Unraveling

Pairing: Mac/Gunny, Harm/Mac angst

Rating: TV-14

Spoilers: minor allusions to Boomerang and Season 8's Singer story arc

Disclaimer: DPB and CBS and Paramount own these characters, not me. Everything else is mine; don't touch it.

Feedback:Always welcome. Might help feed the resident starving artist. Send to stacey2545@yahoo.com

Author's Note: If you haven't read the revisions of the previous fics, then part of this may blindside you. If you want to go re-read them now, great. If not, Gunny's got a shoulder injury, which is probably the reason he transferred back to JAG.

"You wanted to see me, Colonel?"

I look up from the file spread across my desk. "Yeah." I wave him in. Gesturing with my pen, I point at the empty seat across from me. "Have a seat."

He leaves the door open and I get up to close it.

"Are you sure that's a wise idea?"

I turn back to him, one hand still on the knob. He nods at the door, a warning in his glance. I let the door snick shut as my answer. Thank God my blinds had been closed all morning. Closing them now would be just a little too obvious. My heels click deliberately as I walk back to my desk. I perch on the edge directly in front of him.

Ankles crossed, hands playing with the pen I'm holding, I study him for a moment. He sits, his posture stiff and military starched. There's just the slightest hint of a grimace at the way this must be throwing his shoulder into spasms. But Harriett and I went to the mall for lunch and on the spur of the moment I picked up and new bottle of massage oil. Sandlewood.

"I just spoke with the admiral." I clear my throat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He looks away. His tongue runs over his lips and he tugs the bottom one between his teeth before he answers. "It's not your decision, Mac."

"But it affects me!"

"Indirectly," he bites out.

"You think my husband's career decisions don't affect me?"

He looks taken aback. His mouth moves but at first no words come out. "We're not married."

"No, but that is the plan isn't?" A piece of hair slips out of my bun and I tuck it behind my ear. "I thought we agreed on this."

He doesn't answer and can't seem to look me in the eye. My stomach drops. Shit.

"Are you having second thoughts?" His desire to retire suddenly seems inconsequential compared to this.

"No. Yes. I don't know." He gets up to pace, raking a hand through his hair.

Where the hell is this coming from? Sure, he stormed out the night he proposed, but he came back the next day. With some expensive steaks and sparkling cider. It was the first evening we had together that was deliberately about romance rather than sex.

"I uh… I don't know what to say."

He stares out the window. "I don't either, Mac, which is why I didn't say anything."

His back is turned and I can't read his expression.

"What exactly are you having doubts about?"

"I'm afraid we might be taking things a bit too fast."

Stunned, I sit back, staring at the pen in my hands. I turn it over and over as if by examining every millimeter of this pen I'll somehow make sense of this revelation. "A bit too fast," I echo. "You're the one who suggested it in the first place."

He shrugs. "I know and maybe that's the problem."

I blink and take a deep breath, mulling it over. "I'm not sure I follow." Did he expect me to propose?

He goes back to pacing, scratching the back of his neck. "I was thinking about the short-term repercussions. Not the long-term consequences."

"Such as?"

"Short-term? You save face; keep from scuttling your career."

"I don't exactly consider eloping with an NCO in my command saving face."

"Compared with the alternative? What were you gonna do, Mac? Pull a Singer? Refuse to identify the father?"

"I wouldn't do that to you, Vic. It's your child too."

"Yes, it is. That's reason two. I want my kid to have a father."

I notice he doesn't say anything about wanting to marry me for me. That's apparently not one or two, so how far down the list is it? Is it even on there? Have I completely misread him?

Shoving my insecurities aside, I ask, "What made you reconsider?"

He doesn't answer.

"Tell me."

His jaw clenches. "Mac, I'm Catholic. I take my marriages vows seriously."

"Are you saying I wouldn't? You think I'd cheat on you?"

He glares at me, suppressed anger smoldering in his eyes. "Don't twist my words. That's not what I said."

No, it's not. But you were thinking it, you bastard. I wait for him to make up an excuse.

"Mac, I'm not saying I won't marry you. I just think…"

Not saying I won't marry you… With that one little word he makes it sound like a chore, a punishment he'll put up with. Well, fuck him. Fuck him!

