Title: Flying High
Author: Pixie
Email: Pixie4@charter.net
Rating: R (To be on the safe side)
Classification: Jag Story (Romance/Humor/Angst (just a little))
Spoilers: Anything's possible.
Feedback: Food for the author's soul. Much appreciated, but not required.
Acknowledgements: My deepest gratitude to Melissa, who never makes me feel like my obsession with JAG is the slightest bit unnatural, and who saw me patiently through the many bumps on the road to finishing this. My thanks also to Aerogirl, for her continued willingness to beta read and offer encouragement.
Summary: Harm and Mac are on opposite sides of a drug trafficking case.
Author's Note 1: The characters from N.C.I.S. make cameo appearances here. You don't have to be a fan of the show to understand what's going on, but it will help if you've seen Ice Queen and/or Meltdown so that you understand their personalities.
Author's Note 2: This story is quite different from Shades of Gray and Flashpoint. It's light on angst, long on romance. Don't worry, though, there really is a JAG plot buried in there someplace too.
***** Part 1 *****
0500 Zulu (2100 Local)
Whidbey Naval Air Station
Whidbey Island, Washington
The casual observer would never peg the ungainly P3-C at its true value to the United States Navy. Gunmetal gray, virtually windowless, and bulky, it reminded Special Agent Jethro Gibbs of nothing so much as an oversized pelican. He watched it drop clumsily to the tarmac, then ducked back into his service car, slamming the door and shifting it into gear in one smooth motion. Beside him, Agent Tony Dinozzo popped a fresh clip into his 9mm, pointing it at the floor of the car while he removed the safety. In the back seat, an audible click indicated a similar action on Agent Kate Todd's part. Expertly, Gibbs spun the car onto the runway behind the plane, speeding after it, leading the pack of half a dozen identical vehicles, all of them with lights flashing and sirens wailing.
Almost before the plane rolled to a complete stop, it was surrounded by NCIS investigators, guns drawn behind the cover of their open car doors. For several minutes, silence reigned, broken only by the gentle sound of the rain as it soaked into tarmac and human alike, causing more than one agent to tug down the brim of a hat or tighten a jacket collar. Gibbs ignored the steady trickle down the back of his neck and fixed his attention on the hatch, willing it to open. When it did, the audible thunk tightened the spines and raised the chins of two dozen agents. The airstair slowly unfolded, and a solitary figure appeared at the top of it, hands raised.
Gibbs raised his voice, the better to be heard over the fading roar of the turbo props.
"NCIS! Turn around and descend the ladder slowly. When you reach the bottom, freeze, lace your hands behind your head, and await further instruction."
The petty officer did as he was told. Kate met him at the bottom, cuffed him, and led him to one side. The process was repeated eleven times, until the entire crew stood in an uneasy line on the tarmac. Gibbs waited then, letting the silence and the rain tighten the tension in ways simple words could not. He paced up and down the line while NCIS agents secured the plane for the evidence collection team.
"All clear, Boss!" The call came from Dinozzo, who had donned a pair of latex gloves and was already halfway up the airstair. "The evidence team is ready to start. Drug dogs should be here any minute."
"They were supposed to be here an hour ago," Gibbs muttered to himself. "You waiting for an invite, Dinozzo? Get busy!" he snapped. Tony turned and disappeared inside the huge aircraft, half a dozen agents on his heels. Gibbs stopped pacing and turned to stare long and hard at the crewmen lined up before him.
"Lieutenant Mercer!"
"Sir! Yes, Sir!" The pilot stepped forward, coming to attention as well as he could with his hands cuffed behind his back. Gibbs stared at him, starting at the man's feet, and working his gaze slowly up to his face. The lieutenant was perfectly turned out, his Navy flight suit spotless, gold wings glinting in the floodlights that had been set up around the perimeter. Raindrops trickled off the rim of his cover, the rivulets of water soaking into the broad shoulders beneath, but Mercer's face remained impassive. If he was worried, he was doing a remarkable job of hiding it. Gibbs moved until he was standing toe to toe with the younger man, glaring balefully into eyes that, once defiant, were starting to take on a hint of fear. Gibbs had a special place in his heart for people who sold drugs to kids, and he recited the Article 31 rights with a certain perverse pleasure.
