A/N: Writing the resolution of this story was quite a struggle and I hope I managed to do it to everyone's satisfaction. Thank you so much for your lovely reviews! You have no idea how happy getting them makes me. I will reply to them individually at some other time; I'm sadly behind on all my review replies due to finals.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.

2 You will look for me

Mac woke to the smell of fresh coffee.

She didn't wake up the way she usually did, fully alert and ready to jump out of bed. This time she drifted awake slowly, gradually. She didn't want to get out of bed yet; she wasn't quite past the barrier between sleeping and waking and she knew that if she tried hard enough, she'd go back to sleep. Maybe even back into the dream she'd had, back to something she knew she could never have.

The dream had felt so real.

She frowned slightly as something sparked inside her mind. Realisation. She sat up in a jerky motion, instantly awake. It hadn't been a dream. It hadn't been a dream at all.

According to her internal clock, it was already past seven in the morning, but except for a soft golden glow spilling into the bedroom from the living area, it was dark.

Rain pounded against the windows, unrelenting.

Mac had planned to sneak out and be gone long before Harm woke. She had wanted to avoid this. Had wanted to forget this ever happened because it wouldn't change anything. They were still who they'd always been. She should have left last night, should never have allowed him to lead her to his bedroom.

oOo

Just a few more minutes, she vowed to herself as she lay beside him, his arm draped over her and his hand curved around her arm, their legs intertwined. She just lay there, listening to his even breathing and the steady drumming of the rain and finding both strangely comforting. She brushed her knuckles across his cheek; he stirred, tightening his hold on her arm ever so slightly. Even in sleep he was holding on to her, was aware that she was with him. It made her want to cry.

Just a few more minutes, she told herself again as she blinked away the tears burning in her eyes. She had to leave before he woke, but she wanted to lie with him just a little while longer, wanted to revel in the feeling of his skin against hers and the comforting warmth of his body. She wanted to have something to remember for when she was in her own bed later, cold and alone. Something to hold on to for when she couldn't hold on to him anymore.

Just a few more minutes, she thought drowsily, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

oOo

Her throat constricted at the memory. What had gotten into her? She'd known before that having sex with him was not the answer. She hadn't thought ahead, hadn't considered the consequences of opening herself up to him like that. And she certainly hadn't thought about what it would mean for her if he opened himself up to her, what it would do to their relationship. But he had and she couldn't handle that, couldn't handle any of it, really. Not the way he'd made her feel last night. Not the new intensity of the connection between them.

Mac had known she'd end up hurting herself, but she'd never meant to hurt Harm as well.

She knew she had to get up eventually, but it still took her nearly fifteen minutes to work up the courage to crawl out of bed, clutching the blanket to her chest self-consciously. Only then did she remember that she didn't have anything to wear but her uniform and that was nowhere to be found. Something grey at the foot of the bed caught her attention—a pair of sweatpants and a matching sweater with blue lettering on the front. US NAVY.

Hesitantly, she put on both, wondering what had happened to her underwear. Her cheeks went hot at the thought, embarrassment momentarily outweighing guilt.

It didn't last long. The clothes were freshly washed and the smell of the detergent that Harm used—and that she associated with him like she did with his aftershave—yanked her back to reality and to the cold, hard fact that she was standing in his bedroom, in his clothes, because she had slept with him.

Mac had to roll up the legs of the sweats several times before she could walk safely without tripping and she took her time. She wasn't in any hurry to speak to him, although she was very much aware that she was only delaying the inevitable. But how could she even look him in the eye after last night?

Finally, she straightened and shoved the sleeves up her arms. There was nothing left to do but walk out there and face him. Apologise and try to mend the damage she'd done as best as she could.

Oh who am I kidding? she thought bitterly.

At the bottom step, she paused, arms folded in front of her chest. She just stood there, watching as Harm moved about the kitchen, making breakfast. The radio was on, though she didn't recognise the song. The rain was too loud.

