Title: Better Never Than Bad

Chapter Four

By: LizD

Spoilers: Sometime before the ruination of Harm (prior to mid-season 7)

Notes: Sexual Innuendo done for fun.

Written: September 2003

Disclaimers: No disrespect to JAG's cast, crew or creators. With love and thanks.

Chapter Four – Round Two

It was close to eleven thirty when Harm let himself into his apartment. He had gone to the chiropractor and had a massage and spent and hour in the hot tub. He was feeling a little better – a lot better – at least he could move. He had left Mac a note saying that he was taking himself off the case and that she and Turner could do whatever they wanted. He told the admiral that it was because of his back; there was no reason to explain the real connection from his back to the case to the admiral.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow of someone sitting in the chair by the window. It was a woman with a great neck – OH NO. He flicked the light on.

"What are you doing here Mac?" he demanded in no mood to continue the fight they had.

"I came to apologize."

"Accepted, you can show yourself out," he went to the kitchen and was about to pour himself some water but changed his mind and pulled a beer from the fridge.

She followed him. The light and shadow in the apartment hung on her like silk. "You don't want to know what I am apologizing for?" she said softly, unphased by his dismissal.


He watched her approach as he took an excessively long hit on the beer. Her shirt collar was laid open revealing every curve and angle, every supple arc that led from her ear to her --- he swallowed hard. She had a different perfume on; different from the one she had on earlier that day and the one she wore the night before. What did it taste like? He thought.

She watched his mouth as he drank from the bottle, licked his lips and pursed them slightly. She had a queer sort of envy for the bottle – so close to his lips, his tongue.

"You need to know," she said.

"I know as much as I care to know."

"You were right about Turner's client," she continued. "He was only sorry he got caught."

"How did you find out?"

"We let him go, and he went out immediately and did it again."

"With no repercussions – what would stop him?"

"Well, the Shore Patrol actually – he will be in jail until Monday and then will be arraigned on these new charges. He won't get off so easily this time."

"What makes you think he wanted to get off?" Harm asked a little too defensively. "I expect that he wanted to be held accountable, responsible and to be allowed to make restitution for his actions."

"Do you really?"

"I do," he leaned away from her but his irritation was dissipating. "His intent was not to screw up, the fact that he did, means that he should be allowed to try make amends."

"You think he wants to make amends?"

"Wouldn't you … in his position?" he asked back.

She shrugged a nod. "You know," she cooed. "The intent was not bad or wrong or even unexpected."

"Not unexpected?" he asked. "So it was expected?" he shifted his position toward her.

"More like anticipated," she corrected.

"Welcomed?" he asked.

"Most welcomed," she answered. "The only real issue was the execution – and that accountability must be shared."

"Some horses don't run the first time out of the gate."

"They need a little practice."

"Some training."

"Opportunities to get it right."

She was within arms reach of him. She had to touch his mouth, his lips. She took the beer from his hand and put it on the counter and stepped closer.

"It is a risk," she stated with her eyes fixated on his mouth.

"Taking another opportunity?"

"Anything that is left to be salvaged may be lost completely."

"Sometimes you have to tear some down completely in order to rebuild something better in its place."

"Are you suggesting that everything be thrown out?" she looked up into his eyes.

"Not at all," he leaned in. "I don't believe it was a total loss."


"It opened the topic for discussion," he smiled.

The movement of his lips nearly did her in. "Yes it did."

"So what if …" He could no longer hold back. He put his hand to her throat very gingerly let his fingers caress every curve, slope and valley. "…the first time—"

"First?" She asked. "First implies a second." She sighed.

"And a third…" When his lips first brushed that spot just below the hairline, she let loose an audible sigh. And when he took a taste of her perfumed spot her moan was more than audible and sent tingles down to the toes of each. In one unified, synchronized motion they came together and kissed.

Round Two had begun. It took longer than 23 minutes – a lot longer – but neither one was clocking them. This time they took turns leading. This time words or pieces of words were passed in the darkness. This time neither one of them felt the need to punch out early. Still there were no candles, soft music or protestations of undying love and affection. But this time it was done well.

So what will they do when the cold light of day creeps in? That is another story.

Literally …