"We need to really think about this," he continues. "We need to make sure we're doing this for the right reasons. This isn't going to work if-"

"If we don't try to make it work, Vic. And in order to make it work, we have to be honest with each other. What's really the hang up here, Vic? Is it us? Or Harm?"

Damn it. Tell me I didn't just open that can of worms.

"I was here for Brumby, Mac. Remember? I helped plan his bachelor's party."

"What does Mic have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. And everything. Lt. Roberts' jaw ring any bells? They had it out for each other from day one."

"Harm only wanted what was best for me." I realize as I say it how naïve it sounds.

"What he thought was best." Vic sighs and rubs his forehead. "Mac, I can't handle that kind of animosity for the next fifty years. Our marriage couldn't handle it. Not from a man I respect. Not from a man you love."

"He'll get over it."

"Will he?" His words have an accusatory tone and for the first time since he entered my office he's meeting my gaze. "I know, Mac."

"Know what?" I try so hard to sound confused, but my effort is so audible, it defeats the whole point.

His body language is all about anger. He just barely manages to hide the betrayal in his voice. "You slept with him, Mac."

God damn it. "What makes you think that? I… I mean, if Harm and I had… Well, I wouldn't have-"

"Slept with me. Yes, I know," he says bitterly.

"No, that's not what I was-"

He shakes his head, his tongue slipping out provocatively to wet his lips.

I wouldn't have fallen in love with you, is what I was going to say.

"You don't have to lie to me, Mac."

"What… what makes you think I'm lying?"

"You're doing that thing with your mouth."

You're doing that thing with your mouth… that thing with your mouth… that thing with your mouth…

"I haven't slept with him," I repeat forcefully. I push to the back of my mind the memories that spring up. Of Harm kissing me, the taste of bourbon still clinging to his lips.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." His voice is sharp with sarcasm.

Damn it. Why is he doubting me? I've never lied to him before. He knows that.

"You want me to deny it?" I say, my voice low and tight with anger. My hands fist at my side. "I won't lie to you. Yes, I love him. Yes, there is sexual tension between us. But I never had sex with him, Vic. Never."

"He loves you, Mac."

"I know," I choke out. I wrap my hands around my middle and hang my head. "But a relationship? Marriage? I don't think that's possible anymore, if it ever was."

"You don't think so?"

He steps in close, invading my personal space, forcing me to back up against my desk. His eyes are bright with passion, his face flushed with anger. Tension crackles along every line of his muscles. If it weren't the middle of the day when any number of people could stop by to talk to me, I'd lock the door, throw him across my desk, and put that energy to more creative use.

"He loves you, Mac. His world revolves around you, even if he hasn't realized it yet."

He's not the only one, I want to tell him. Vic's world revolves around me too, otherwise he wouldn't be throwing me at Harm just because he thinks I love Harm more. Sometimes men can be really stupid.

Trying to ignore the tightness in my throat, I ask, "How long do you need?"

"I beg your pardon?" He blinks owlishly at me and backs up a step.

"You said we need time to think this through. How much time?"

"I don't know, Mac."

"The admiral's assigned me to the Waler investigation. My flight leaves from Dulles this afternoon." Thank God I keep a bag in my trunk. I barely have enough time to straighten everything out here, much less go home to pack a bag. "I'll probably only be gone a few days. We can talk when I get back."

He sighs and scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know that I'll be here when you get back."

What? My heartbeat picks up a pace. "How soon is the paperwork going to be pushed through?"

"Terminal leave as of the end of this week. My last day's Friday."

"Vic, you're the one who wants to slow down on the major life decisions. Why rush this one?"

He grimaces. "It's not entirely by choice, Mac."

"I don't understand. I thought you…"

"Didn't the admiral tell you?"

The admiral had said it was his shoulder, though I'd figured that was just his excuse. "You're not taking a medical discharge."

He shakes his head. "The shoulder's not why I'm getting out. It's why I'm rushing it. I've put in my twenty, Mac. I can't serve the way I want to with my shoulder fucked all to hell."

"Instead you'll just walk away from it all? What about your career?"

"I was prepared to walk away four years ago. It's not like there isn't time to start a new career."

"What'll you do?"