When he turned and saw her standing there, she felt very much like a deer in the lights of an oncoming car—certain that she was going to die. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands clenched into fists. For a moment, he simply looked at her, his eyes unreadable.

"Good morning," he said eventually, nothing in his voice to give her an idea about what he was thinking.

"Morning," she whispered, looking away.

"Coffee?"

"Sure," she replied, although she wanted nothing more than to just get out of here. But she couldn't. Not yet. She owed it to him that she apologised and at least tried to explain what had gotten into her, even though she didn't know herself. She'd achieved nothing, gained nothing by sleeping with him.

oOo

She smiled as he reached up to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear because it tickled his chin. His right hand was moving up and down her back in long, languid strokes. She loved the sensation of his calloused hand against her skin and she wanted to lose herself in his touch, wanted to never let go of him again. Grasping his right hand, she held it against her heart.

He smiled.

oOo

"Mac?"

She blinked, startled out of the memory. "What?"

Harm was staring at her. "Do you want breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry," she muttered.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied automatically, but he was still staring and when she followed his gaze, she saw that she had placed her hand where his had been last night. She swallowed. She didn't dare look up and meet his eyes as she settled at the counter where he'd put a steaming mug of coffee.

"Look, Mac, I'm sorry."

Surprised, she looked up after all. "For what?" She knew what she had to apologise for, but what had he done?

"Haven't you noticed?" Walking to her side, Harm touched a spot on the left side of her lower back.

It was obvious that he was trying to be careful, but she still winced in pain. She pulled the sweater out of the way, revealing an ugly, bluish bruise the size of a tennis ball. It looked like someone had punched her. "When did that happen?" she asked, confused. She honestly couldn't recall.

"My guess is the doorknob."

"Oh." She blushed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

There. He'd said the words she was meant to say to him, not the other way around.

"I didn't mean to hurt you either," she whispered. "I'm so very sorry."

"For what?" he wanted to know as he returned to the other side of the counter to stir what, judging by the smell, she assumed was porridge.

Mac gave a bitter, incredulous laugh. "You have to ask?"

He didn't look up from the pot. "Did it work? Am I out of your system?" She almost didn't catch the bitter edge in his tone buried underneath all that indifference, but it was there, and it hurt.

Don't you dare reduce us to that, she wanted to say because after last night she knew beyond any doubt that they were more than that. She had always known, in a way; now she had it confirmed. She had so desperately wanted him to tell her that he loved her. Because he did. The way he had held her and touched her last night… He loved her. He had shown her the depths of his feelings for her, feelings that she had refused to acknowledge because she'd waited for the actual words.

Mac knew it didn't matter. Knowing for certain didn't change anything because she feared that they had already moved past the point where they could have made a relationship work, that it was too late. Besides, nothing had changed.

They were still who they'd always been.

"I'm sorry," she repeated instead of answering his question.

"Stop apologising." Impatience coloured his voice. He turned off the stove and began scooping steaming porridge into two white bowls. He seemed to have forgotten that she didn't want any breakfast. "It's not like I couldn't have stopped it."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Yes, why didn't I?" he muttered to himself as he put the empty pot into the sink and turned on the faucet. Water splashed. "Why didn't I?" It sounded like a rhetorical question, one that he'd already asked himself before, maybe even answered.

"I should leave," she whispered.

"You can't. It's been raining all night and there was a pile-up on the Beltway an hour ago. You'll be stuck here until they clear it."

Mac wrapped her fingers around her mug. It was uncomfortably hot, but she would have touched an open flame if only it could have warmed the cold inside her. She had made things worse between them.

oOo

His hand was buried in her hair, gently tilting back her head so he could kiss her exposed throat. She shuddered, digging her fingers into his chest. Then he lifted her up, the movement so sudden that she yelped in surprise. Laughing quietly, he put her down, the sheets cool underneath her back. Hovering above her, he kissed her, softly, tenderly, but it was no less demanding than the previous kisses they had shared. She wrapped her legs around his waist, wound her hand around the back of his neck. His skin was as flushed, felt as hot, as hers. He let her guide him into her. There was no rush this time, no haste, no impatience. This wasn't even about lust. This was about comfort, about being joined intimately with the person that was the centre of your universe, about feeling safe. About feeling loved.

