Disclaimer: Don't own'em

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Time

They lay together in a tangle of limbs and bed sheets and early morning sunshine.

He watched her as she slept, frowning, his eyes focused on a distant thought.

He could not let this go. He had to know. She needed to wake up.

Gently, he cupped her cheek, traced his thumb over her cheekbone.

"Mac." He whispered, and then waited with bated breath for his favourite moment of the day: watching her wake up.

It was a sight to behold.

She would usually shift lightly, burrow deeper into her pillow or him, whichever was closer. Her breath would flutter and skip, abandoning the steady rhythm of sleep. She would make that light noise he so loved – just a catch of her breath, an exhale of contentment. Her eyes would slowly blink open, still focused on the remnants of a dream he always hoped he featured in. Then the best part: that moment when her eyes settled on his. Invariably, in that one moment, he could see her shed the wisps of her dream, and he would watch as her entire face transformed into a smile that welcomed the morning in ways the sun could only envy.

That smile, the look in her eyes, did indescribable things to his heart. Skip beats. Tremble. Expand. Ache. Glow.

He wasn't always able to indulge in watching her wake – she had an annoying tendency to rise before the roosters crowed, and he was far from being a morning person.

But this morning, he was bothered by something, a nagging question that just would not loosen its grip. A question that dug its claws into his mind until sleep fled and worry set up camp. He needed her answer.

His light caress did not make her shift in her sleep. He sighed, impatient, even as he implemented the next strategy.

He trailed his finger down her cheek, her neck, along her collarbone. Then he waited, watching, silent.

Nothing.

Time for the big guns.

He slid his hand from her collarbone to the swell of her breast, over the curve of her waist, before letting it rest lightly on her hip.

She stirred slightly, burrowed deeper into him.

He watched, rapt.

Her breath fluttered, caught, an exhale of contentment.

He rubbed his thumb along her hip bone, waiting.

Her eyes blinked open, settled on him. He watched as the memories of her dream cleared from her gaze.

A slow, lazy, happy smile spread on her lips, shone in her eyes.

He grinned, kissed her nose. God, how he loved mornings.

"Good morning, Gorgeous." He decided to spend a little time lost in her eyes.

"Good morning, Handsome." She replied, mirroring his grin momentarily before concern creased her brow.

"What?" He asked, worried; he wasn't done admiring her smile.

"You couldn't sleep?" She ran her fingers along his cheek.

He frowned as that nagging question once again sunk its claws into his brain. He shook his head. Opened his mouth to speak, hesitated. He took a breath and tried again.

"Mac." He paused. "Sarah," He tried again.

She was waiting patiently while he gathered his words.

"You know that time thing you do?" He finally said.

She nodded, brow still furrowed. She stilled her caresses. He could feel the pads of her fingers resting on the side of his face, his cheek, his temple.

"Nothing affects it?"

She pursed her lips in thought, shook her head against her pillow. In the embryonic quiet of morning, he could hear the rustle of fabric at her slight movement.

He leaned forward slightly, touched his lips to hers for the breath of a moment, before pulling her into a long, slow, probing kiss. He ran one hand along her hip, her waist, the other hand tangled in her hair, caressed her nape. He felt her reacting to his touch, felt her arch into him, her legs shift against his, felt her moan reverberate in his chest.

He pulled back, tried to catch his breath even as he searched her face. Her eyes were slightly glazed over, still deep in their kiss. Slowly, she refocused on him, his lips, then his eyes. She frowned slightly, one hand rubbing his chest, the other resting on his neck, her thumb caressing his jaw.

"What time is it?" He asked.

"What?" Her frown deepened, confusion settled in her gaze, her thumb stilled.

"What time is it?" He asked, studying her carefully.

"0648." She replied absently, watching him with worry. "Why do you want to know the time?"

He frowned, just this side of a scowl.

What the hell. Surely…

He leaned forward again, kissed the side of her mouth then trailed his lips along her jaw. He nuzzled into her neck, traced her collarbone with feather light kisses. He shifted them until she lay underneath him, nudged her legs apart so he could nestle into her embrace. He ran his hand along her leg, waited for her to relax under him, to give in to his kisses, his touch. Her fingers were in his hair, her hand traced his shoulder, then slid along his back.

He pulled away, watching her face intently.

"What time is it?" He asked.

Her eyes shot open. She stared at him, the haze of arousal chased away by the clarity of astonishment.

"0656." She answered without seeming to give it any thought, too intent on being confused by his behaviour. She shook her head in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

"Mac." How exasperating. He flopped back onto his pillow.

She turned to her side, and propped herself on her elbow to look at him.

