A Promise Fulfilled

December 9, 2003

Disclaimer: I don’t own JAG or its characters. They are the property of Donald Bellisario and Belisarius Productions. No copyright infringement intended - I’m not making any profit from this!

Author Notes: This season (S9) has been a rough one for shippers. Before things get any worse, I wanted to get this out there: my shipper manifesto. I wrote this piece a long time ago but never posted it. Recently, I revised it to make it compatible with “A Tangled Webb, Pt. II.” This is my vision of how the series should end. (Assume that Webb and Catherine Gale are totally out of the picture.) Hope you enjoy it!

Mac’s POV

18 May 2004
Roberts’ Residence

I take advantage of this break in the festivities to step outside. Little A.J. has just finished opening his gifts and is now practically buried in an explosion of wrapping paper and shiny new loot. His parents are currently trying to extricate him so we can move on to the cake and punch portion of the agenda. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Harm slipping out onto our hosts’ veranda. I follow him, as I have been wont to do many times in the past.

As the door clicks shut behind me, my mind flickers back to another moment in time. Another party, another porch. So many moments have passed between us. This man and I have journeyed together to the brink of physical and emotional annihilation so many times, it’s a wonder either of us is still standing. But we are. The memory has barely registered when I realize he’s staring at me. It’s not a wary, defensive stare or a vacant, haunted one, and for that I am thankful. There’s a warmth and anticipation in his eyes, as if we’re sharing a private joke and he’s expecting me to deliver the punch line.

The problem is, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. There was a time I thought I’d never be able to be alone with him again without feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Or angry and bitter. Mercifully, none of these is the case. No matter how many times we dangle from the precipice, we always find a way to reel ourselves back. We always come back to each other.

Okay, maybe this is getting a little awkward. He’s still standing there, leaning against the railing with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes rake over me in a way that brings a flush to my cheeks. And I still haven’t said anything. I need to say something, so I do my best to bluff. It isn’t exactly scintillating conversation, but I can’t go wrong stating the obvious.

“Harmon, our godson is five years old! Can you believe it?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Do you remember the day he was born?”

Is he quizzing me? “Remember it – how could I forget? Bud trapped in the elevator, the Admiral playing midwife, you panting along with Harriet.” The memory brings a smile to my face. “That was quite a day.”

“And do you also remember the promise we made each other that day?” His eyes are boring into me, but other than that his expression is inscrutable.

I take a deep breath. We’ve certainly marched right into the lion’s den, haven’t we? And if I’m not mistaken, Harmon Rabb the Avoidant is leading the charge. Truth be told, it occurred to me that this might come up today. After all, Harm is nothing if not a man of his word. Funny, that he should be so undeniably a ‘man of his word’ and yet be so unforthcoming with certain words I’ve longed to hear from him. But I’m getting off track. Answer the question, MacKenzie. “I do. We agreed to have a baby together if we were both still unattached in 5 years.”

His eyes widen. “Well, here we are, 5 years to the day, and neither of us is otherwise involved.” He uncrosses his arms and instead laces his fingers in front of him.

“That’s true.” I press my lips together, as if that will stop me from saying more. God help me, I’m playing a mental game of chicken with a man trained in the art of dogfighting. We just stare at each other, and the silence begins to swell until I expect it to pop. Again, the twinkle in his eyes is taunting me. Finally the words burst from my mouth, along with a laugh. “Are we actually gonna do this?” My tone conveys just the right amount of skepticism and, I think, successfully masks the nervousness beneath.

On the other hand, his voice is as calm and smooth as if he’s negotiating a plea bargain. As if it’s someone else’s life, someone else’s future we’re discussing. “On one condition.”

I avert my eyes and try very hard not to visibly shake my head. Here it comes. Like a grenade, he’s going to lob some impossible condition at me, so he can get out of our deal without actually backing down himself. He simply can’t invest his emotions in such a personal gamble. So prepare to observe the master at work. I take another deep breath and ask as lightly as I can, “And what would that be?”

He pushes off from the railing and takes a few steps until he’s directly in front of me. “Marry me,” he says.

Even bracing for impact, I’m unprepared for this. A few seconds go by before I realize that I’ve stopped breathing. My body is perfectly still except for my heart pounding in my chest. I heard him quite clearly, but I could still use an outside ruling. Did commitment-phobic Harmon Rabb just propose? I remind myself to breathe.

Harm reaches inside his jacket pocket, producing a small velvet box. “Just so you don’t accuse me of temporary insanity,” he adds, opening the box and eliciting a small creak from the hinge. “See? Evidence of premeditation,” he jokes, the first sign of nerves I’ve detected in him thus far. Suddenly I’m face to face with a simple, elegant diamond solitaire in a gleaming band. Then Harm’s voice takes on a serious, almost reverent tone. “This is the ring my father gave my mother when they got engaged. After she remarried, she put it away for me, so that I could use it some day. I want you to have it.”

I feel like I’ve been hypnotized. I lift my hand to touch the box, half expecting my fingers to pass through it as they would through an optical illusion. But they make contact. It’s real. I’m completely at a loss.