oOo

She shook her head, chasing the memory away. It hurt. She wanted to be with him more than she wanted anything else in the world, but she knew it wouldn't work. They'd always battle for control. Concessions would have to be made and she wasn't certain if they were ready for that. If they'd ever be ready for that. She had thought she had ended any chance they may have had in Paraguay—she'd never counted on her own feelings to mess with her head until she was questioning her own decisions, until she was so thoroughly confused that she felt lost. She didn't know how to deal with that, deal with everything that life had thrown her way since Paraguay. She just knew that she didn't want to lose him.

But now she'd gone and screwed up what they had had.

Her eyes started burning. Her vision blurred. She blinked furiously—she didn't want to cry in front of him—but the tears just brimmed over, streaming down her cheeks, silent and hot. She couldn't stop them. She brushed them away with her sleeve, rubbed the fabric over her eyes until her face felt raw, but they just kept coming. Her throat constricted. She fought to keep the rising sob inside and nearly choked. A strangled sound escaped her—it sounded like an animal in pain.

Through the haze of tears, she saw Harm spin around.

"Hey!" he said, his voice raised in alarm. Reaching across the counter, he peeled her hands off her mug so that he could take them into his own. The warmth of his touch, the gentleness with which he held her hands, made her cry harder. She gave up on trying to hold the tears in; it was a battle she would never have won anyway.

It wasn't just her most recent of her mistakes she was crying for. She was crying for the mess that was her life, for missed chances, missed opportunities. Things she wanted. Things she might never have. Things she had lost. Things she had destroyed.

At some point, she became aware that Harm was holding her, gently rubbing her back in a way that was clearly meant to comfort her. Why did he do that? How could he be there the instant she needed him, never mind how awful she'd been to him before, how much distance she'd put between them. How could he do that without feeling used?

Finally, there were no more tears left. Her eyes hurt, so did her throat. She swallowed; that hurt too. "Why can't we make this work?" she rasped.

He tightened his arms around her. "I don't know," he replied, sounding just as miserable as she had.

"I asked you once," she said huskily, "if you'll always be there for me. You said you would. But how can I ask that of you? I have no right to keep you from moving on. From letting you find someone you can be happy with."

"Mac," Harm began, then paused. Began again. Paused again. She glanced up to look at his face and he seemed to be warring with himself.

"What?" she whispered, not sure she wanted to know what he had to tell her, but asking anyway.

He looked away. "I don't think that I'll ever feel about anyone else the way that I feel about you," he whispered.

Whatever it was Mac had thought he would say, she hadn't expected that. Certainly not that. She had told herself repeatedly that even if he told her how he felt about her, it wouldn't change anything. Now that he'd said it, it somehow had. Silence hung between them, filled with tension. He deserved an answer. She wanted to answer, but what would she say?

She had no idea.

The door flew open and they both startled at the unexpected noise.

Mac was relieved—saved by the bell, at least for now.

"Hey, Harm, can I borrow… oh. Hi, Mac."

Mac peered over Harm's shoulder to find Mattie standing in the doorway in a pair of blue plaid PJs, staring at them. "Sorry," she said eventually. "I guess I should have knocked. I didn't know you had company. Uh." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. Her discomfort was obvious.

"What is it that you need?" Harm asked.

"Milk," she replied quickly. "We're out and you kind of need a boat to go outside, so…" She gestured at the fridge.

"Yeah, sure. Take what you need."

"Thanks." She went to get it, clearly embarrassed. Sloshing bottle in hand, she turned and frowned when she got a proper look at Mac's tear-streaked face. She shot Harm a questioning look and Mac felt his shoulders move in response. "Okay," Mattie said, still staring at them. She gave herself a little push. "I'll see you later, I guess." With that and a half-hearted wave, she fled the apartment.