"Lieutenant Mercer, you have the right to remain silent and make no statements. Any statement you do make could be used against you in a court martial. You have the right to consult..." He finished in record time and gestured to a nearby agent. "Henderson, you and your partner deliver the lieutenant to the brig. I'll meet you there later."
"Yes, Sir." The agent hustled Mercer off to the car and was gone. Gibbs surveyed the remaining crew.
"I don't have enough evidence to take any of you in," he said, and watched eleven pairs of shoulders visibly relax. "But you can bet you'll be sorry if I find anything to tie you to Mercer. Return to your barracks and await further orders."
He gestured to another agent to remove the cuffs and pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket. Without a backward glance, he climbed the airstair and disappeared into the maw of the huge gray bird.
1317 Zulu (0817 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Four pairs of eyes flew to the conference room door when it opened abruptly, admitting a highly agitated Harmon Rabb. Mac hid a smile. He was late again. Really late, this time. He was lucky the admiral was in a good mood.
"Commander, how nice of you to join us. Please. Have a seat." The admiral's voice was deceptively pleasant, and Harm slid into his chair, wishing that just once his alarm clock and the traffic patterns would cooperate with him.
"My apologies for my late arrival, Sir. The elevator appears to be out of order. Had to take the stairs."
"It takes you seventeen minutes to make it up three flights of stairs, Commander?" A.J. shook his head in mock dismay. "We need to get you some PT time."
"Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir."
"Which is it? Yes or no?"
"It's no, Sir. I'm in top physical shape."
"Hmm..." The admiral's response was noncommittal, but he let it drop, returning to the files in front of him.
"Now that Commander Rabb has joined us, I guess we can go over this new case." He flipped open the file and scanned the cover sheet.
"Lieutenant Steven Mercer. Arrested last night at Whidbey Island Naval Air Station. It seems Mercer took advantage of his gold wings to smuggle Ecstasy across the border from Canada. Apparently, there's some concern about Mercer's international connections, thus his transfer to Norfolk for trial here." He flipped a page, scanning quickly. "Looks like they're in a hurry on this one. NCIS delivered him to us personally at 0500 this morning." He glanced around the table, and his next words dropped like stones in a pool of still water. "The lead investigator on the case is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs."
Harm's head snapped up as he felt three pairs of eyes fasten on him and slide away. The admiral glanced back at the file, made a decision, and looked back at his attorneys.
"Colonel, you'll prosecute. Commander, you'll defend."
"Yes, Sir."
The admiral handed case files to the two attorneys and stood.
"That's it, people. Let's get to work."
Chairs scraped and papers rustled as the group prepared to leave.
"Commander."
"Sir?"
"Try to be on time tomorrow."
"Yes, Sir."
Harm caught Mac's small grin and traded it for a glare. Her smile widened, but she turned away before he could say anything, and he shook his head with a half smile of his own.
A maintenance worker stood just outside the room.
"Commander Rabb?"
"Yes."
"You reported the problem with the elevator, Sir?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's fixed. I thought you might like to have this."
He handed Harm the single sheet of paper he held in his hand. Harm glanced at it, and then back up, confused.
"I don't understand. Why would I want the 'Out of Order' notice?"
"I thought you might like to see the back, Sir."
Harm flipped it over, and muttered an oath that caused Mac's eyebrows to shoot up.
"What is it, Harm?"
He held it up. On the back, in bold letters, was the single word, "Gotcha!" with a big smiley face.
Mac's laugh escaped, despite her heroic attempt to hold it back. Sturgis, Bud, and the admiral fought grins of their own.
"You're not exactly off to a flying start today, Sailor."
"This isn't funny, Mac."
"No, of course it isn't. I'll see you later, ok?"
Still laughing, she entered her office, closing the door behind her. Suspicious sounds floated through the crack under the door, and he glared at it balefully.
Bud and the admiral had already left to return to their own offices, so Harm fixed his best interrogation stare on the one remaining suspect. Sturgis threw up his hands in surrender.
"I don't know anything about it, Harm."
With a snort, Harm turned and headed back to his office. He wasn't certain who the guilty party was, but whoever it was, they were in trouble. They were messing with the master.
Grumpily, he dropped into the chair, absently picking up a pencil and tapping it against the scarred desktop. He had a pretty good idea who the culprit was, and a slow grin spread over his face as he plotted his revenge. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up.
