Giving it a Try
Catherine Gale's jaw dropped almost to the table top, or so it seemed, and her eyes grew to the size of saucers, "What... what did you just say?" and blushed a furious crimson as she realised that shock had almost completely paralysed her vocal cords so that her voice came out in a squeak.
He looked at her across the dinner table, still littered with the remains of the pasta, garlic bread and salad meal he had served in his apartment just north of Union Station. A still half-full carafe of sparkling cider - in deference to her five month pregnancy - sat between them and noticing that she seemed to be about to lose her grip on her glass, he reached out and gently took it from her unresisting hand and placed the glass on the coaster in front of her.
"I said," he repeated in eminently reasonable tones that belied the enormity of the proposition he had just made, "why don't we give our relationship a chance?"
She stared at him past the half-empty carafe of sparkling cider, and as some of the colour drained from her face; she made a major effort and cleared her throat. "We don't have a relationship!" she almost snapped at him, relieved that her voice, at least, had returned to normality even if the rest of her life suddenly seemed to have taken a nose dive down a dark and tangled path. And that, she thought was not good; here she was, a confident, experienced attorney, a product of one of the best law schools in the country and she was mixing her metaphors. And thinking about that for a moment, was she totally sure that it was his preposterous suggestion that had flummoxed her, or was it his undeniable good looks, or, and her eyes dropped suspiciously to her glass, was that just ordinary sparkling cider? After all, it had been decanted before she'd arrived for dinner, and she'd never seen the label on the bottle, let alone anything else that might have been added to the carafe.
No, she sternly told herself, that last suspicion was totally unworthy! He would never dream of doing anything even remotely dishonourable, and that of course was why he was unemployed again! His years of naval service as pilot and lawyer had invested him with a personal code of honour which ultimately had run foul against the far looser ethical code practised by the Company, and that snake Webb had taken a cheap advantage and had had him fired for being... a human being! Alright, he had broken a cardinal Company rule; he had been filmed during an operation, but what an operation! He had landed a C-130, a giant, lumbering transport plane that wasn't equipped for such a lunatic act, on the deck of an aircraft carrier, at night and without hydraulics! It was sheer lunacy! But it was also sheer brilliance! And he had saved a dozen lives in doing so.
But that wasn't important right now. He had taken another quixotic idea in his head and one that he needed dislodging as quickly as possible. She drew a deep breath and said, "Look, we barely know each other, and the only reason we're having dinner tonight is because you asked for my help in reviewing those old JAG cases..."
"Umm, that's not strictly true is it Catherine?" he interrupted her.
She looked at him closely, "What do you mean?" she demanded
"Well," he replied expansively, "we did get married!"
"You know perfectly well we didn't get married!" she denied furiously, "the only reason you went through that farce with me was so I'd tell you where to start looking for Colonel MacKenzie!"
"No, Catherine," and suddenly the levity was gone from his face and from his voice, "that wasn't the only reason, was it? I seem to recall that we went through that farce in order to bring some peace to your mother. I'll admit, I wasn't happy with the whole idea, at first, but as we went through our little ceremony and I saw the peace and happiness that filled your mother's face, I just knew that somehow, at that time and in that place, we were doing something good!"
Catherine could not help but be touched by the conviction in his face and in his voice, but she was not about to let herself be out-argued by a mere Georgetown Law School Alumnus. "That is entirely beside the point," she refuted his claims, "We all thought that Mom was dying that night, and a little white lie would help ease her passing!"
"It didn't work out like that though, did it?" he challenged her.
"No, it didn't," she smiled and lost the sharp edge to her voice, "I don't know what happened that night, we, Donnie, me, the doctors, none of us expected her to last until the morning... but somehow, and thank God, she's still with us, and in better shape than she's been for a long time."
Harm continued looking at her and saw her face soften, and was almost certain that her eyes had taken on an extra sheen, and reached out with his large hand to cover her small one as it rested on the table. "How is she, Catherine?" he asked softly.
Catherine felt her breath catch again as she looked at him, his eyes, his face, his tone, his... everything showing that he really did care. He really cared about her mother, an old lady he'd only met for about an hour, yet he cared. "Oh, she's out of ICU and back in a regular room. We don't think she'll ever be coming home again, but with what's happened already, we're not giving up hope entirely."