Silence fell again. When Harm let go of her, Mac wanted to reach out to stop him, but she didn't dare. She still hadn't figured out what to say. Was there even anything she could say?

He put the bowl of porridge in front of her, along with a spoon and an open jar of Nutella. He wasn't looking at her.

"What you just said," she managed eventually because she had to say something, anything. "What did you mean by that?" She knew what he meant; she wasn't that stupid. But it was the only thing that she could come up with.

He shook his head once, the movement so tiny that she wondered if he was even aware of it. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

She said nothing.

"I love you, Mac."

She just stared at him, her mind a mess. I love you, Mac. She was incapable of forming even a coherent thought, let alone a whole sentence. What was she supposed to reply anyway? I love you too. Because she did. She was in love with him and she wanted to tell him, but…

"So you see," he continued, frowning down at his bowl, "I was just as selfish as you were."

"What do you mean?" she whispered. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak.

"You asked me why I didn't stop it? Why I slept with you. That's the reason. I wanted you and you made it pretty clear that I could never have you."

"So you just took what you wanted?"

"You let me. You wanted me too."

"I did that, didn't I?" she whispered to herself.

"I used you as much as you used me."

"This wasn't what I wanted."

"Then tell me." He looked up. His eyes bored into hers. "What exactly is it that you want?"

"I want there to be an 'us'!" Mac cried, desperate.

"Do you?"

His quiet tone made her want to punch him. "I'm in love with you," she said instead, as despair won out against her fear of admitting how she felt about him.

Again, she didn't get the reaction she expected. "Are you?"

"Stop it!" she shouted, reaching her limit. She couldn't take it anymore. He was giving her whiplash—one minute he was comforting her, the next he was provoking her into a fight.

Isn't that what you did yesterday? Provoking him?

"Stop talking to me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like that!" Mac slammed her palms on the counter. "All calm and superior. It's driving me insane." She got up, pacing like a caged animal. She was angry now. "Why can't we go back to the way things were before?" She had no idea why she even said it. She wanted it, she did. But not enough. She didn't want him just as her friend. If she had learned anything last night, then this.

"We both know the answer to that question."

"If you love me and I love you, then why can't we be together? I don't understand why we can't make it work!"

Harm sighed. "Neither do I."

This wasn't getting them anywhere.

"We shouldn't have slept together," she said eventually. Hollow, broken.

"No," he agreed quietly. "We shouldn't have. We knew this—us—was never about sex."

"Yeah." She sighed in defeat. "Do you think we'll ever be able to get past this thing with us?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "I just want to be happy." A whisper. "I just want to be with someone I love, someone who loves me. Why is that so hard?"

"Because you keep making complicated things too simple."

"And you keep making simple things too complicated!" she shot back, anger spiking. "You're afraid to commit."

"That's pretty rich coming from someone who practically left her fiancé at the altar."

Mac cringed. He wasn't wrong, but the comment stung anyway.

"I'm sorry," Harm said immediately. "I was out of line." He ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "But you said there couldn't be an 'us', Mac."

"What if I changed my mind?" she asked, grasping at straws now.

"Won't change who we are, Mac. And you pretty much summed up who we are in Paraguay."

Maybe I was wrong, she wanted to say. Maybe we can find a way. But the words got stuck in her throat.

"Do you remember what you asked me on the LHA?" he asked suddenly and the question took her completely by surprise because she'd put this conversation out of her mind a long time ago. What he was referring to had happened nearly three years ago and a lot had changed since then.

Still she answered his question. "I remember."

"You never heard my answer. You walked out on me."

"I didn't expect you to answer. It wasn't entirely fair of me to ask you that anyway. I was hurting and you hadn't been there for me, for which it also wasn't fair of me to blame you, and I just… I just wanted you to say something. Anything."

"Well, if you'd waited instead of storming out, I would have told you that yes, I would have given up my girlfriend for you. You never gave me another chance to tell you, Mac. You never gave 'us' a chance."