"It's open," he called.
Mac poked her head inside.
"Is it safe?"
"Shouldn't it be?"
"Thought I should make sure before I exposed myself to enemy fire," she grinned.
Harm put his hands to his chest in mock pain.
"Your lack of faith wounds me."
His smile gave the lie to his remark, and she came in, relaxing into a chair on the other side of his desk.
"Just thought I'd check. Listen, I'm heading off to Norfolk for a preliminary interview. Gibbs and his team are meeting me there. Want to tag along?"
"Sure. I'll even buy you lunch."
"Meat?"
He groaned.
"If I must."
"You must."
A few minutes later, they were settled in Mac's Corvette. The engine purred to life, and Harm arranged his legs in the small space.
"You know, we'd have been more comfortable in the Lexus."
"Probably, but this is more fun. Besides, it was my idea that we go together. That means I get to drive."
"Bossy."
Her only answer was a smug grin as she expertly maneuvered the car through the city streets and onto the highway. Harm spent a few minutes glancing through the slim case file, then he closed the folder and focused his gaze on the passing scenery.
Her soft voice finally broke the silence as she glanced at him, concern in her eyes.
"Are you ok with this, Harm?"
"Am I ok with what?"
"Gibbs."
He didn't answer right away. When he finally did speak, his voice was low, bitter.
"It's not something I like to talk about, Mac."
"You're angry."
"Not angry, really. Disappointed."
"Disappointed?"
"Yeah."
"About what?"
He looked over at her, frustrated that the confined space wouldn't allow him to turn his body.
"Why didn't you come to see me?"
Surprise flitted across her face as she glanced over and then back at the road.
"Didn't the admiral tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"He ordered us to stay away."
"Hmm..." Harm's voice was noncommittal as he returned his glance to the passing scenery.
"You don't believe me?"
"No. I believe you."
"Then what?"
"Nothing." He was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with disappointment. "It's just that if it had been you in there, nothing would have kept me away."
She looked over at him. "You'd have gone against a direct order." It was a statement, not a question.
"If I had to, yes. It wouldn't have been the first time."
"It wasn't just the orders that kept me away."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Yeah."
"What was it then?"
"I didn't know how to help you, Harm. If I'd gone to you, I could've ended up being a witness for the prosecution." She glanced at him again, her expression serious. "I couldn't take that chance."
"You think I would have told you something that would hurt my case?"
"I don't know," she said. "I suppose I thought it was possible."
He pondered that for a minute.
"Why didn't you come to see me after I got out?"
"I did."
"Yes, but as an afterthought. You were already committed to that fiasco in Paraguay."
"Fiasco is right. I'll never forgive Clay for dragging me into that mess."
"Why did you go?"
"You know why, Harm. Orders."
He sighed. "Sometimes I hate the military."
"Me, too."
Silence. Then Mac's quiet voice.
"Forgive me?"
He looked at her, meeting her eyes for a brief moment before she flicked them back to the road ahead.
"Yeah."
He was rewarded with a relieved smile.
"Thanks."
He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up her hand from where it rested on the gear shift, squeezed it gently, started to release it, and then changed his mind and held it, surprised and pleased when she didn't immediately pull away. He tried to act nonchalant, turning his head to look out the window as though he'd simply forgotten to let go, yet every fiber of his being zeroed in on that single point of contact, the warmth and softness of her small hand nestled securely in his. He concentrated on the moment, and on the bubble of quiet peace that surrounded them, and tried not to let optimism overcome realism in his heart as the car sped toward their destination.
He'd missed this feeling of closeness between them, this sense of being two parts of a single entity. There'd been a time when it had been a constant in their relationship, his anchor in a storm. Then life had gone crazy, as it had an annoying tendency to do at times. Now he had Mattie, she had Webb and everything was different; and yet, in a strange way, everything was the same. He'd never said it to her, and the way things were looking right now, he probably never would, but a fact was a fact, no matter which way you twisted it. And the simple fact here was that Mac held a piece of his heart that he'd never be able to retrieve, no matter how bad things got between them.
A light tug forced his attention back to the present, and he released her hand so that she could shift gears, pleased to see a soft smile curving the corners of her mouth. Neither of them said a word, as though acknowledging what had just happened might somehow jinx it, and a few minutes later, they pulled up outside the brig. Mac set the handbrake and looked over at him.
