Tangled Webs
Pairing:
Harm/Mac, Mac/Gunny
Rating:
NC-17
Spoilers: Adrift 2, vague references to People vs. Mac. I suppose this story could stand alone but it'll make much more sense after you've read my other two stories-No Strings Attached and Cut Loose.
Disclaimer: DPB and CBS and Paramount own these characters, not me. Everything else is mine; don't touch it.
Feedback: If you don't send feedback I'll have only the voices in my head making suggestions. That could be dangerous. Please send, good or bad, to stacey2545@yahoo.com
Author's Note: Finally! It's taken me three months longer than I expected it would, but thus is the nature of writer's block. I hope you enjoy it.
I pull up in front of Harm's apartment and turn off the engine. It's late-nearly midnight-but his light's still on. At least he's not at the office still. He called earlier from JAG to see how I was feeling. Well, I'd been feeling great, orgasmic even, until he'd called, killing the moment. Of course, I didn't tell him that. All I need is for Harm to know just how intimate Gunny and I are.
So what am I doing here? Besides sitting in my car feeling sorry for myself and confused and alone and-
The shrill ring of my cellphone makes me jump. My hands are shaking as I fumble around in the dark for my purse. I finally answer it on the sixth ring.
"You wanna come up or just sit in your car watching me through the window?" he asks with a touch of amusement.
I look up to see Harm's silhouette staring down at me from his living room, phone to ear.
"I'll be up in a minute." I flip my phone shut and drop it on the seat. It takes me a minute, but I drag myself from the car and up to his apartment.
He's waiting for me in the doorway.
"You okay?" Concern's etched all over his face as he takes in my appearance.
I know I must look a mess. I pretty much crawled out of bed and came over, pulling on whatever happened to be lying around my room-a tee shirt and sweats. I still smell like sex. I wonder if Harm can smell it. God, I hope not.
He backs up, inviting me into his apartment with a sweep of his arm. I give him a weak smile and comply, arms wrapped around me either as armor against the chill of the A/C or maybe something else. Do I need a wall between us?
He notices my shiver as I enter the room and tosses me a throw from the sofa before I even have a chance to sit. I wrap it around my shoulders and plop down on the couch amidst the myraid of papers. What case could possibly be keeping him up this late? He just finished the Erickson.
"You know, if you're sick you should be home resting," he chides gently, shifting a stack of papers so he can sit next to me on the couch. He hands me a cup of steaming coffee and takes a swig from his own.
I wrap my hands around it, enjoying the aroma, the warmth.
"I should be. But I'm not sick." I stare down into the depths of my coffee to avoid his gaze.
"You finally ready to tell me what's on your mind?"
I can feel his eyes on me, hoping, praying I'll open up and share. How long's it been since he and I have had a heart-to-heart?
"You're not gonna like it." My voice is so soft and vulnerable I hardly recognize it as my own.
Harm sighs. He rests a hand on my arm, gently caressing the skin with his thumb. "Mac, whatever's wrong, we'll get through it together. You and me. Batman and Robin, remember?"
I pull away from him and stand up. I start to pace in front of the window, untouched coffee still in hand.
"Mac, what's going on?"
I'm going to hurt him again. I don't want to, but I need my best friend. I need his advice and I need him to hear it from me before there's a chance he might hear it from someone else.
Staring down into my coffee, I find myself looking for answers in the black depths for the second time today. But there are no answers. No easy choices. And no hiding from the truth.
"I'm pregnant."
"You're WHAT?!"
"Pregnant." I try to say it matter-of-factly, keeping my voice level and clearly enunciating.
You'd think after earlier, I'd have come up with a better way to state it, figure out some way to soften the blow. Harm actually looks worse than Vic did. Of course, I guess Vic had a little more preparation. He actually knew I'd had unprotected sex. Harm didn't.
Harm shakes himself from his shell-shocked stupor. "You're pregnant?"
I nod, feeling distinctly guilty. "Four weeks."
He carefully sets down his mug on the coffee table and leans back in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to process this revelation.