"Yeah." He nodded and then fixed her eyes with his intense gaze, "have you 'fessed up, come clean about us?"
Part of her desperately wanted to say that she had told her mother that the wedding had been a fake, but looking at him she knew she couldn't lie to him, "No... the right opportunity just hasn't come up... It's complicated... you don't understand..." She dropped her eyes and stared at the remnants of the salad on her plate. She sounded confused, even to herself.
He gently squeezed the hand that still lay beneath his and contradicted her, "Actually Catherine, I do understand complicated and difficult. And I know, God, how I know, just how difficult trying to explain things can be, and how just the right moment never seems to come up, but stories have to be confessed, or," he paused to gauge her reaction, "facts can be altered to fit the story."
She raised her eyes to his again. There had been a raw edge to his voice that she hadn't heard before. There was something in his whole bearing that had altered since she had first met him during the Angelshark inquiry. He seemed... diminished, somehow; as if something was missing. Of course, when he had been involved in that case against her, he had still been in the navy, but now in the aftermath of Webb's totally goat-roped Paraguayan operation, he had resigned from the navy and had been exposed to six months of the CIA before Webb fired him. Damn the Company, she thought bitterly, just what had they done to him?
"So... just what brought on this sudden desire for..." she paused again, this wasn't going to be easy. She actually liked the guy sitting opposite her, and she could see enough pain in his eyes that she was reluctant to inflict any more, but really this out-of-the-blue suggestion that the two of them should become romantically involved, that they should have a relationship was ridiculous. It was based on no more than one shared investigation dating way back in the day, and that absurd idea she'd had to fool her mother... Unless... "What is it with this crackpot idea of yours? We hardly know each other, I'm five, nearly six months pregnant with another man's child - and I've already told you that I'm never going say who the father is. So what is it, a sudden desire for an instant family? And anyway, what about you and Mac, everyone knows..." she stopped as she saw a fleeting expression of loss cross his face only to be almost instantaneously replaced with an expressionless mask.
"Everyone is wrong!" he ground out. "There is no Mac and I. There never will be a Mac and I. She made that perfectly clear six months ago in Ciudad del Este. She's moved on with her life, and so I'm trying to move on with mine!" His face relaxed and his eyes, which had suddenly seemed to turn to ice chips warmed up again as he flashed his smile at her, "And I choose to try and move on with you. As far as the baby is concerned, it doesn't matter that I'm not his or her biological father. If there's one thing being a step-son has taught me, there's a damn sight more to being a father than jut contributing genes. And do I want an instant family? Well, maybe. But the thing is, I'm forty years old, so that means if I have a child tomorrow, I'll be sixty plus when he or she graduates from college..."
"She," Catherine interrupted, almost absent-mindedly.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Right. So, as I was saying, my body clock is running out. I let most of the women I've known slip out of my life, while I waited for my dream to come true. That dream is over, and I've woken up, and I can't say that I really like the smell of solitary coffee. What we have here Catherine is two people who are on their own, when you certainly, are smart enough and beautiful enough to warrant all the care and attention any man can give you. A girl, are you sure?"
Catherine smiled and nodded, and was about to muster a whole array of arguments as to why his suggestion was impossible, but there was something in what he had just said that struck a chord. He was right, she was six months pregnant, the father of her child had turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes, if not the biggest mistake in her life, and although she worked in a crowded office complex and knew literally hundreds of people, she had chosen to come to him, a comparative stranger, an unemployed ex CIA and navy pilot and lawyer, for somebody to talk to, somebody to share her thoughts with, somebody to be a companion, for comfort and maybe even eventually healing. And as the thoughts crossed her mind she looked deep into those amazing eyes opposite and saw pain, depression, loss, loneliness, the fear of rejection and perhaps, just maybe, the beginning of hope.