"You ready?"
"Let's do it. I'll meet with my client while you talk to Gibbs and his crew?"
"Deal."
They unfolded themselves from the low slung car, and Harm stretched the kinks from his back and legs before reaching in for his briefcase. Moments later, they were walking into the building in companionable silence.
Gibbs stood at the guard desk, signing in and turning over his handgun. He turned when the door opened to admit Harm and Mac. There was a heartbeat of tense silence before Harm spoke.
"We meet again," he said, feelings and memories washing over him.
"Looks that way," Gibbs replied, and clipped the visitor's badge to his lapel. He gestured to the two people standing to one side, visitor's badges already fixed to their jackets.
"I believe you remember Agent Dinozzo?"
Harm exchanged nods with Tony, still grateful to the man for the extra bit of effort that had saved his neck all those months ago.
"This is Special Agent Caitlin Todd." Gibbs indicated the slim, dark haired woman who was observing the reunion with interest. Harm wondered how much she knew about him, and realized it might be very little. Gibbs wasn't exactly the gossipy sort. He nodded in her direction, and received a slight dip of the chin in reply.
"Shall we get started?" Mac asked then. "I believe they have a conference room reserved for us, Agent Gibbs. Harm? We'll meet back up with you in a couple of hours."
"Sounds good," he said, scribbling his name in the entry log while the guard inspected his ID. He picked his cover up from where he had set it on the desk, clipped on the visitor's badge, and turned back to the group.
"See you in a while," he said, and turned to follow the MP down a familiar hallway to the meeting rooms. Mercer hadn't been brought in yet, and while the guard went to collect him, Harm settled himself at the table, opening his briefcase to pull out a fresh legal pad and pencil, then snapping it shut and standing it on the floor beside his chair. He had just time enough to jot down the date and time at the top of the paper when the door opened to admit his new client.
Harm glanced up, observing the man as he walked across the room and settled himself in the other chair. He'd been a lawyer long enough to know that his first impressions were usually accurate, and he didn't like what his instincts were telling him about the lieutenant.
Mercer was tall, nearly as tall as Harm, but bulkier, with a massive chest and shoulders that spoke of hours spent lifting weights. In contrast, he was slim through the hips and thighs, giving the overall impression of a triangle that had been tipped on end. His brown hair, close cropped even beyond the demands of Navy regs, did nothing to sharpen the angular planes of his face, but it somehow emphasized the crooked nose that was likely the result of more than one ill-conceived bar fight. Mercer's mouth, wide and full lipped, was stretched tight in controlled anger, his hazel eyes sullen.
"You going to get me out of here?" he asked, his tone bordering on disrespect.
"I think that depends on you, Lieutenant. Have a seat."
Harm had Mercer's service file in his briefcase, along with the case file that contained the basics of the crime. He didn't want to look at cold facts right now, though. He wanted to hear the story from his client's own lips, get a feel for him as a man and a human being. He'd long since found it to be the best way to begin to formulate a defense strategy.
"Want to tell me what happened?"
"NCIS tricked me. That's what happened."
"Tell me about it."
"You're my attorney, so you have to keep what I say private, right?"
"That's right."
"I've been doing this for years. Flying those birds back and forth across the border makes it easy, you know? Who'd ever think a Navy pilot would be shipping drugs? My guys in Canada and Denmark are happy because they get their money. My pals in Washington are happy because they get their merchandise. I get enough money to buy my wife a nice home and maintain our membership at the country club. Everybody's happy."
Harm resisted the urge to throttle the man then and there. The arrogant fool didn't even think he'd done anything wrong.
"Anyway, a couple of months ago I get this new client. Woman. Real good looking if you know what I mean," Mercer smirked, causing Harm's blood pressure to notch up a few more points.
"She wanted an ounce of Ecstasy. I told her sure, no problem. We made the deal, and we both walked away satisfied."
Mercer shifted, stretching out his legs in front of him.
"She called me again, 'bout a month later. Wanted a pound this time. I said fine. Gave her the routing numbers for my bank, said we'd hook up in a week. She seemed happy enough with that, so we went our merry ways, and I scheduled a trip to Copenhagen to pick up more supplies. I get back last night, and those NCIS goons are waiting for me. The way they acted, you'd have thought I was an ax murderer. I was surprised at first, until I saw my newest client carrying a badge and a Sig-Sauer."