His eyes dart to mine. "Are you sure? I mean, you've taken a test?" He's grasping at every last shred of hope. Does he honestly think I haven't done the same? Would I be telling him if I weren't absolutely sure?
Nervously, I bite my lip and nod again. Now he's unable to look at me. I don't think he's been more shocked since he found out about Sergei. Not that I was there to see his face when he received that revelation, but …
"What about the father?"
He's trying to sound like he's cool with this, but he's not. There's a tension underlying his voice, a stiffness in the way he's sitting. This is killing him and he refuses to let me see that. For my sake or his?
"I'm guessing since you never mentioned you were seeing anyone, that it was a one night stand. Have you told him?"
I wince at the sharp reproach and steel myself to deliver the death blow. Curling up beside him in the corner of the couch, I play with the hem of my shirt. Uneasily I mutter, "It wasn't exactly a one night stand."
Harm inhales sharply. Yes, that betrayal's got to sting. Not telling him about a one night stand is one thing. One night stands don't mean anything. But something more? That would be a lie of omission. One that can shake the foundation of our friendship.
"So what, exactly, was it?" He bites off each word, hurt and jealousy seething beneath the surface.
I sigh. "It wasn't serious. It was pretty much based on sex."
If possible, he looks more shocked at that admission than my first bombshell. "Mac, you're one of the last people I'd expect to have a …"
"Fuck buddy?" I supply helpfully.
He glowers at my word choice. "Yeah." He looks down at his clenched fists and then asks a painful question. "How long did it last?"
"Months," I whisper. "Off and on."
Harm looks like he's about to be physically ill. He folds up and I can already hear the distance in his voice when he asks his next question. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you to be jealous," I admit softly. The worn cotton fabric twists tighter and tighter in my hands.
"That didn't stop you from dating Brumby."
"I know." To be honest, looking back now, I think that was the reason I dated Mic.
Needing to touch him, I take his hand in mine. "But that was different. I dated Mic for a long time before I slept with him. Our relationship was social. It was romantic. There was a future in it. This … This wasn't about that. It was entirely physical. Or rather, it was supposed to be."
If he notices the implications of my statement, he doesn't show it. Disengaging his hand from mine, he makes his way to the kitchen. I follow, my stomach twisting in knots. He pulls a bottle of bourbon from a cupboard and pours a good three fingers into a crystal tumbler.
The shaking of his hands would be almost imperceptible if I weren't staring so intently at the amber liquid. I can almost feel the burn of the alcohol myself as he downs half the glass in one shot.
I'm not sure which disturbs me more-the fact Harm's drinking in front of me or that my hands are trembling more than his with the craving.
Another long swallow and Harm sets aside the empty glass. He grips the counter with a kung fu death grip, as if by holding on tighter to the formica he can somehow hold on to the blissful ignorance he enjoyed minutes before.
It takes an insane amount of willpower to tear my gaze from the booze. Instead, I stare down at my feet. I'm wearing a pair of two dollar orange flip flops that clash with my toes. The lavender nailpolish, one of the colors Chloe picked out for me on our last shopping trip, is chipped.
"Have you told him yet?"
Nodding woodenly, I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. "Earlier today."
"And his response?"
I shrug. "Supportive."
His next question marks the emergence of Overprotective Harm. "He's not trying to pressure you into an abortion is he?"
I'm quick to reassure him otherwise. "That's probably the last thing he wants, but I'm sure he'd support me if that's what I wanted."
Harm gives me a scrutinizing look. It's suddenly occurred to him that that might be what I want.
"I'm not. Thinking about not keeping the baby, I mean."
I only realize as I say it that it's true. It's not a question of keeping my baby. It's a question of how to keep my career. Military women can no longer be forced to leave for being pregnant, in or out of wedlock. But there's still tremendous social pressure for unwed mothers to resign. Especially the higher the rank. With the military, and the Marines in particular, so committed to family values, it reflects poorly on the Corps as a whole.
