Disclaimer: I don't own them (although I am obsessed by them). Y'all know who they do belong to, or
you probably wouldn't be here.
Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb pulled up in front of his apartment building, turned off the ignition of his SUV, and sighed
tiredly. He'd been in Pensacola for the last six weeks getting his flight skills back up to par in preparation for his
next assignment. He had 72 hours before he had to report to the USS Patrick Henry to begin his second stint as an active
naval aviator. He was looking forward to his new assignment, but he was very tired. The years that had passed since he'd
gone through the training the first time had taken their toll on him physically and mentally. He planned to sleep for
twenty-four straight hours and then get things in order for his extended absence from his apartment. He'd told no one he
was coming home. He'd told himself that he wouldn't have time to see anyone anyway, but in truth, he just didn't want to
have to say good-byes all over again.
He had no thought now but sleep. He entered his apartment quietly and didn't bother to turn on the light. He knew the
way. He stripped off his shoes, jeans, socks and t-shirt on the way to the bedroom. He pulled back the blankets and sank
into the familiar comfort of his own bed with a sigh.
Before his tired brain could register that he wasn't alone, he found himself pinned to the bed, his right arm twisted
painfully underneath him, an arm across his throat, slowing but not complete cutting off his oxygen supply. A wiry body
lay atop his, and a familiar voice hissed, "Who are you and what do you want?! Speak up before I kill you!"
"Mac?" Harm choked. "What the hell are you doing?"
The figure on top of him rolled off, landing on her feet on the floor gracefully. He could hear her agitatedly shifting
her weight from one foot to another and guessed correctly that she was trying to rid herself of the extra adrenaline that
had just rushed through her body. He waited for her to say something or turn the light on, but she did neither. Questions
were racing through both their minds.
Finally, when his heartbeat had returned to normal, Harm got up and turned the bedroom light on. She stood there looking
at him, dressed in Marine issue shorts and a white tank top.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"*I* live here," he said. "What are *you* doing here?"
Mac stared at him. How could she explain this? How could she tell him how she came to be sleeping in his bed? How could
she tell him that in the days after he'd left, she'd felt as though some part of herself was missing? How could she tell
him that she'd been unable to sleep because she couldn't stop thinking about him? How could she tell him that the only
solace she'd been able to find was being here, among his things, in his bed? How could she ever say these things to him?
She couldn't. "I need to go," she said.
"You can't go." Suddenly his fatigue, which had been overwhelming moments earlier, was gone. "I think you have some
explaining to do."
"I wouldn't know where to begin," she said quietly, looking anywhere but at him.
"Start with what you're doing here," he said. His voice was neutral. She tried to read something in his tone anger,
disappointment, anything. There was nothing.
Mac thought furiously. Should she make up an excuse, then get the hell out of here? She could tell him her apartment was
being fumigated. That was a plausible reason for her being here. And he had left a key with her, just in case. Could she
outright lie to him just to save face? She'd just about decided she could when he spoke again.
"Come on, Mac. I come home and find you sleeping in my bed. You scare the hell out of me, choke me, nearly break my
arm, and threaten to kill me. The least you could do is explain why you're here."
She smiled then, a fleeting smile. "You were too easy, Fly Boy. What are you doing home anyway?"
"Nuh uh," he said, shaking his head. "You're not changing the subject. Start talking."
"Look, this is really awkward. I'll just get dressed and go and we can forget this ever happened." She picked up her
clothes and walked into the living room.
Harm moved quickly to get between her and the door. " Unacceptable. Besides, I didn't see your car. How would you get
home?"
"Same way I got here. Taxi."
"I'm not letting you take a taxi in the middle of the night. I'm also not letting you go until you tell me what's
going on."
"Would you believe my apartment is being fumigated?" she tried.
He smiled. "No, Maxwell Smart, I would not. Maybe if you had offered that explanation right away, I would have bought
it."
"Would you believe my apartment is infested with termites?" she tried again. He shook his head. "Would you believe I saw
a spider?"
"It's not gonna fly, Mac."
"Speaking of flying, how's it going?"
"Would you stop changing the subject!" he demanded. "Tell me what's going on." He was getting exasperated with her.
"Or else what?" she challenged.
"Or else nothing," he conceded. "Talk to me."
Mac sighed. He'd asked for it. She'd give it to him. Let him live with it as she'd done for the past few weeks. "Do you
remember the last time we talked?"
He nodded. He'd replayed that conversation in his mind a hundred times. He'd never forget it.
"You asked me what love had to do with it. Well, to me, it had everything to do with it. After you left, I had a hard
time sleeping, more so than usual. One night, I felt the need to be near you, so I came over here. It was late, and I
just slept here. It brought me peace, and I've just kept coming back. If I'd known you were coming home, I wouldn't have
been here." She couldn't tell him the rest how that first night she'd come here, she slipped into his bed, the sheets
still smelling of him, and cried herself to sleep; how no one at JAG even bothered to call her home phone number when
they needed her during off hours. There was much speculation in the office about where she was spending her nights, but
until they figured it out, they simply dialed her cell phone number. "Happy?" she said, hoping he would just drop it and
let her leave with what was left of her dignity.
