Midnight Musings I

October 20, 2003

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. If I did, things might be more like this.

Author Notes: Thanks to the English poet Richard Lovelace and his wonderful poem, "To Lucasta, Going to the Wars."

Thanks as always to my betareader who keeps me on the straight and narrow.

Feedback welcome at aerm1@aol.com.

I think I've finally figured something out. And I'm chagrined to realize that it has taken me seven years to understand something really basic about Harmon Rabb, Jr. I once told him he makes simple things complicated. He replied that I make complicated things simple. But in this case, I'm the one who made a very simple thing complicated.

A lot of people, women mostly, have spent an incredible amount of time trying to understand the man. Most of them, unable to do so, have then tried to change him. Allison Krennick tried to have a relationship with him so that she could control him. (Wonder if she ever heard that old line about trying to tame the wind?) Annie Pendry tried to change him into a domestic house cat. (How blind was she? If Harm is a cat, he's a panther -- strong and sleek, stalking his prey through the jungle. Definitely not domesticated.) Jordan, at least, thought she could handle him being in the Navy -- just as long as the only flying he did was courtesy of a ticket and a boarding pass. (Couldn't she see that flying is to Harm what breathing is to the rest of us?)

Which brings me to Renee Peterson. I will never forget telling Mic that any man who went out with her must either be a sugar daddy or a "boy toy." Mic smirked and said, "You got it." And I turned my head to see Harm sit down at the restaurant table with the Video Princess. Renee had to have been the all-time champion of trying to change Harm. She wanted him to leave the Navy -- even though what attracted her to him in the first place was the way he looks in Service Blues. (Can't really blame her for that attraction. The man does look good in uniform.) I guess maybe she wanted him to be available to decorate her arm 24/7. Thank goodness one of them finally came to their senses. (Still can't get over her marrying a mortician, though. Talk about being downwardly mobile!)

Even I, the one woman who should have understood him, tried to change him one ill-fated night. I tried to get him to have a romantic relationship with me. What could be more logical? We were both attracted to each other from almost the moment we met. That was obvious. And the longer we worked together, the closer we became. We were best friends. What better combination, right? And I have to admit, I was fairly confident that he was interested in taking our relationship a step further. So I pretty much propositioned him on a ferry in Australia. And for my pains, he told me that he couldn't do it. Thinking back, he actually said he couldn't do it "yet." But I didn't really pay attention to that part.

At the time, I was blinded by hurt. In my reaction to that pain, I hurt him even worse. I went out with Mic two nights later and wound up taking his ring. If Harm had looked like a deer in the headlights on that ferry, he looked like a pole-axed steer in the airport three days later. I wonder sometimes if I took that ring, not because I wanted a relationship with Mic, but because subconsciously I wanted to shock Harm into letting go and giving me what I wanted -- a family and a home. It shocked him all right. Right into the waiting clutches of the Video Princess.

I should have known that Harm would have a difficult time making the decision to let go of a decade and a half of adherence to the rules and regulations that govern our lives. For us to enter into a romantic relationship, one of us would have to give up the slot at JAG headquarters. And I know, romance is all right within a chain of command. It's marriage that would be a problem. But Harm and I both have always known that if we ever get it together, it's going to be forever -- white picket fences, two point five kids and a minivan. (Well, I may pass on the minivan. We could keep Harm's SUV.) And Harmon Rabb has trouble letting go of things. For a cocky aviator, he's the most insecure man I know when it comes to relationships. So I can see why he would be nervous, heck, downright terrified, about risking the loss of a friendship in order to take a chance on romance.

It was really unfair of me to tell him what I did on that ferry that night. I can still remember that conversation as if it were this afternoon. I had teased him about me going topless on the beach; and embarrassed, he had looked away at the bridge and said, "They wrote eternity in lights on that bridge on New Year's Eve." I asked him if that was how long we were going to have to wait.

And then he said, "Mac?"

And I said, as if it made a difference, "We're not in Washington. We're not even on the same continent."

"Location doesn't change who we are."

"Most men would disagree with you."

"I know. I disagree with myself sometimes too."

"You just can't let go, can you?"

"Not yet."

Stupid, stupid, stupid. The man said not yet. Looking back, I realize that he was unready to shake up his life right then. It had been less than a year since he had changed his designator and gone back to flying. And less than four months since he had done a 180 and come back to JAG. Poor Harm really would have had trouble with that much more change in his life right then. Come to think of it, he still didn't really feel at home in Washington yet. No wonder he was taken aback when I blindsided him like that. The Admiral would have had both our oak leaves for breakfast had we gone to him right then and asked him to figure out a way for us to be together and not mess up work. So any relationship would have had to have been kept a secret. That would have never worked for the man who once told Bud, "The truth is everything." He could have never been comfortable, much less happy, while living a lie.

The poet Richard Lovelace could have been describing Harm when he wrote, "I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not honour more." So simple. So Harm.

The End