Between that, my history with John, the incident with Chris, and the Article 32 hearing, an affair with an NCO would be the final straw. No matter how much the admiral might want to, he can't shield me this time. It might not end now, or even soon, but come next fitness reps, the next round of downsizing, I'll be out. Probably Victor too.
That's if the admiral decides to protect me from this at all and doesn't charge me with fraternization.
I could just not reveal my child's paternity. Vic wouldn't fight me on it. He'd agree to not be a part of his child's life if that was what I really wanted. It isn't. I don't think I could do that to him. And if he were a part of his or her life, it would only be a matter of time before our affair became common knowledge.
No. If I keep this child, I have to be completely honest about his or her conception. So my options are narrowed down to three. Resign my commission and don't marry Vic. Resign and marry Vic. Or marry him and keep my commission. It'll be his choice whether he wants to stay in or request a discharge.
"Do you love him?"
For the second time tonight, Harm startles me. I open my mouth but no words come out. I don't know what to say.
"Yes," I finally say. "But it's complicated."
He actually takes this better than the idea that I've been having sex with someone for the past several months. "Life is complicated, Mac," he says quietly. He looks away and swallows hard before going on.
"I said it when you were going to marry Mic, and I'll say it again. I'll never stand in the way of your happiness, Sarah. So if I'm part of the complication…"
My fingers itch for a drink. I head back to the couch for my coffee. The last thing I need right now is to start drinking again.
Staring forlornly out the window, I take a sip of the lukewarm liquid and ask the question that's been on my mind off and on for the past two years. "Where did we go wrong, Harm?"
He looks at me blankly for a moment.
"With us. Where did we go wrong?" I ask again, desperate to hear the answer.
Now it's his turn to pace. "I don't know, Mac." He stares silently out the window, lost in thought. His eyes widen as pieces fall into place.
"No." His tone is full of remorse when he speaks, low and hoarse with grief. "I know exactly where we went wrong. Where I went wrong, because it was my mistake, Mac."
I look at him quizzically from the couch. Surely there's enough blame here for the both of us.
He stares back at me with unrestrained emotion. "You know the night, Mac."
His words echo what he said to me that night almost two years ago. His inflection's even the same. You know the reason. My eyes widen as I realize it too.
I can see his eyes shine bright with tears in the dim light. A lump rises in my throat. He doesn't even know yet the full ramifications of that night.
"I shouldn't have turned you away, Mac."
"Renee needed you." I stand up and move out from behind the coffee table.
He takes a step closer to me. "You needed me too."
I don't bother to hide the tears in my voice. I couldn't even if I tried. "You were in an awkward position, Harm."
He nods. "But I chose wrong." He takes another step.
I close the distance and fall into his arms. We're both crying. So much that I don't know whose tears run down my cheeks. I have know idea how long we stand there clinging to each other before I realize I have to tell him. He needs to know.
"That was the night, Harm," I whisper through my tears, my lips brushing his ear with the words. "That was the night it started."
He doesn't even stiffen in my arms. He just clings tighter.
"He found me in the bar and took me home."
"I'm sorry." His words are a sob against my cheek. He kisses me, a soft brush of his lips at the corner of my mouth, followed by another and then another.
It's not long before his tongue's entwined with my tongue, his hips pressing insistently against mine. We stumble back across the room to his couch. Fingers slide beneath clothing and we're caressing each other in places we never dared touch before.
Somehow my shirt makes its way off me and onto the floor where it joins Harm's. We bypass the couch entirely and Harm guides me backwards through his apartment, up the step and into his bedroom, his lips never leaving my skin for more than a moment.
Stopping me at the foot of the bed, he kisses his way down my chest, lingering at nipples and navel. He kneels in front of me and urgently tugs my sweatpants and underwear down my legs.
He presses a kiss against my damp heat and I'm overwhelmed by the sensory overload. Too much.
Pushing him away, I pull him up for another kiss. I back up half a step until the edge of the bed bumps the back of my knees. My pants are still tangled around my ankles and impatiently, I kick them off while I fight Harm for the honor of removing his pants.