"What is wrong with you?" She ran her fingers along his abdomen, up his chest.

He turned his face to look at her, and saw her expression alternate between worry and amusement.

"Nothing throws your clock off?" He was just a little hopeful she would answer in the affirmative.

"Nope. But daylight savings does—"

"Make you think twice." He interrupted petulantly. "I know."

She bit her lip as she did when she was trying not to laugh. Trying not to laugh at him, he thought crossly.

"I thought I could throw off your clock." This time, he gave in to his scowl.

She laughed, amused, and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Nothing throws off the clock. Not that I know of, at least."

He tried not to get distracted by the feel of her fingers along his scalp.

"Nothing?" He challenged.

"Nada." She shrugged as though it were out of her control.

He grinned, abandoning his cantankerous mood. He loved challenges.

"I bet I can throw off your clock." He said smugly, cocked an eyebrow.

"No, you can't." Certainty clipped her words.

"Can too." He stated. "Let's make a wager."

"No." There was a note of finality in her voice.

"Why not?" He sat up against the headboard, crossed his arms in defiance.

"You'll lose." She pulled herself up to sit next to him.

"Will not." He would throw that damn clock off, or his name was not Harmon Rabb Jr.

"You will lose, Harm." Exasperation battled the indulgence in her tone.

"If you're so sure," He dared her – he could admit he felt slightly rebellious. "Make a wager."

"It wouldn't be a fair bet." She protested as she arranged the sheets around her legs, pulled them up to cover herself.

He watched at her sceptically.

"It wouldn't," she defended, catching his look. "I'm not going to steal your money."

Well, there was an easy way to solve that dilemma.

"So we won't bet money."

"Then what'll we bet?" She arched her eyebrow, the corner of her lip lifted in an impish smile, her eyes sparkled with mischief. He wondered if perhaps losing wouldn't be such a bad thing…No. He scowled. He had his pride, dammit. Her brain was not allowed to form coherent thoughts while he kissed her, let alone tell the time. No analytical thought allowed while they kissed, or his name was not Harmon Rabb Jr.

He cocked an eyebrow, and gave her a roguish grin of his own. What to bet? Ooh, the possibilities. Although, it occurred to him – as he admired just how stunning she looked wearing only bed sheets and sunlight and mischief – he couldn't think of a single thing he could win from this wager that he didn't already have. Besides bragging rights.

"Bragging rights." He presented his offer with a healthy dose of self-assured arrogance.

"That's mature." She looked at him unimpressed, before turning her attention to tightening the bed sheet around her more securely.

"Scared, Marine?" He shot at her, his arrogance climbing a couple of notches.

"Why would I be?" She replied, unfazed. "You're not going to win."

He tried to stare her down, but she was too busy smoothing the sheets over her legs to pay any attention to his glare.

"And what do I get when I win, Harmon?" She stretched his name out on her tongue as she flicked away a speck of lint from the bed sheet.

He loved it when she said his name like that. But he was not going to let that show on his face, or his name was not Harmon Rabb Jr.

"So?"

"What?" He shook his head, startled out of thoughts.

She watched him curiously. "Still with me, Sailor?"

"Uh, yeah." He answered, rubbing his hand behind his neck, embarrassed. Immediately, he straightened: he was not going to let her distract him from his mission, or his name was not Harmon Rabb Jr.

"You." He pointed a determined finger at her. "Will – if you win, which you won't – get three foot rubs and two shoulder massages."

She grinned, her eyes lit up. "Really? That's the wager?"

He was caught off guard by her reaction, and almost reconsidered the bet. He scowled. No. He was going to win the wager if it was the last thing he did, or his name was not Harmon Rabb Jr. She was severely deluded if she thought she could bluff him out of this one.

"Yes." He stated firmly, and shook his finger at her. "That's the wager."

"Hey," she gave him a sweetly endearing smile. "How about you give me the first foot massage now. You'll lose anyways."

"Do foot rubs make you lose track of time?" He asked, his tone severe.

"Nope." She replied, her tone all impudence.

"Then the answer is no. And," He shook his finger at her again. "I will not lose, Marine."

Her grin softened into a slight look of worry. "Do you really want to do this, Harm? Nothing throws off my—"

"Pfft." He dismissed her sorry attempt to dissuade him. "You haven't yet experienced the full Harmon Rabb assault."

She quirked an eyebrow and he realized too late that didn't come out sounding right.

"You've been holding back on me all this time, Sailor?" She nudged him playfully.

He huffed. "You just wait." He threatened.

"Harm," She grabbed his arm lightly, the movement caused the sheets around her to loosen. "This really isn't necessary. I don't want you to think—"

"We're doing this, Marine." He dug in his heels.