He shook his head in disgust, though whether at himself for trusting a pretty client, or at her for the set up, Harm couldn't tell.
"I'm not a bad guy, Commander. All I do is answer the call of supply and demand. I don't sell the stuff on the streets, and I don't use it myself. I'm not stupid enough to do that, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm even here."
"You mean aside from the fact that you broke half the regs in the UCMJ?"
"Those regs are out of date. They need revising to keep up with the times. Like I said, I wasn't hurting anybody, so what's the problem?"
Harm leaned forward, speaking slowly and clearly.
"Lieutenant Mercer, you're looking at hard time here. You took advantage of your uniform to smuggle a Schedule I controlled substance . The members aren't going to look kindly on that."
Mercer had the decency to look a little ashamed.
"Look, I know I shouldn't have done this while I was on duty, but the uniform made things easier, you know? Who's going to suspect a Navy pilot? Besides, look at me. I'm not exactly profile material, you know." He almost preened, and Harm mentally added vanity to the growing list of things he disliked about this client.
Harm sighed. The fact that Mercer was a Navy pilot, gold wings and all, turned his stomach. For him, those wings symbolized commitment to the highest standards, the utmost respect for the military and the United States of America. In contrast, the man sitting across from him right now seemed to see the wings merely as a means to an end, a way to step up on the economic ladder of life, and God help anybody who got in his way. He lifted his briefcase to the table and opened it, returning his notes and pencil before closing it again with a snap. He stood up, moved to the door and knocked, his signal to the guard that he was finished.
"Wait. That's it?" Mercer was agitated. "When do I get out of here?"
"I don't know, Lieutenant - certainly not before the trial, not with these charges and the amount of evidence against you. For now, I need to compare our conversation today to my case notes and think about where to go from here. I'll be in touch."
The door opened, and Mercer stood to leave, then stopped, turning back to Harm with the first traces of concern on his face.
"You're going to get me out of this, aren't you, Commander?"
"I'll do my best, Lieutenant." He didn't like it. In fact, right now there was nothing he'd like better than to lock the man in the brig and throw away the key, but unlike Mercer, he respected the laws of career and country, so he'd do everything he could to make sure the lieutenant got a fair hearing.
Mercer left, and Harm was alone in the empty room. He sighed. He truly hated cases like this, hated having to fight for a guilty man's freedom. With luck, Mac would be willing to consider a plea bargain, though he hadn't discussed the idea with Mercer yet. Before he did, he wanted to go over the case file and whatever information he could get from Mac in discovery.
Until then, he wouldn't even know what his bargaining position was. He did know, however, that Gibbs was one of the best. He'd be willing to bet that the case he'd built against Lieutenant Mercer would be rock solid. His only hope would be to look for a weak spot, a chink in the massive amounts of paperwork that these types of cases always generated. Somewhere, somehow, he had to find an uncrossed "t," or an undotted "i."
He scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the mere thought making him tired. Long hours of poring through masses of documents loomed ahead of him, and he was dreading it. Paperwork had never been his strong suit, and to get stuck with mounds of it for a client he knew was guilty did not make him happy. Standing, he pushed the chair in with a touch more force then was absolutely necessary, then he grabbed his briefcase and left the room, hoping that Mac was ready to go.
Luckily, she was, but she looked tense, and Harm wondered what had happened in her meeting to put those lines around her mouth. He glanced around. Gibbs, Dinozzo, and the new agent, Todd, were nowhere in sight.
"Everything all right, Mac?"
"Everything's fine." Her voice, a shade too bright and a shade too edgy, brought his head up from where he'd been bent over the logbook, signing out.
"What happened in there?"
"Nothing, Harm. I told you, I'm ok. Are you ready to head back?"
"Sure am, but if I remember right, I owe you lunch first."
Her eyes brightened, as he'd thought they might.
"Food?"
"Sure. What are you hungry for?"
"How about Mexican?"
He groaned.
"Spicy?"
She grinned. "Is there any other kind?"
Pleased that he'd managed to chase away the worry lines, he gave in.
"All right. We'd better get going, though."
"Right behind you, Flyboy."
Twenty minutes later they sat across from each other in Mac's favorite Mexican restaurant. They sipped from tall glasses of iced tea and munched on fresh tortilla chips while they waited for their food to arrive.