"No," he said. "I'm a lot of things, but happy isn't one of them." That wasn't entirely true. He was very happy to see
her, despite the circumstances.
"So can I go now?" she asked.
"No. It sounds to me like there are issues we need to discuss."
"Why? It's obviously *my* issue, and I'll deal with it."
"Why do you say it's *your* issue?" he asked quietly.
"It's been six weeks, Harm. You haven't called, not even once, not even when you knew you were coming home. No e-mails.
No letters. Nothing. It's like you dropped off the face of the earth. If this were *our* issue, there would have been
something. Maybe it was better this way. Cold turkey. Like when I quit drinking."
"So you're saying your relationship with me is like being an alcoholic?"
"It's just as addicting and just as dangerous if I let it get out of control."
"Seems like maybe it already is," he pointed out.
Anger flashed in her eyes. "I'm glad I could stroke your over-inflated ego!" she spit.
"You know, you're beautiful when you're angry," he said. And when you're sad and happy and thoughtful, he added to
himself.
"I should have choked you when I had the chance," she said. "You are insufferable!"
"I'm sorry. But you are wrong about something. It's not *your* issue. I can't tell you how many times I've relived that
conversation in my office. I've come up with a hundred different variations, things I could have said differently, all of
them better than what I actually said. And about not getting in touch with you so many times, I picked up the phone to
call you. But what was I going to say? I wrote some eloquent letters to you, then ripped them up. I sensed you were
trying to tell me something that day, but I wasn't sure if I understood what it was. If I was wrong, I risked making a
fool out of myself."
"Having done that recently, let me tell you it's a really uncomfortable feeling," Mac noted.
"Could we sit down?" Harm invited. They sat on the couch. "Mac, I have these . . . feelings for you. I have for a while.
I'm not sure what they are. Maybe it's only lust," he said with a small chuckle. "I thought when I left that they would
go away, but they didn't. They got worse. I went to sleep every night thinking about you. I have no idea what all of this
means."
"I certainly can't explain it. If I was any good at explanations, I would have done some fancy talking and some fancier
walking the heck out of here. I'm still here, so . . ."
"What are we going to do?" he asked.
"I have a suggestion," she said quietly.
"Let's hear it."
"Well, you mentioned lust. I, too, have often wondered if what I felt for you couldn't be cured with a tumble in the
hay. Maybe we should find out."
Harm's eyebrows shot up. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"
Mac shrugged, pretending nonchalance she didn't feel, wondering if she'd made another huge mistake. "If you're not
interested . . ."
Harm interrupted. "I didn't say that."
"So you *are* interested?"
"Very. For scientific reasons only, of course," he explained with a smile. "Can we just . . ."
"What's the matter, Fly Boy? Out of practice?" she teased.
"As a matter of fact, yes, I am. But don't worry. It's like falling off a bicycle." She was looking at him in a way
which was hypnotizing. He suddenly became acutely aware that they were both nearly naked.
"Isn't that supposed to be *riding* a bicycle?" she asked.
Was he imaging things, or was she leaning closer to him? "Maybe," he said, lost in her eyes. She must have gotten
closer, because now their lips were touching. The kiss deepened in intensity when she scooted closer so that her leg
was touching his. She put a hand on his knee.
"Got any hay?" she whispered.
"You know the way," he breathed. "Better than I do, apparently."
She stood up and took him by the hand, leading him back to the bed. Moments later, she lay atop him, their few clothes
discarded, nothing between them but the sultry night. "Harm," she said. "This can't change anything between us. I won't
let it."
He nodded, not quite sure what she meant and, frankly, not caring at this moment.
He awoke and lay staring at her. The world seemed a different place this morning. She opened her eyes. "Good morning,
Sunshine," he said, kissing her on the forehead.
"Morning."
"I was thinking I'd take a shower and make you breakfast."
She smiled. "Sounds good."
He kissed her again, this time on the tip of the nose, and got out of bed. He whistled on his way to the shower. Their
first time had been fast and furious, and they'd both fallen asleep soon after. Mac had awoken him later, and their second
time had been much more leisurely and emotionally satisfying. It was also the reason for Harm's whistling.
Mac got up quickly. After their second time, she hadn't been able to sleep, and she had gotten out of bed to do some
thinking. She'd written a letter to Harm and intended to leave him then. She went in to kiss him one last time, and she
couldn't do it. She couldn't leave him just yet. She would lie down with him, hold him for a little while, and then
leave before he could try to stop her. The next thing she knew, it was morning and he was calling her sunshine.
Harm knew she was gone as soon as he stepped out of the shower. He found her note soon after and read it while still
wrapped in a towel.
*Harm:
I couldn't face another good-bye. Please forgive my cowardice. I told you I wouldn't let this change anything, and I
intend to abide by that.
I understand why you're doing what you're doing. I also understand that if you don't, you'll always wonder what might
have been. All I want for you is for you to be happy and to find peace within yourself. Maybe you'll come back one day
and we'll talk.
Please don't call me before you leave. I want last night to be what I remember.
Be good to yourself. Drop me a line now and then so I know you're safe.
Love, Mac*
With tears in his eyes, he said aloud, "I will come back to you, Sarah. That's a promise."