Her whole mind screamed at her to say 'no' and to get up from the table and to walk out of his apartment and his life, never to come back, but some indefinable force seemed to be holding her in place, and as she realised that her hand on the table was still covered by his own, she looked down at it and saw how it was cupped protectively over hers, and then she knew that even if they didn't love each other, that the man sat at the table with her would never hurt her the way Kevin had and what was more, he would never allow anyone else to hurt her ever again. Not since she had discovered that her contraception had failed had she felt so secure, so safe. She shook her head, it was totally illogical, there was not, there could never be, anything between them. The words 'I'm sorry, Harm' were on the tip of her tongue and she opened her mouth and said "OK, then, let's give it a try."
His answer was a second gentle squeeze of her hand, and even as she turned her own palm upward to respond in kind, her mind was screaming at her, what the hell did you just say! You were going to say no! You were going to get up, leave and never come back, but you said yes! What were you thinking! And she was honest enough with herself to answer, I don't know.
Harm sat and looked at her closely, although she'd just said yes, she looked to be in shock, while he felt the lump of ice in his chest, a lump that had been there since his last night in Paraguay, begin to melt, and he felt a smile, a real smile, cross his face. Standing, he said, "Shall we move this to the couch? We've got a lot to talk about."
"Yes, we do," Catherine replied shakily and reached out her hands to allow him to help her to her feet.
Installing her on the couch, and making sure she had sufficient cushions behind her to support her back, Harm went through to the kitchen island, asking, "What would you prefer, decaf coffee or tea?"
Catherine managed a grin, "What I'd really, really like, is a stiff scotch and soda. But," she continued as she caught sight of Harm's horrified expression, "I guess I'll settle for tea, please."
Harm considered her for a few minutes while he waited for the kettle to boil. Only part of his reaction to her mention of alcohol was due to his knowledge of the effects of alcohol could have on a foetus, but by far the greatest part had been the realisation that by her one mention of her use of alcohol, that he was now in an entirely different ball-game to that which he had played with Mac for the last eight years.
Carrying the two mugs of tea, he sat next to Catherine, careful to leave a non-threatening gap between them, "Now, that you've agreed to give my idea a try-out, how are we going to work this between us?" he asked carefully.
"Um... slowly?" Catherine suggested, "I'm mean I'm not some young tender virgin," she grinned deprecatingly and indicated her swollen abdomen, "but there are some things that shouldn't be rushed..."
Harm inhaled sharply, taking a least a half-mouthful of hot tea down the wrong hole. The subsequent fit of choking, gasping and coughing at least gave him a reason other than his acutely felt embarrassment for the blush that had almost instantaneously risen to his face at her bringing up so quickly a subject around to which he had meant to work his way.
"Ummm... that wasn't quite what I meant," he eventually managed to gasp out, "I was thinking more like theatres of operation, not rules of engagement! What I mean," he continued as he observed the blank look she threw at him, "where, literally where do we go from here? This apartment is great - for me, but it's hardly big enough for two adults living together full-time, and it's certainly no way big enough for two adults and a little person. I don't suppose your apartment is much bigger, either?"
"Uh... no... it's not, but what makes you think we'll be moving in together anyway. I thought we'd just agreed to make haste slowly."
"No..." he drew the word slowly, fixing her with a sharp glance, "You just said that we ought to take things slowly. But that falls under the rules of engagement..."
"Harm, this is not a war!" she protested with a giggle, "We do not have to have theatres of operations or rules of engagement, or... or any of that military speak!"
"Well maybe not those precise terms," he agreed with a smile, "but, you've got to admit the whole idea is a little bit out of left field there, so we need some boundaries to try and keep a hold on the wackiness!"
"Getting cold feet, Harm?" she challenged him with a smile, but with a sinking feeling that he was indeed in the process of changing his mind.
"No... no, I'm not. I don't regret making the suggestion, and I couldn't be happier that you've agreed to give it a go. It's just..." he hesitated, as he realised he was about to use an old argument, one that had led to a world class disagreement at one time. He swallowed, took a deep breath and ploughed on. "It's just that I need to feel some in control in any given situation. When you're up there," he pointed up and out through the window, "if you lose sight of your boundaries, well, it's a non-habit forming occupation." And seeing her look of incomprehension, he swallowed again, hard, and said, "You only get to lose control up there once Catherine, there are no second chances."