"Don't you dare blame this all on me!" she snapped. "This isn't just my fault. There've always been complications with you. Other women. Looking for your father. Work. Flying."

"Not anymore."

"Doesn't change who we are, Harm."

"What the hell is it that you want from me then?" he demanded, shouting now. "Tell me, Mac. What do you want?"

"I told you!" she cried. "I love you. I want to be with you. It shouldn't be this complicated!"

Then why was it? Why wasn't she?

He closed his eyes. "Mac," he said quietly, exhausted, like shouting at her had drained all energy right out of him, "I'm not sure I can be who you want me to be."

She shook her head. "But I don't want you to be anyone else. I fell in love with who you are."

"Didn't sound like that at your engagement party."

"That's what you got from what I said?" she asked, disbelief in her tone. "That I didn't want you because you have issues? We all have. For heaven's sake, I'm an alcoholic, Harm. Issues don't get any bigger than that." It had taken her a while to figure out that she was willing to live with them if he was, but she had, in the end. Because if there was one thing she had learned in her previous relationships, then it was that you couldn't change the person you loved. You shouldn't want to. Love should be unconditional.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know." She didn't know anything anymore. Her world had stopped making sense.

"This is getting us nowhere," Harm said, tired.

"No." Dejected, Mac sank down on his sofa and pulled up her knees against his chest. She felt like she had just run an emotional marathon that left her raw on the inside, vulnerable. They weren't going to find a solution. How could they when they didn't even seem to know what the problem was? They were going in circles and it hurt to go over and over it again. Something had to give if they were to salvage the shattered remains of their friendship and turn them into something that wouldn't cause them both so much pain. If that was even possible.

"Mac," Harm said as he sat down beside her, his thigh touching hers, "we're good together."

"Are we?" she asked. "We fight all the time. People that hardly know us notice that there's tension between us."

"That tension isn't there because we're incompatible and don't get along. It's there because we both refuse to accept the fact that we're more than friends. We've always assumed that a relationship wouldn't work. We've only ever focused on why we shouldn't be together."

She had to admit that he had a point. But there was something else that bothered her. "Why do you only seem to want me when you can't have me?"

He sighed. "Fair question. Well, the short answer is because I'm an idiot."

That made her smile and he reached over to take her hands into his own. For some reason, it always fascinated her how small her hands were in comparison to his, small and delicate, fragile even. "And the long?"

"The long answer is that I couldn't work up the courage to tell you how I felt when you were available and that I panicked when you weren't because I thought you might be gone for good this time. But I've always wanted you."

"You could have told me all that."

Harm gave her a funny look. "Mac, how long have you known me? When have I ever talked about my feelings? To anyone?"

"Good point," she admitted. "I guess that on some level I've always known that you had feelings for me. But I thought I needed to hear you say it."

"You thought?"

She glanced up to meet his eyes. "I did until last night."

"And now?"

"Now I know it doesn't matter." She sighed.

"What?" he asked, worried.

"What if it doesn't work?" That was Mac's greatest fear—that their relationship would fail and she'd lose him forever. But what choice did they have when it came down to it? Last night they'd crossed a line and there was no going back. That was impossible. They could only move ahead now, for better or for worse. Because Mac knew that if they didn't, if they tried to restore their friendship—just friendship, nothing more—and denied themselves something they both craved, it would kill what they had for good. Sooner or later they'd grow apart. They'd have to; anything else would hurt too much.

"We won't know that until we've tried," Harm said softly. "And we don't have anything to lose."

"True," she allowed, but even she heard the uncertainty in her voice. She had spent so much time thinking about why it wouldn't work that she could barely see around that now. See why it would work. Why they'd make a good couple. Why they'd be good together and good for each other.

"Look." He squeezed her hands. "Why don't we just take this one day at a time and see where it leads us?"

"Yes," she whispered and elation coursed through her when she did, banishing her doubts, at least for the moment. She'd do just what he'd suggested, take it one day at a time, deal with problems when they came up.

And maybe that way they could make it work.

Finis