"So who do you think pulled that elevator stunt this morning?" Mac asked.
Harm groaned. "Did you have to bring that up again? It'll take me months to live that down."
"Yeah. I know. Isn't it great?" Her smile was wide, and her eyes danced in merriment, causing Harm to catch his breath. It'd been a while since he's seen a smile that made it all the way to her eyes, and he'd almost forgotten how beautiful it made her.
"Never fear. I fully intend to get even with the perpetrator."
"Oh? And who do you think that might be?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
"Surely you don't think I did it."
He didn't answer, merely watching her with a quirked eyebrow and a twinkle.
"I didn't!"
She was playfully indignant at the accusation.
"I believe you." But he didn't really, and she knew it. She huffed at him in exasperation, but he just grinned at her and reached for another chip, dipping it into the queso and waiting for the extra cheese to drip off before bringing it to his mouth.
Mac watched him, unaccountably fascinated. A tiny drop of bright yellow dotted his chin, and she picked up her napkin, unable to resist the temptation. She targeted the spot with her eyes, dabbed it, glanced up, and froze. His eyes held an intense light that she'd only seen once before. It had sent her heart into overdrive then, and it had the same effect now, causing her to suddenly feel like she'd just run the hundred yard dash. He caught her wrist and held it gently, his thumb stroking tiny circles against her skin. The action momentarily shorted out her internal clock, and she lost track of the passage of time while she struggled to remember how to breathe.
"All right, who had the enchilada plate?"
It was their server, and Harm released her to look up. She sank gratefully back in her chair and willed her heart to slow down, her diaphragm to force the air in and out of her lungs.
"I did."
It was a good thing Harm answered, because she was pretty sure that the only sound she could make right now would be a moan.
"Cujo over there ordered the fajitas."
That brought her back to reality with a thud.
"Cujo!"
She fired her wadded up napkin at him, and he ducked, coming back up with a wide grin. Their server chuckled and refilled their tea glasses before leaving to attend his other duties. She glared at Harm.
"Cujo?"
"As I recall, he was pretty fierce and he liked meat. It seemed to fit."
"You're terrible, you know that?" But she couldn't help smiling at him.
"I try."
He waggled his brows and then turned his attention to his food, pointedly ignoring her snort of laughter.
1900 Zulu (1400 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Harm and Mac stood at attention in front of the admiral's desk. He looked up at them, his annoyance at the interruption plain on his face.
"Well? What can I do for you?"
"Request permission to book a flight to Seattle, Sir. We need to interview witnesses on the Mercer case."
A.J. sighed.
"I suppose you both need to go?"
Harm and Mac exchanged glances.
"Yes, Sir," Harm answered. "We need to interview the flight crew and Lieutenant Mercer's commanding officer. We could bring them here, but it'd be cheaper for Mac and I go to out there."
"All right, then. Permission granted. Get your flight information to Coates. Dismissed."
Harm was right behind Mac as they walked through the bullpen, so when she stopped suddenly, he plowed into her and nearly knocked her to her knees. He caught her shoulders to steady her, greatly enjoying the incidental close contact, even when she turned a halfhearted glare in his direction.
"Tailgating's illegal, you know."
"Sorry."
Somehow he didn't look very sorry, and she quirked an eyebrow at him suspiciously. He responded with his best innocent schoolboy impression, causing her to grin despite herself.
"You're hopeless, you know that?"
"I try, Mac. I try."
She gestured toward a group of people clustered around the water cooler.
"I wonder what that's all about."
"Let's go find out."
Harm's height advantage had him chuckling before Mac could see what was going on.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer, but caught her by the arm, gently maneuvering her closer to the cooler.
"That's what it is."
Mac looked, and burst into laughter. Inside the bottle, floating merrily about, were a dozen tiny rubber ducks. She was staring at the brightly cheerful little objects, wondering who would have had the nerve to pull such a stunt, when Harm started humming a familiar song behind her. With a wide grin, she started to sing along.
"....you make bath time lots of fun. Rubber ducky...."
Gradually, the people around her joined in, their voices fading in and out as their laughter allowed. Mac angled her head up to look at Harm when they launched into the second verse.
"Rubber ducky, joy of joys.... When I squeeze you, you make noise..."