Our fingers knot as we both go for his fly. His relax and retreat as I get the zipper down and slide my hand inside. His eyes flutter shut in ecstasy and he sways. Thank God I'm not the only one whose knees feel like they're about to give out.
I fall back across the bed, my thighs instinctively spread. It takes but a heartbeat for Harm to settle himself there between them. We both shove at his clothing. We get as far as his knees before we give up. They're out of the way of the important stuff.
I feel Harm's hard length pressed between us. Naked skin against naked skin. Our hips press intimately against each other. His lips suckle at my throat. God, that'll leave a mark.
The sheets twist around us as we roll across the bed. Finally, Harm supports himself above me, poised just outside my entrance.
"I love you, Sarah."
After so many years to finally hear those words…
I should feel elated. Ecstatic. Relieved. Instead, my heart's breaking. How did I let things get so out of hand like this?
Harm moves against me, intending to complete this union we started. He freezes the moment I say no.
"I'm sorry. We can't." Every inch of his skin pressed against me feels like a searing brand. "I love you, Harm. I always will." I force myself to look him in the eye, those soulful eyes, as I pull away, tugging the sheet between us. "But I can't do this."
I swear I see the final shattering of his heart reflected in his eyes. "Too little too late?" he asks bitterly.
I shake my head. "Too much too late. He loves me, Harm. As much as you do. And I love him, as much as I love you. I don't think I realized it until just now, but I do.
"You couldn't turn Renee away that night because you had a duty to her. I have a duty to him. I … We spent the entire evening making love. I left him sleeping in my bed."
He rolls off me and onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "To come talk to me."
The disgust in his voice is almost more than I can bear. He must think I'm such a whore, leaving one man's bed to be in another's hours later. God. Is there anything I won't do to sabotage our friendship? What the fuck is wrong with me?
"I didn't come here to seduce you and I didn't come here to hurt you. I just needed you to know."
He nods. "I understand." His voice is stiff with anger.
"Do you? Do you really, Harm? Because it's not going to work with me and Vic if you and I haven't resolved this."
"Vic?"
Shit. He's turning the pieces over in his head again, trying to figure out where this one fits. Shit shit shit.
He turns to me in horror. He knows. "Mac, please tell me I'm wrong. Please tell me you're referring to some other Vic."
For the umpteenth time today, a lump rises in my throat. "I won't lie to you. That's one of those things that makes this so complicated."
"You won't lie to me? What the fuck have you been doing the past two years? Never mind. Do you have any fucking idea how much this will royally screw your career?"
Angrily I tug the sheet higher against my chest. "You don't have to remind me, Harm. Believe me, I know."
"How could you, Mac? You screwed around with Gunny? He's your idea of a no-consequences bedmate?" His voice rises with every word, the flush in his cheeks now from the passion of anger, not arousal.
I respond in kind. "He was there when I needed him. I honestly think I would have screwed my career myself-- hell my life-- if he hadn't found me in that bar. I managed to dry out once. I don't think I'd've been able to stop if I'd started drinking again."
"You told me you'd be okay, Mac." Accusation and betrayal war in his tone.
I don't remember much about that night besides the emotional trauma and the amazing sex, but I do remember being curled up on my couch that night, mumbling over and over that I lied. Vic reassured me that I hadn't. He'd held me when I needed to be held, made me forget when I couldn't bear to remember.
"We tried to stop. We really did." My voice is rough with tears. I must have cried enough tonight to fill the Atlantic. "Nothing else happened until after our TAD to the Guadal."
He doesn't look like he believes me.
I hate the pleading tone in my voice, but I can't seem to stop. "We didn't mean to hurt you. That's the last thing I wanted, Harm. I swear."
His eyes slide shut, one arm flung above his head on the pillow. A tear trails down his cheek. "I … I think you'd better leave, Mac. Vic's waiting for you."
My guts twist. Heartsick, I turn away to start collecting my scattered clothes.
He rolls toward me, a hand on my shoulder. His voice is hoarse, low and serious. "Mac, we've survived nearly seven years of fucking up our own friendship. We will get through this. I just need some time."
I wish I could believe him.