Author's notes:  I wasn't expecting to write this, but it just popped out one
late, late night.  This is totally not what I normally write, so be warned of
that.  Hey, in the end, it's all about pushing your limits.

Thanks:  To the usuals.
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In the end, it came down to him or me.

His love, his devotion, or my life, my sanity.

In the end, I chose me.

On a dark, dismal, rainy, unabashedly cold fall night, when even the
slightest hint of a breeze could chill to the bone, I squared my shoulders,
in haled an abnormally large amount of air, and I said no.

There was no yelling, no fists clenching and unclenching in anger and
betrayal, no devilishly sparkled brown eyes taking on any tears, as I had
expected there would be.

As I'd hoped there would be.

I'd had my epiphany in line at Subway.  In the end, it all comes down to
choices.  Did I want my staple of ham and cheese with lettuce, tomato, mayo
and just a dash of oil?  Or did I want to be reckless in my old age and go
for the BLT?  Amid the fluorescent lights and yellow tiles, my life changed.

My priorities changed.  For once, it was going to be about me.

I declared among the white and wheat breads that I was no longer
other-defined:  lawyer, Marine, Mic's...whatever, Harm's partner.

Guess what.  For one night only, I was Sarah.

And then, as they say, the shit hit the fan.

Turns out Sarah wasn't quite ready to come out and play tonight.  She'd much
rather hide behind her carefully constructed mortar walls, shielding the
truth's blinding light with the palm of her hand.

To say I've changed over the past two years is like saying Hitler wasn't a
nice guy. I got to be free of the box of my life for a little while.  I could
pretend to ignore all the crap fouling up the scenery that I sorrowfully
called a life.  I could fantasize about the 2.5 kids, padding around pregnant
and barefoot, sitting at my computer all day eating bon-bons, analyzing other
people's priorities and lives, and just not giving a damn.

In the end, it all comes down to honesty.  Honesty with each other, and
honesty with yourself.

I realized, in my shrine known as fast food locales, what was the point?  I
could be artificially happy, happy with what was expected of me, but who was
I kidding?  My mind and heart and libido were elsewhere.

With the asshole I call Harmon Rabb.

So I bravely donned my somewhat tarnished armor, told Mic no, and three and a
half minutes later, was out the door and heading to Union Station.  This is
it, I told myself.  Tonight, you get everything you deserve.

Did I ever.

Did I ever consider him saying no?  Did I ever consider his devilishly blue
eyes darting around the room nervously, searching frantically for an escape?
Did I ever consider how wrong I might be?

He sat me down on the couch, perching himself on the coffee table.  He spread
his jean-clad legs apart, resting his forearms on his knees and began to talk
to me as if I were five.

In his eyes, maybe I am.  Maybe those mortar walls are just too damn high to
climb.

Maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to scale them.  "Mac...I'm just not ready."

And in my infinite wisdom, I never considered it.

So now I sit here, staring at my cold, dead eyes in the mirror.  There is a
splotch of chocolate at the corner of my mouth, the only remnants of a date
with Ben and Jerry.

He may not be ready, but I sure as hell am. Talk about role reversal.

I'm a Marine.  I'm a woman.  I've seen the world and survived it all.

In the end, that's all that matters.

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If I said the end, I'd be nothing but repetative. :)
Feedback's better than sleeping in right through logic.