Harm smiles at me tenderly. “So this is what it takes to make you speechless?” he muses, as if he’s just stumbled upon the Holy Grail of our relationship. I’m reminded of another conversation, when he told me that just once, he wanted me not to have a comeback. That was in a time of crisis. This isn’t exactly a crisis, but it requires equally clear thinking and rational action.

I have to pull myself together. He may have caught me off guard, but I will not stand here and gape like an idiot. I have something to say, all right. Like, what the hell are you thinking? Do you have no conception of how this sort of thing usually works? But then I realize he probably doesn’t – he’s probably never put himself in this situation before in his life. So I need to start off slowly, gently.

I pat the jewelry box. “Harm, put this away for a minute.” A shadow passes over his features, and he quickly snaps the box shut and pockets it. I can see the muscles in his jaw tighten, and I realize he’s steeling himself for rejection. My heart sinks a little. No, no, no. Don’t shut down on me yet. Just let us get through this. Just one unambiguous conversation about where we stand is all I ask. “Tell me something. I realize your experience with this is limited, but… Isn’t it customary for people contemplating marriage to at least date?”

He relaxes a bit and shrugs, though his fists are still balled in his pockets. “Assuming the purpose of dating is to get to know each other. You know me, Mac. The good, the bad, and the ugly. You’ve always known me better than anyone else has. And I think I know you pretty well.”

“No need for operating instructions?” I quip in a further attempt to loosen him up.

He smiles at the reference and matches my humor with his own. “Now, if I could get you to do what I wanted all the time, what would be the fun in that?” His expression sobers again. “I want you to be your own person, Mac. Your own thoughts, your own ideas. Believe it or not, I actually like it when you give me a run for my money. I don’t expect that to change. We’d both be bored stiff.”

He’s right – absolute harmony is too much to hope for with two people as strong-willed as we are. And we do know each other. After all these years, I certainly couldn’t argue that Harmon Rabb, Jr., is a stranger whose habits and flaws – and charms – are unknown to me.

Still, there’s something else missing here, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to ignore the pink elephant right under my nose. Here goes. “Isn’t it also customary for people in this situation to… exchange certain words of endearment?”

He smiles and casts his eyes downward. “The words… are important to you, aren’t they?” It’s a monumental insight for him, but perhaps not the first time it’s occurred to him.

“Is there any reason they shouldn’t be?”

“I just thought that with all we’ve been through, it would be obvious how I feel about you. Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘Actions speak louder than words’?”

“Don’t kid yourself, Harm. If the words meant nothing to you, you wouldn’t be bending over backwards to avoid saying them.” The words sound cold and harsh coming from my lips. I could just be trying to win that familiar old tug-of-war between us, but I’m not. Before I give this man an answer, I need to know where this proposal is coming from: is this a midlife crisis talking? Is it a sense of obligation to fulfill his promise, coupled with an old-fashioned sensibility that one should marry the mother of one’s child? Or is this coming from the heart? Because Harm’s heart is what I’ve always wanted most of all. And yes, I do need to hear it, not through actions or smoke signals or any other means, but in words. Plain, simple words. I need him to tell me whether this relationship will ever be the kind of soulful connection I’ve always imagined we could have together.

He arches an eyebrow in response, then says quietly, “Touché, Marine.” He looks down, taking my hands in his. “Okay, you want me to say it. I can do that.” He takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to dive into a deep pool, but when he looks up at me, his eyes bathe me in warmth and devotion. “I love you, Sarah. The truth is, I’ve been in love with you for years. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”

His voice and the expression on his face are so sincere that I don’t doubt him for a second. My face, however, betrays my shock and bewilderment. Why has he waited so long to tell me?

As if he’s read my mind, Harm rushes on, “I know I owe you an explanation for… keeping you hanging all this time.” Then he pulls me close, burying his lips in my hair, as if he can’t bear to deliver this confession to my face. As if he needs to siphon strength from me in order to get the words out. “Mac, so many people in my life – that I cared about, that I’ve loved – have been taken away from me. I got so accustomed to things ending badly that I think I just became addicted to the idea of us, and I never pushed for a resolution. As long as I didn’t admit my feelings for you, as long as I could just wonder and never know for sure how things would turn out, then there could never be an ending – good, bad, or otherwise. But I always believed, in the back of my mind, that we belonged together, and that someday we’d find a way to work it out.”

He’s holding me by the shoulders, as if I might slip away from him at any moment, but nothing could tear me from this spot. I listen, transfixed, as he continues.

“When I went through that fake wedding ceremony, and I realized what it would mean to make that kind of commitment, I knew you were the only woman I could ever say those words to. Then in Paraguay, when you said there was no chance for us…”

His voice falters, and I want to shore him up, pull him away from those feelings of despair. I tip my head back and ask teasingly, “I suppose you chose to ignore what I said about things never working out between us?”

He meets my gaze, and for a second there is a hint of a smile, and a flash of the old arrogance I know so well. “Oh, I heard you. I was disturbed by your lack of faith…” Then his eyes grow serious again. “…but I was scared. Scared that I’d lost you.”

