Mistletoe Not Required

by Vicki James, 2003

Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Belisarius Productions and Paramount. This story is not meant to infringe upon the trademarks or copyrights of Belisarius Productions or Paramount.

Please do not post or distribute this story without the author's permission.

******

Mac turned from her conversation with Harriet to find Harm staring at her across the room. His eyes were dark with the intensity of his gaze and his expression was pensive. As their eyes locked Mac suddenly felt as though the others gathered in the Roberts' house had disappeared; her concentration focused on Harm alone.

His unwavering scrutiny left her a bit disarmed and rather more breathless. Her brow furrowed, silently questioning his intense regard, but she softened the look with a vague smile.

Harm abandoned his coffee cup to a nearby table and slowly crossed the room toward her. His eyes did not leave hers but seemed to fill with a new determination. Mac's hands fluttered to her side as she unconsciously sought a chair or table or other solid object to hold onto for support. She came away with nothing but the scratch of pine needles from the Christmas tree and floundered alone in the maelstrom of Harm's piercing gaze and her own tumultuous emotions.

It was crazy. Her heart was threatening to hammer itself out of her chest and all because Harm was coming to talk to her. Ludicrous! He was her best friend. It would be remarkable if didn't come talk to her. Only...that expression on his face wasn't his usual one. The looks he'd given her across the dinner table hadn't been ordinary either. They'd made her feel he was devouring more than his dinner and that air conditioning mightn't have come amiss, despite the cold temperatures of the December night.

He stopped at her side and Mac felt as though she could reach out and pass her hand through the energy shimmering between them. She wasn't imagining it. Something was charged and changing. The storm they'd always kept slightly off their radar was now centered directly in their path.

"Harm?" Mac gave him a smile she hoped appeared inquisitive rather than apprehensive.

"You look amazing tonight." His voice came as gentle and intimate as a caress, yet Mac concerned the force of it would buckle her knees.

"Oh," she responded lamely. She was both flattered and disconcerted by his forthright compliment.

The corner of Harm's mouth quirked up in one of his lazy smiles. "I checked my machine after dinner. You left a few messages."

His teasing brought them back to more familiar ground and Mac was able to relax a bit. "After the last time you went missing with a Tomcat, I was a bit worried," she confessed.

"You don't have to be. Not when I have someone I need to come home to." His voice was pitched low; what he said, the way in which he said it, was not for others to overhear.

Tell him to stop. Tell him they couldn't. Make a joke. Tell him he was out of bounds. Laugh and brush it off.

Tell him the truth.

At once it all became clear to Mac. It was now. It was their time. There was no more stalling. She wanted him to come home to her, in every sense.

"I'm standing here waiting for you."

She was scorched by the heat that flared in his eyes. "Are you saying what I think you are?" he asked.

Mac swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry throat. "I'm saying, Santa may have something to leave for you under my tree. Maybe you should be there in the morning to find out."

As if he couldn't stop from touching her, Harm's hand shot out to gently grasp her shoulder. The contact steadied them both. His head lowered slowly, his cheek brushing hers as he moved to speak softly in her ear. "Sarah. You're all I've ever wanted for Christmas."

Then abruptly, as the tingling his words left in their wake was still coursing down her limbs, he stiffened and began craning his head around, searching the room.

Before Mac could ask what was wrong, he grabbed her by the hand and dragged her out of the living room He pulled her through the kitchen and had swept her into the dining room before she could get out a word of protest. All the while he'd been scanning the rooms from ceiling to floorboards.

"Harm!" Mac laughed, digging in her heels just past the doorway. "What are you doing?"

He swung around to face her and Mac could see his eyes dancing despite the dimness of the room.

"I'm looking for mistletoe."

Mac grinned and took a step to close the distance between them. She ran her hands leisurely up his chest to entwine them around his neck, then tilted her head back to meet his eyes.

"I can assure you," she said, her voice sounding husky with its low tone, "that mistletoe is definitely not required."

She pulled his head down to surrender to his kiss.

******

End

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