Instead of coming back at him with a snappy one-line put-down as Mac had done when he'd said pretty much the same thing to her, Catherine stopped to think about what he'd said before she responded. "And so, because you need the control up there, you feel need it down here, or has it become so habitual that you can't let it go anymore?"
Harm looked at her in wide-eyed astonishment, he was so accustomed to zinging replies, to walls and barricades and off-hand comments that her thoughtfulness and perception had taken him by surprise, "Yeah, I guess so..."
"So, you find spontaneity difficult?"
"Well, I don't know about that..." he broke off as he caught the cynical lift of her eyebrow, and then rather shamefacedly, muttered "Well, yeah, it's not something that comes too easy..."
"Uh-huh. And when you invited me over for dinner tonight, did you plan to drop the relationship bomb?"
"Uh... no... it just sort of came up on me..."
"Spontaneously?" she suggested archly.
He burst into laughter, "Yeah, spontaneously!"
Catherine sat back and enjoyed his laughter. That had been far too easy, she thought. He had just so completely folded under Direct; mind you she had been more than just slightly guilty of leading the witness.
She rested her elbow against the couch's arm and propped her chin on her fist as she continued to study him. She was all too well aware that physically he was devastatingly attractive, and why one his many previous girlfriends - she was a CIA lawyer after all and had carried out extensive background checks on him, all in the line of duty of course - hadn't snapped him up years ago, was totally beyond her. He was, as he had admitted forty, but she was in her thirties, an expectant single mother; so there was no real obstacle there. He was, as she'd already discovered an honourable man, old-fashioned though that concept might be in today's world. He was intrinsically honest, courteous and kind and she could never imagine him being anything other than gentle with her. He was also morally strong as well as being physically powerful, but this evening there had been a glimpse, just a glimpse of an underlying vulnerability, he had somehow let slip that she had the power to inflict an incredible amount of damage on him. He could only have come by the knowledge that a woman could hurt him so badly, because one had already done so, and Catherine Gale was willing to place a sizeable wager that she knew the identity of the guilty party. Once that knowledge had dawned, it had to be confronted; there was no possible way that she could have any sort of relationship with Harmon Rabb while a five-hundred pound gorilla in the shape of the unseen presence of Sarah MacKenzie was squatting in the corner of the room. She mentally braced herself; this was not going to be easy, for either of them. Drawing a deep breath she said, "Harm, what about Mac?"
For a few seconds he felt his rage rising, but with an effort he forced it back down. He had just asked the woman sharing the couch with him to take a chance on him with a view to her sharing his life and he owed her at the very least complete honesty. "Like I said, Catherine, she's made it very clear that she and I have no future. You have nothing to worry about as far as she's concerned."
Catherine held his gaze, "Oh, it's not that Harm, I have no fears that you would ever betray me, or any woman with whom you're involved, with Mac or with any other woman. I just don't want to be your fall-back girl! I don't want to let myself get involved with you only to find six months down the road that Mac wants you back, and that you want to go back to her!"
Harm looked at her earnestly, "That is not going to happen," he enunciated very clearly. "For years Mac has played me like a goddam yo-yo, winding me out and then reeling me back in. And the more fool me, I put up with her doing that in the hope that someday, she might feel for me the same way I felt for her, but," he added cynically, "I am not a total fool, and I do understand what the word 'never' means! I should have guessed even before she said it. I had nightmares about her being killed, I gave up everything for her, my career, I worried myself sick over her, and when I found her she was strapped to a torture table about to be electrocuted, I'd killed the guards... God, one I'd even killed with my bare hands... and she didn't even say thank you, when I cut her loose. She ran straight to Webb, kissed him and said that she'd liked being his wife, and then she turned round to Gunny Galindez and thanked him and hugged him too, but not me. Then we got back and the Admiral told me he had processed my papers, well that was one thing, but then he turned around and humiliated me in front of her, and apart from a token protest, and in spite of all I had done for her, she stood there, she just stood there and let him. And now, apparently she's decided that she prefers Webb over me, well, Catherine, that's fine with me, she and Webb are welcome to each other."
Catherine objected, "But the other night, when I arrived she was already here, and the look she gave me was a definite warning off... territorial... possessive even..."