Now it’s my turn to explain. “I was so angry then. I honestly believed it would be best if I just buried my feelings for you and tried to move on.” I stop abruptly, realizing Harm is hanging on my every utterance. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to hear the words. I reach up to caress his cheek with my fingertips and tell him softly, “But I know now that would never work. I love you too, Harm.”

Suddenly he’s crushing me to him and kissing me hungrily. I’ve imagined Harm kissing me with such reckless abandon before, yearned for it in fact, but the reality makes me cling to him for support. Gladly, I meld my lips and body to his. Only one thought goes through my mind: It’s enough. This man has bared his heart and mind to me in a way that, just this morning, I wouldn’t have believed he was capable. We could rehash all the pain, all the misconceptions and misunderstandings of the past, but all that really matters is that we love each other, and we’ll always come back to each other.

Minutes later, Harm stops kissing me and pulls away just enough for us to catch our breath. We both laugh self-consciously, a little embarrassed at how quickly we lost control. His breathing still ragged, he reaches into his pocket and produces the velvet box. “Can we revisit this now?” he asks, the hope and excitement in his voice unmistakable. He opens the box.

“It’s beautiful, Harm.” I’m feeling a bit shy at this onslaught of emotion.

He removes the ring from its crevice and falls to one knee. “Then say you’ll marry me.” The intensity and determination in his eyes assure me that we will not fail. Once this man commits himself to something, he’ll move heaven and earth to see it through. Right now, Harmon Rabb has the look of a man who would give anything for love, but then I already knew that. He’s proven before that he would do anything to keep me safe and happy – including, as he’s shown today, face his worst fears.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” I don’t have to wait long for his reaction. The words are scarcely out of my mouth before Harm springs up and embraces me, kissing my hair, my neck, my lips. Finding my hand, he slides the ring on my finger. His other hand cradles the back of my head as he recaptures my lips in a slow, sensuous kiss.

This time, I’m the one who pulls away. I want to imprint this moment on my brain, including the joyous light in his eyes. His thoughts, however, are running on an entirely different wavelength from mine. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice nearly purring with seduction, “I’ll let you be on top – part of the time anyway.” Luckily my hands are resting near his waist, so it’s no stretch to give him a quick punch in the ribs. He gasps, clutching his torso in mock pain, and grins broadly. “Hey, easy on the domestic abuse, Marine. We’re not even married yet.”

“Not yet – but soon?” It’s half declaration, half question. His answer is in the affirmative - another devastating kiss. He backs me up against a column, and somehow that physical barrier reminds us of our surroundings, along with the fact that we’ve been making out like wild things at a child’s birthday party. Exchanging a knowing look, we begin the process of composing ourselves – wiping the lipstick off his face, straightening my neckline. After another glance at the new addition to my jewelry collection, Harm opens the door for me, keeping his other hand on the small of my back. My body is still humming with desire for him, and I find myself wondering how long it will be before we make our excuses and race home to be truly alone together.

Back inside, they’ve obviously moved on to refreshments without us, but something tells me that’s not all they’ve been doing. Like the fact that all conversation comes to a halt when we walk through the door.

The Admiral barely looks up from his piece of cake before addressing us. “Commander, Colonel. Is there something you would like to share with us?”

Again, I’m amazed as Harm’s voice comes out as calm and cool as if he were reporting on the status of an investigation. “Ah, well, sir, I have just asked Colonel MacKenzie to marry me, and she has accepted. Sir.” Despite his best efforts to be decorous, he can’t suppress the smile spreading across his features. I can’t keep a straight face either, nor can I fight down the blush creeping up my cheeks.

Another beat of silence passes before our C.O. cracks a smile himself, and the rest of the house erupts in cheers and congratulations. The Admiral approaches us, first giving me a quick hug and then extending his hand to Harm. Meredith follows, and no sooner has she released me than Harriet engulfs me in a huge bear hug, while Bud congratulates Harm. Everywhere I look is a sea of smiling faces.

The Admiral turns to Harriet. “Lieutenant, would you provide the happy couple with some punch? I’d like to make a toast.” Harriet scoots off, only to return with two cut-glass cups of punch, which she hands to Harm and me. The Admiral picks up his glass, and everyone else scrambles for their own. “Well, Commander,” the Admiral begins, “I don’t know how you managed to hoodwink the Colonel into this, but damn good for you.” A titter of laughter goes through the crowd. “And Colonel, on behalf of the entire United States Navy, I want to thank you for taking responsibility for this man. We’ve been looking for someone to do this for years and, well, if anyone is up to the task, it’s the Marines.” Everyone is laughing in earnest now, but the Admiral presses on. “No, seriously, I think I speak for everyone here in offering my sincerest congratulations and in saying how glad we are that you finally figured out what the rest of us have known for years: you two make an outstanding team.” He raises his glass. “To a long and happy life together.” We drink, and over the buzz of excited conversation, we hear our C.O. ask his assembled staff, “So, who finally won the pool, anyway?”

Harm and I turn to look at each other. Another party, a very different ending. But this one feels right.

The End