"What's going on out here?"
The voice of doom brought an immediate guilty silence as choir members scattered like so many startled sparrows. Mac turned around as A.J. came to a stop beside her, folding his arms across his chest as he rocked back on his heels and cocked his head to one side in puzzlement.
"Has the whole world gone mad?" he asked rhetorically.
"I don't think so, Sir. Looks like a bit of innocent fun to me."
"Whose innocent fun, Colonel?" He glared down his nose at her, as though holding her personally responsible.
"It wasn't me, Sir. I was with Harm in your office, and before that we were in Norfolk."
"Uh huh..." He looked as though he didn't quite believe her.
"Coates!" he bellowed.
"Yes, Sir?"
A.J. started slightly, obviously not expecting to find her standing right beside him. He twisted his head around, turning his scowl on her.
"Lose the ducks."
"Um... What would you like me to do with them, Sir?" Her question earned her an over the shoulder glare from the retreating officer.
"I don't care what you do with them, Coates. Just get rid of them!"
"Right away, Sir."
The admiral's door closed behind him, and Jen turned to look at Mac, who threw her hands up in self-defense.
"I have no idea, Jen."
Jen sighed and stared at the water cooler, evidently trying to determine how to dispose of the offending objects without creating a minor flood. Mac left her there and returned to her office, only to find Harm comfortably ensconced in one of her chairs waiting for her.
"Any preference on flight times?" she asked him.
"Mattie left this morning with her volleyball team for an out of town tournament. She's supposed to be gone until Sunday afternoon. If we can get a flight out tonight, we'd have three or four days to do interviews."
Mac picked up the phone. "I'll see what I can do."
In short order, she had them both booked on a flight that would leave Dulles at 1930 and arrive in Seattle at about 2200 local time. She followed up with a rental car reservation, and they were all set. She'd even thought to make sure that Harm got an aisle seat on an exit row so that he'd have a little room to stretch out his legs. She hung up the phone and turned to Harm, who'd found mysterious reasons to wait in her office instead of returning to his own where he might actually accomplish something productive.
"We're all set," she said, jotting the flight and rental car information on a piece of paper that she handed over to him. "Would you drop this off with Jen on your way back to your office?"
"She's not exactly on my way, but sure, I'll take care of it."
"Thanks. And Harm?"
He turned away from the door, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.
"Why don't we take my car? That way there'd only be one parking fee to pay at the airport."
"That's good thinking, but there's a problem with it."
"What's that?"
"There's no way I'm getting back into that matchbox you call a car."
"Harm?" she said sweetly, turning his expression instantly suspicious.
"Yeah?"
"Deal with it."
He rolled his eyes.
"I tell you what."
"What?"
"Since you drove to Norfolk, I'll drive to the airport. Meet me at my place at 1730. We'll leave your car there and take mine." He was gone before she had a chance to object.
**** To be continued...****
Author: Pixie
Email: Pixie4@charter.net
Rating: R (To be on the safe side)
Classification: Jag Story (Romance/Humor/Angst (just a little))
Spoilers: Anything's possible.
Feedback: Food for the author's soul. Much appreciated, but not required.
Acknowledgements: My deepest gratitude to Melissa, who never makes me feel like my obsession with JAG is the slightest bit unnatural, and who saw me patiently through the many bumps on the road to finishing this. My thanks also to Aerogirl, for her continued willingness to beta read and offer encouragement.
Summary: Harm and Mac are on opposite sides of a drug trafficking case.
Author's Note 1: The characters from N.C.I.S. make cameo appearances here. You don't have to be a fan of the show to understand what's going on, but it will help if you've seen Ice Queen and/or Meltdown so that you understand their personalities.
Author's Note 2: This story is quite different from Shades of Gray and Flashpoint. It's light on angst, long on romance. Don't worry, though, there really is a JAG plot buried in there someplace too.
***** Part 1 *****
0500 Zulu (2100 Local)
Whidbey Naval Air Station
Whidbey Island, Washington
The casual observer would never peg the ungainly P3-C at its true value to the United States Navy. Gunmetal gray, virtually windowless, and bulky, it reminded Special Agent Jethro Gibbs of nothing so much as an oversized pelican. He watched it drop clumsily to the tarmac, then ducked back into his service car, slamming the door and shifting it into gear in one smooth motion. Beside him, Agent Tony Dinozzo popped a fresh clip into his 9mm, pointing it at the floor of the car while he removed the safety. In the back seat, an audible click indicated a similar action on Agent Kate Todd's part. Expertly, Gibbs spun the car onto the runway behind the plane, speeding after it, leading the pack of half a dozen identical vehicles, all of them with lights flashing and sirens wailing.