He shrugs. "I don't know yet. I think I'll head back to New Mexico for a few weeks. Get in some fishing, some thinking."

"Can we at least talk before you hit the road?"

"We'll see. 'Pends on when you get back." He backs away yet another step and, like flipping a switch, he's back in military mode. "Now if you'll excuse me, ma'am, I still have work to do."

In my numb state, I hardly notice him leave. There's already such a chasm between us, it really makes little difference whether we're in the same room or not.

I storm into Harm's office, oblivious to just about everything in my fury.

"Just what the hell did you say to him, Harm?!"

He has the nerve to sit there and blink at me confusedly.

From my right, someone says, "Um, maybe I should leave you two alone."

I suddenly notice Sturgis sitting in the chair across from the object of my rage. "That might be a wise idea," I snap.

Sturgis looks at Harm and stands up. He's been caught in the middle of our fights often enough to realize when he should just shut up and get the hell out of the line of fire. He doesn't even bother making any excuses. The door clicks shut behind him in half a heartbeat.

"What do you mean, what did I tell him? Tell who? You wanna clue me in here?"

"Vic. What. Did. You. Say. To. Him." Hands on hips, I glare at him across the desk.

He rocks forward in his chair and starts shuffling papers, unable to look at me. "I didn't say anything to him."

"Bullshit, Harmon! Now tell me the truth."

"What makes you think I said anything to him?" he asks with an attitude that makes me want to hit him.

"Because earlier this week he couldn't wait to put a ring on my finger and now he's accusing me of having slept with you."

He sneers. "So because your relationship was so perfect it must be my fault if everything's going to hell? Considering the way you ran out on him the other night, I'm not surprised he thinks that."

"Go to hell." I say it-and mean it-but without any real bite to it.

"Thanks, but I'm already there," he mutters, flipping through the heavy tome of court cases in the middle of his desk. After a moment he realizes I'm still here. "Do you mind? Sturgis and I were in the middle of the Scheffler appeal."

"As a matter of fact, I do mind. I'm not finished."

He slams the book shut. "Mac, if I had anything to say to Vic," - his voice drips with disdain-"it would be with my fists. I'm mad as hell at him and, frankly, at you, but I have no interest in dragging this into court by assaulting an NCO. If you take a look, his nose and jaw are still intact, his eye's not swelled shut, and he's not favoring any ribs. So the odds are good that I haven't said a damn thing to him. Now I'm serious, Mac. Get out."

He stands up and for half a moment I'm afraid he might literally throw me out. And in that heartbeat I realize how much I've wounded him if I can think for even a moment that he might physically hurt me.

I flee to the safety of my office, but I can't escape the fear that I've well and truly fucked everything up. I try to finish my paperwork-I hate leaving work unfinished when I know I'll be gone for a few days-but I can't focus. I give up when I realize I've not only spaced out for the sixth time in half an hour, but I'm also in danger of missing my flight if I don't get going.

In less than three minutes, I gather my stuff, cut through the bullpen, and sign out at the security desk. I waste no time getting in my car and peeling out of the parking lot. I'm sure the Marine in the guard shack throws me a dirty look, but I whiz by to fast to actually see it.

I'm about a mile from the exit when it occurs to me that in my rush I forgot some of my preliminary notes on the investigation. Growling at myself, I reach blindly over the passenger's seat for my purse. One eye on the road, I open it and reach inside. I fumble around for a moment before my fingers clasp around my cell phone. As soon as I hit the power button, it starts beeping at me. Low battery. Hopefully it'll last long enough to make my call. Without having to look, I dial the office.

"JAG headquarters, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez speaking."

I freeze at the sound of his clipped professional voice floating through the slight static.

"Hello?" He sounds annoyed.

"Uh, it's me. Look I forgot my notes on the-" Suddenly I see my exit coming up and I've nearly passed it. Shit. I try to juggle my phone, the steering wheel and my anxiety and fail.

Jerking the wheel to the right, I don't see the car that slipped into my blind spot. I only realize it's there when I feel the impact shudder through my entire Vette. A horn screams. The phone flies from my hand and I hardly have time to process the thought when I feel another impact on the driver's side. The last thing I hear is Vic's tinny voice franticly yelling at me from the floor.

"Mac? Mac?!"