"Fine." She rolled her eyes and assumed that patiently indulgent look she wore when she was humouring his more obstinate moods. "Terms?"

"I get two attempts." He stated with all the authority he could muster, daring her to challenge him.

"Okay," She agreed easily.

He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it when her reply registered. What?

"Really?" He frowned at her.

She shrugged. "Sure. Why not." She said as she re-tucked the sheets around her, patient indulgence gave way to lazy tolerance. She was toying with him, he realized.

"Fine then," He said, just to be difficult. "Three attempts. I get three." He held up three fingers on his right hand.

"Alright." She was paying more attention to arranging the damn sheets than to him.

He peered at her suspiciously. She was not taking him seriously.

"And you have to tell me how long the kiss lasted. Not what time it is." Ha. He gave her a self-satisfied look. There was no way she could do that mental math, down to the seconds, even if she could still tell the time.

"Okay." Again, she shrugged, unconcerned.

"Mac." He berated. "Be serious."

"What, Harm?" She turned to look at him, half-defensive, half-amused. "I am. You can have infinite attempts and keep at it until we're both old and gray. You'll never win."

"I do plan on keeping at it until we're both old and gray." He said stubbornly, crossing his arms and staring at the wall across from the bed. "Just so you know."

He felt her fingers in his hair and turned to look at her. She was watching him, wearing a smile steeped in affection, sparkling with contentment. He decided to spend a little time lost in her eyes.

"Hey, flyboy." Her teasing lilt brought him back. "You still with me?"

"Always." He grinned, deciding that she could distract him just a little if she wanted to. He took her hand in his.

"Any other terms you want to stipulate?" She arched her eyebrow, still very amused. He would wipe that smirk off her face or his name wasn't Harmon Rabb Jr.

But first...

"How do I know you're not just spewing out some random answer, and haven't really been able to keep time?"

She laughed, rolled her eyes. He tried not to be offended by her absolute conviction that he couldn't kiss her clock into the next time zone.

"Your watch has a stopwatch." She nodded to the bedside table, indicating his wristwatch. "Use it to keep time."

"Okay." He acceded. He reached over to pick up his watch, and held it in his left hand.

He raised an eyebrow in question. She shrugged, nodded

Go Rabb, he coached himself. This is it.

Attempt number one.

He leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. With his right hand, he ran his fingers over her eyebrow, under her eye, along her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. He touched his lips to her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He ran his tongue, ever so lightly, over her lower lip, gently tugging it between his teeth. He trailed his free hand down her neck, between her breasts, along her waist. He kissed her full and deep, his tongue languidly exploring. His fingers brushed her breast, first softly then more insistently.

It occurred to him that he ought to pull back soon. He was trying to win a bet.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned – a sound low and deep that he could only echo.

Well, just a little bit longer…

She leaned back, and he followed her more than willingly. His hand skimmed her stomach, travelled down her leg.

He'd pull back in just a minute. A minute.

Her nails lightly traced patterns down his back, to the curve of his six.

Maybe a few more … god, she tasted so good, he just needed … just a few more seconds…

She arched into him, the hand still wrapped around his neck pulling him in closer. She angled her head, deepened the kiss.

Just a little while longer…

He squeezed his eyes shut, rallied his resolve and pulled back. He looked down at her, as she lay beneath him and blinked in surprise, impressed that he had actually succeeded in separating himself from her touch. Go Rabb.

"Time." He demanded struggling to even his breaths, more focused on her lips and the rise and fall of her chest than the actual answer.

"Three minutes, seven seconds." She settled herself deeper into the mattress and pillows, and sighed happily. It was a sound full of anticipation, his entire body tightened at the promise held in her breathless reply.

Until her answer registered.

"What?" His eyes flew to hers. That was it? It seemed longer. He realized that she was watching him, her eyes warm and heavy, desire swirling lazily in their depths. He decided to spend a little time lost in those eyes.

She laughed at his expression. "The 'kiss' – and I use that term loosely – lasted three minutes, seven seconds." She repeated, glancing at his hand. "What does the stopwatch say?"

Stopwatch? What…

"Oh. Ah, right." He grimaced, felt his dignity slowly slip from his grasp. "I, ah, forgot to stop it."

She laughed heartily. "You're something else, Rabb." She playfully ruffled his hair, and reached up to place a smacking kiss on his chin.

"I told you wouldn't win." She was grinning ear to ear.

"But how?" He could not let this go. "Why don't my kisses short circuit …" A thought occurred. "Hey. What about when we're…" He tilted his head to indicate the bed, eyebrows raised in question.