"The only reason she was here the other evening is because there are fourteen years of Imes' courts martial records to review, and she needed me to help with her workload. Anything else you think you might have seen between us was unreciprocated, and probably no more than her being a dog in the manager anyhow"
Catherine was truly appalled, "What? After all you did for her, after all you gave up for her and after she turned to Webb, and after Webb fired you, she came to you for help with her work? I thought these were some of your old cases that you needed to go through. But she came to you to get your help with her case-load, work that she has to do because she's still got a job! Unbelievable!"
Harm looked at her thunderstruck, "Yes... it is, isn't it... You're right. The hell with it. I'll give her a call in the morning, and she can come and collect them at my convenience. Oh... she said she was working to a deadline... but, hell no, as a civilian attorney I could be charging five hundred an hour, why the hell should I do pro bono for someone who doesn't appreciate me, who has never appreciated what I have done!"
Catherine felt a wave of relief mixed with sympathy wash over her. He sounded incredibly bitter, but then again, she felt he had the right to be. She had always known far more about Webb's mission to Paraguay than she had been able to tell him, hell, more than she'd ever been able to tell anyone, and she had known that Webb's back-up plan for if (when, more likely) his initial plan failed was for Harm to go charging to the rescue like the Seventh Cavalry. But what she hadn't known was the nature of operation's target. If she had known who Sadiq really was, she wouldn't have jerked Harm's strings; she would have given him as full a briefing as possible, and to hell with the consequences. At least she hoped she would have done. But recriminations weren't going to resolve tonight's challenges.
"OK, then, I'm not your fall-back girl. You're happy to take on the daddy role. Now you were talking about apartments and how unsuitable they would be for a baby?"
"Yeah, what we need is a three, or better yet, four bedroom house," his voice took on an almost sing-song quality while his eyes became unfocussed and it was clear to Catherine that he was seeing something that definitely wasn't the apartment or even something that was in the apartment. "A warm, mellow brick built place with a porch, maybe even a wrap-around, with room for a double swing, and some sort of front boundary, closing off the world from what's ours. Oh, yes, and a closed back yard so our children can play in safety..." his voice trailed into silence as he lost himself in his dream.
It would have been so easy to mock that dream, but there had been a touch of wistfulness in his voice that would have made any teasing vicious and hurtful, and despite her no-holds-barred approach to litigation, Catherine Gale wasn't in the business of inflicting unnecessary hurt, especially when the potential target had suddenly revealed just how sensitive and vulnerable he might be.
"Hey, you've given this a lot of thought haven't you?" she asked softly.
"Only for the last eight years or so," he replied quietly.
Catherine flinched, but managed to conceal it. He was being honest with her, even if that honesty did reveal just how long he'd thought he was in love, or even had been in love, with Sarah MacKenzie, "OK, then, have you thought where you might want to live?"
"Well, it doesn't really matter to me anymore, but you wouldn't want too long a commute to Langley, so how about somewhere near there, say Mclean, perhaps?"
"Uh-huh, sounds logical. So we start house-hunting?" Catherine wasn't entirely serious; the prices for the sort of properties he had been describing in and around McLean were astronomical.
"Yeah. You're still working aren't you?" a nod of his head at her abdomen showed the reason he thought she might not be. She in turn nodded her own agreement.
"Fine, so we can start on Saturday, unless you've got any plans for the weekend?"
"You're serious, aren't you?" Catherine sought confirmation.
"Yeah. And to show you just how serious, why don't you meet me tomorrow after work?"
"Yeah, OK. Where?"
"Kresge. Your mom's room. I think we need to bring her up to speed."
Catherine stared at him. This time she nearly was in shock. She was about to open her mouth and give him a verbal blistering when she realised he was right. Since her bump had started showing she had made only a few visits to her mother, and had worn loose, baggy sweaters, or overcoats to disguise her expanding waistline. But to deny her mother the news that she was going to have a grandchild by her daughter, would be far too cruel, especially if she could present Harmon Rabb as the child's male parent.
