately wanted to ignore them she knew she couldn't. The repercussions would be too great--for both of them. Reluctantly, she let him go and stepped back.

"You're right," she said. "You should go." She didn't want him to. In fact, it was everything she could do to keep her hands at her sides instead of fisting them in his uniform and begging him not to leave her. She turned away from his searching gaze.

"Mac..."

She fisted her hands at her sides. "We can't do this, Harm. Not now. Not like this. Not with...everything else."

He was quiet for so long that she'd begun to wonder whether he'd left her after all when his quiet voice at her shoulder made her start. "What if, Mac? What if there were no Renee? What if there were no Brumby? What if...?"

"What if horses could fly?"

He laughed softly. "Something like that."

She turned to him then, her eyes searching for his in the darkness. "Maybe someday we'll find out."

"You'd be okay with that?" Surprise and hope mingled in his voice.

One step forward, she thought. Granted, it was a small step, but maybe this time they could skip the two steps back. "Yeah." She reached out to straighten his medals. "I would."

In the distance, somebody was calling Harm's name. Renee, probably. He winced and glanced over his shoulder. Beside them, water slid over the edges of the clamshells.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he said, and swept the backs of his fingers against her cheek.

His fingers were warm against her skin, and she tilted her head into his touch. "I'm counting on it."

He smiled at her then, and she smiled back, and then he brushed his lips across her forehead and was gone before she could gather her wits enough to respond.

As he disappeared into the darkness, the fountain sang of the future and violins danced in the rose bushes. Mac hugged her arms around herself and spun a slow circle on the balls of her feet, a blur of red silk glowing in the moonlight. What if, indeed.