"Nope." Her hands were lazily tracing patterns on his torso. He tried to focus on their conversation.

"Really? Even when…" He trailed off. It did not compute. How the hell could she keep time during i thati?

She nodded.

"Wow." It was all he could say. What the hell.

She watched him silently, her fingers idly running over his chest, down his stomach, lower…

Another thought occurred to him.

"Wait." He put a hand over hers to still her movements. She sighed in dissatisfaction.

He watched her carefully. He was almost afraid to ask.

"Has anyone ever been able to throw your clock off…" He trailed off as he noticed her sudden discomfort.

"What?" He asked, trying his best not to panic. Someone made her lose track of time? Who the hell was it? How the hell did he do it? Did he take notes?

"Mac. Who?" He repeated. His tone was not urgent. He was not panicking.

"Well," She hesitated.

She was not making eye contact with him. His heart dropped. This was not good. This was not good.

She bit her lower lip, looked up at him reluctantly, almost apologetically. "There was this one time, Mic—"

"What?!" He shot up straight in the bed, his eyes wide with shock, shook his head violently. "No!"

She burst into laughter. "Gotcha!"

He slumped back, rolled over to his back, tried to remember how to breathe. "That was not funny. Christ, Mac." He clutched his chest, convinced that his heart had actually stopped beating. The idea of asshole Brumby…

"I swear, Rabb." Her voice, still riding the waves of amusement, cut through his venomous thoughts. "Your ego." She curled to her side, facing him, still succumbing to the occasional chuckle. "That was fun."

He turned his head to the side, and watched her as she tried to contain her amusement. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, hair mussed – she really was beautiful. He shook his head in disbelief. That was not funny. He grinned. She had a merciless sense of humour. He loved it.

"Alright. Time for Attempt number two." He rolled over to his side and propped himself up, trapping her beneath his arm.

"Harm. Wait." She pulled the sheets around her and scooted out from under his arm. She leaned against the headboard. "It's not like I keep time, or actively think about it while we're kissing or…" She waved her hand over the bed.

Like he was buying that chaff. If she could keep time, then she was thinking. He didn't need her to smooth over his ruffled ego. He was Harmon Rabb Jr.

He scoffed. "If that's the case, then how can you tell the time?"

She shrugged. "You know, scientists still don't exactly know what time is." Her voice settled in for an explanation. "And they can't pinpoint it. They can just measure its passage, in finite increments – you know, minutes, seconds, milliseconds, nanoseconds…"

"Alright, alright." He was not in the mood for a science lesson, not when he was too busy brooding. "I get it."

"Harm." Her tone softened. She put a soothing hand on his shoulder. "It's not a reflection on anything. Especially not you."

From his prone position, he looked at her as she sat on the bed, wrapped in a bed sheet and sunlight and sympathy, trying to placate him.

He came to a decision. Dammit, he was Harmon Rabb Jr.

"The hell it isn't." He stated.

"Harm." She sounded worried, bordering on alarmed. "Don't—"

He sat up on his knees, facing her, and pointed one long finger at her nose.

"I am going to throw that clock of yours off, Marine."

"Ah…How do you plan to…" She was definitely worried, but he could see the stirrings of amused indulgence. Perfect. Let her think he wasn't serious about this.

"I am not revealing my plans to you." He warned playfully, shaking his finger at her.

"Should I be worried?" She grabbed his finger and grinned.

"You've been warned, Marine. That's all I'll say on that." He pulled his finger from her grasp, and sat a little straighter, his hands on his hips.

She shrugged, her smile taking on a flirtatious edge. "Bring it on, Navy." She leaned forward and trailed a finger down his chest.

He watched her, all the while trying to come up with a battle plan. But something else was nagging at him…

"Can you at least tell me how you do it?" He asked, inching closer to her on the bed, running his hand up her thigh.

"Nope." She shook her head, pulling her finger away. Her smile turned smug.

"C'mon, Mac." How exasperating. "Why not?" He was seriously considering pleading. He hoped her resolve was not as unaffected by his touch, his kiss as her internal clock. Hmm…He'd test that theory next.

"I want to keep you on your toes." She patted his leg affectionately. The movement caused the sheets to fall from around her waist.

He eyed her now naked upper body, letting his gaze roam freely. "I don't think that'll be a problem." He grinned, and pulled her to him.

--

An as of yet undetermined amount of time later, amidst the sound of rustling sheets, and sighs and moans of pleasure…

"Oh, yes … Harm, right … there."

"…Ah, Sarah…"

"Hmm, yesss..."

"Mac?"

"Mmm…"

"Mac."

"Wha— …Harm? Why'd you stop? You okay?"

"What time is it, Mac?"

--