Don't Wait 'Til Tomorrow by doc

This story was written for a challenge ficathon. The prompts, submitted by readers, were from the dialogues of their favorite movies. The story's main theme was based on one of the submitted prompts, but I also utilized several other submitted movie quotes within the text of this tale. The primary prompt is included in this author's note, but the remaining five quotes will be noted in their entirety at the end of the story, so as not to spoil or reveal the plot.

Main Prompt: "Me? I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what I saw, I'm scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you!" (From the movie 'Dirty Dancing')

A/N: This story takes place during the Season 9 episode 'A Tangled Webb, Part 2.' For the purpose of this story, although Webb is injured at the hand of Sadik, it is not as severely as portrayed in the actual episode. I know the Paraguay arc has been rewritten a million times, and perhaps folks have grown weary of the attempts to fix and patch, but please if you will, humor me with yet another. This story takes place after the second conversation between Harm and Mac in the hotel suite.

Summary: What happens if things don't go quite as you plan. How much do you regret missed chances?

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Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf.

Special thanks to Mom, my faithful finder and keeper of all things related to spelling and grammar.

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Don't Wait 'Til Tomorrow

Chapter 1

03:30

Harm & Mac's Room

Hotel Nuevo Simpatico

Ciudad Del Este

Paraguay

Mac tossed and turned futilely chasing after that unattainable illusion of uninterrupted sleep. Peaceful, dreamless, restorative. HOPELESS! She tossed the blankets aside and burrowed further into her pillow, trying to block out all traces of light, fighting against all odds to erase the horrifying images and the accompanying memories. She lay perfectly still, concentrating all of her energy on the simple task of breathing…in and out…in and out…the images one by one disappeared morphing instead into indistinguishable sounds. Overwhelming cries of fear, bloodcurdling screams of pain, shouts of anger…evil, vile, possessive…hate, it seemed wore so many faces. She sat upright in bed, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat and shaking in the chilly morning air. Tossing her legs over the side, she clutched her pillow to her chest, suffocating her face in the downy softness, and cried silently for all she'd witnessed and lost over the last few weeks.

Emotions finally back under control for the time; she cast the pillow aside and crept silently toward the bathroom to rinse away the tear streaks trailing down her face. Task accomplished, she took wary stock of her features in the mirror, and tried to remember the last time she'd successfully slept through the night. She had to admit it was ages ago, long before the current botched foray into this cesspool of a foreign land. Running a finger along the dark circles ringing her eyes, she sighed in resigned defeat. No the events of her life as played out amongst close family and friends had not been the fodder of restful slumber and fairytale dreams of late.

Dabbing the towel gently across her bruised right cheekbone, she noted the cuts and abrasions were healing well and marveled that her external scars were minor compared to those tormenting her soul. She wiped away the stray water drops spotting the counter then carefully folded the towel over the bar. Glancing back into the mirror, she ran her fingers through her limp lifeless hair and noticed it lacked its usual luster and shine. Tugging away at the ends, she realized it was long past due for a style and cut. Her fingers traveled up along her neck, across the angle of her jaw, to her chin and lips. The normally supple skin was rough, cracked and dry. Her tongue slipped out automatically in a self-conscious move, sliding across her chapped lower lip, while her teeth nervously picked away in a repetitive anxious manner. She frantically searched through the small toiletry bag purchased in haste earlier that day. Tossing aside the bottle of foundation and a compact of blush, she finally located the tube of lipstick. As she traced the make-up over her lips, her hand shook violently smearing the pink gloss in a bizarre haphazard fashion beyond the normal outline of her mouth. She tossed the lipstick aside, frantically groping for a tissue and scrubbed away the frenzied result. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror with disgust, the voices once again returned…

'I'd forgotten how beautiful you are.' She shook her head in scoffing disdain.

'Stand up, woman! You defile motherhood!' The tears appeared again, threatening to overflow.

'I just hope to hell for his sake that he fares a little better than your various husbands and boyfriends.' Clay's battered face flashed before her eyes followed closely by his gut-wrenching screams of pain. She closed her eyes trying to banish the terrifying memory.

'Anyone who has ever been involved with Mac is either dead or feels like they are.' The tears overflowed as she sunk to the floor clutching her knees to her chest. Clay's face morphed first to Dalton's then to Chris'.

'You resign your commission, travel 5,000 miles to find me, and damn near get killed.' Her mind's eye fixated on his lifeless body slumped over the plane. 'Get killed…get killed…get killed.'

'Anyone who has ever been involved with Mac is either dead or feels like they are.' Her head dropped forward onto her knees as she wept, but the undeterred voices continued on and on.

'You resign your commission…why?'

'I think you know why.'

'Why?'

'You can have him. Hope he fares better…' She rocked back and forth on the cold tile floor; hands gripping her ears, as she tried desperately to close the voices out.

'It was nice to have someone who states his intentions…that follows through.'

'Mac, can we, ah…table this 'til some other time?'

'Yeah sure…'

'You can't let go.'

'Not yet.'

'Eternity.'

'Is that how long we're going to wait?'

'Not yet.'

'Would you give up your girlfriend?' Silence and emptiness closed in, crushing her within the confines of the small room.

'Can we table this discussion 'til some other time?'

'Yeah, sure.'

'Not yet.'

'Eternity.'

'Because I'm in love with him.'

'Wait…As long as it takes…Not Yet'

'Anyone involved feels dead…Damn near get killed…Fare better.'

'Table this discussion.'

'Not Yet…Some Other Time.'

SILENCE

She looked up with stunned clarity for the first time in a very long time. Why hadn't she understood before? It was all so clear.

"Stupid!" Her voice echoed in the empty room. "All this wasted time," she muttered and reached for a tissue to wipe her eyes.

Gathering the cosmetics from the counter, she tossed them into her toiletry bag, along with her toothbrush, shampoo and shower gel. She opened the bathroom door and peered into the dim hotel room. Allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, she crossed to the windows and quietly inched open the draperies, allowing the soft moonlight to illuminate the room. She paused in her movements, when Harm stirred in his sleep, rolling from his back to his side away from the faint light now bathing across his face. As he settled once again, she quietly opened the bureau and closet, retrieving the rest of her meager things; now more than thankful, they'd purchased very little on their shopping excursion that day. They were both too busy bickering and trading clumsy barbs intended to sting and joust more than mortally wound, one-upmanship at its very best.

Satchel now packed, she set it down by the hotel room door and went off in search of writing implements. Coming up empty at both the bureau and her bedside table, she was just about to head to the front lobby desk, when she thought to check the table nearest him. Sliding the drawer part way open, it creaked and groaned on the poorly oiled hinges, and Harm shifted once again.

"Maaac?" he muttered softly still buried within the depths of slumber.

"Go back to sleep," she faintly whispered.

He rolled onto his back, his breathing settling into a soft snore once more. She studied him in the moonlight, her fingers aching to trace the new lines creasing his brow, to soothe away the cut on his forehead, or smooth the cowlick in his hair. She caught her fingers before they could act of their own volition, and returned to the task at hand. She settled into one of the chairs at the small table by the window and worked by the light of the moon. She struggled with the wording, tore up the page and started again. She watched the occasional person milling about on the street below and wondered about their activities at this early hour of the morn. Finally, she slipped the letter into an envelope, wrote his name across the front, and propped it up on the tabletop.

Gathering her jacket from the foot of the bed, she slipped it over her arms, then let her fingers trail lightly over the mounded impression of his feet in the blankets. She glanced once more at his sleeping form then picked up her satchel, opened the door and walked out into the night.

To be continued…