After a few moments frantic thought, she finally agreed, "Umm... yeah, you're right." She fumbled in her purse and retrieved a card, "here's my private cell number. It takes me about thirty minutes to get the hospital from the office, so call me when you're that far out, and I'll meet you there, OK?" She looked at him pleadingly, and although he had been on the verge of saying he'd meet her Langley CIA Centre, he gathered that for some reason she wanted to meet him at the hospital.
"Sure," he smiled warmly at her, "not a problem. And now for something completely different, Miss Gale, tell me all about yourself..."
"Oh," she smiled, settling back against the cushions, "Nothing to tell really, Mom, Dad, Donnie, me. Normal childhood, school, Duke and then Cornell Law..." he raised his eyebrows in admiration at her academic pedigree, but as she fell silent he raised them even further in encouragement.
"Oh, well," she smiled, recognising his tactics, "Dad was a retired army Brigadier General, Mom, like most women of her class and generation was a homemaker. Donnie's about three and a half years older than me, married with two boys. After I graduated Cornell Law, Dad's links with the intelligence community - he was Military Intelligence Corps - tapped me into a junior attorney's job at Langley, and I've been there ever since, quietly working my way up the corporate attorney ladder."
Harm sat back and regarded her silently and she felt herself grow pink under his scrutiny, until unable to bear his silence any longer, she snapped rather shrewishly, "What?"
"Oh, I was just waiting for you to finish..." he said lazily, enjoying the flash of irritation in her eyes. Catherine Gale was a beautiful woman, but in some ways she seemed just a little too cool, a little too much together, and although he absolutely no desire for a reprise of the all too frequent firestorms he had suffered through with Mac, he did rather enjoy those rare instances when Catherine let her own fire and passion show through.
She looked at him blankly, "But, that's it... that was us."
"No, Catherine. You've told me what you were. You haven't told me who you were. You haven't told me about how excited you were when you got your first bike, or how you loathed Ken, and preferred GI Joe as Barbie's boyfriend, or how you hated Billy the little boy next door, because he pulled your pigtails when you were in second grade, or the crush you had on the quarterback when you were in high school..."
Catherine was forced to chuckle as Harm ticked off his points on his fingers, parodying the upbringing of a white middle-class girl of the seventies and eighties, "If I told you all that," she protested, "then I wouldn't have any secrets from you at all! But, I'll let you know one secret; it wasn't the quarterback, it was the strong safety!"
With that she attempted to get to her feet, but was unable to extricate herself from the clutches of the couch. Half laughing and half-exasperated, she held out an imploring hand to Harm, who got to his feet and extending both hands to her lent her his strength as she struggled to her feet.
Retaining his grip on her hands, he asked, "Going somewhere?"
Suddenly shy, she found difficulty in meeting the gaze of those deep blue eyes at close quarters, and looking down at her feet, which she could still see, she comforted herself, mumbled, "Yeah, I think it's about time I left," and in a burst of renewed confidence, she grinned up at him, "Us pregnant gals need plenty of rest, you know, and it is getting near my bed-time! Harm, thanks for the dinner, and for the surprise... I think." Holding on to his forearm for balance, she stretched up and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.
Harm helped her into her coat, and grabbed his leather jacket from the hook behind the door, and seeing her raise her eyebrows said, "I'll walk you out."
"There's no need, I can find my own way."
"Indulge me in this," he replied, "It's just the way I was raised." Yeah it was, but apart from his upbringing there was no way he was going to let a pregnant woman walk around this neighbourhood after dark. It had always been a source of one of his and Mac's ongoing quarrels; this was not a good neighbourhood but her resistance to his escort, 'I'm a Marine, I can look after myself,' had driven him half-wild with fear for her time after time.
Whether or not his escort deterred any lurkers he would never know, but he conducted Catherine to her car, and just before she eased herself behind the wheel, he took the opportunity to catch her by her elbows and return an equally soft kiss to her cheek.
"Goodnight, Catherine, I'll see you tomorrow at Kresge!"
Catherine smiled her agreement, and turning the key in the ignition, she engaged the drive and stopping briefly at the end of the alley, she turned the car to her left, and as she straightened the wheel, she put her hand to her cheek where she could still feel the warmth and pressure of his lips and quietly told herself that she was completely insane to have even entertained his preposterous notion for even a second, but still...