Almost before the plane rolled to a complete stop, it was surrounded by NCIS investigators, guns drawn behind the cover of their open car doors. For several minutes, silence reigned, broken only by the gentle sound of the rain as it soaked into tarmac and human alike, causing more than one agent to tug down the brim of a hat or tighten a jacket collar. Gibbs ignored the steady trickle down the back of his neck and fixed his attention on the hatch, willing it to open. When it did, the audible thunk tightened the spines and raised the chins of two dozen agents. The airstair slowly unfolded, and a solitary figure appeared at the top of it, hands raised.
Gibbs raised his voice, the better to be heard over the fading roar of the turbo props.
"NCIS! Turn around and descend the ladder slowly. When you reach the bottom, freeze, lace your hands behind your head, and await further instruction."
The petty officer did as he was told. Kate met him at the bottom, cuffed him, and led him to one side. The process was repeated eleven times, until the entire crew stood in an uneasy line on the tarmac. Gibbs waited then, letting the silence and the rain tighten the tension in ways simple words could not. He paced up and down the line while NCIS agents secured the plane for the evidence collection team.
"All clear, Boss!" The call came from Dinozzo, who had donned a pair of latex gloves and was already halfway up the airstair. "The evidence team is ready to start. Drug dogs should be here any minute."
"They were supposed to be here an hour ago," Gibbs muttered to himself. "You waiting for an invite, Dinozzo? Get busy!" he snapped. Tony turned and disappeared inside the huge aircraft, half a dozen agents on his heels. Gibbs stopped pacing and turned to stare long and hard at the crewmen lined up before him.
"Lieutenant Mercer!"
"Sir! Yes, Sir!" The pilot stepped forward, coming to attention as well as he could with his hands cuffed behind his back. Gibbs stared at him, starting at the man's feet, and working his gaze slowly up to his face. The lieutenant was perfectly turned out, his Navy flight suit spotless, gold wings glinting in the floodlights that had been set up around the perimeter. Raindrops trickled off the rim of his cover, the rivulets of water soaking into the broad shoulders beneath, but Mercer's face remained impassive. If he was worried, he was doing a remarkable job of hiding it. Gibbs moved until he was standing toe to toe with the younger man, glaring balefully into eyes that, once defiant, were starting to take on a hint of fear. Gibbs had a special place in his heart for people who sold drugs to kids, and he recited the Article 31 rights with a certain perverse pleasure.
"Lieutenant Mercer, you have the right to remain silent and make no statements. Any statement you do make could be used against you in a court martial. You have the right to consult..." He finished in record time and gestured to a nearby agent. "Henderson, you and your partner deliver the lieutenant to the brig. I'll meet you there later."
"Yes, Sir." The agent hustled Mercer off to the car and was gone. Gibbs surveyed the remaining crew.
"I don't have enough evidence to take any of you in," he said, and watched eleven pairs of shoulders visibly relax. "But you can bet you'll be sorry if I find anything to tie you to Mercer. Return to your barracks and await further orders."
He gestured to another agent to remove the cuffs and pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket. Without a backward glance, he climbed the airstair and disappeared into the maw of the huge gray bird.
1317 Zulu (0817 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Four pairs of eyes flew to the conference room door when it opened abruptly, admitting a highly agitated Harmon Rabb. Mac hid a smile. He was late again. Really late, this time. He was lucky the admiral was in a good mood.
"Commander, how nice of you to join us. Please. Have a seat." The admiral's voice was deceptively pleasant, and Harm slid into his chair, wishing that just once his alarm clock and the traffic patterns would cooperate with him.
"My apologies for my late arrival, Sir. The elevator appears to be out of order. Had to take the stairs."
"It takes you seventeen minutes to make it up three flights of stairs, Commander?" A.J. shook his head in mock dismay. "We need to get you some PT time."
"Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir."
"Which is it? Yes or no?"
"It's no, Sir. I'm in top physical shape."
"Hmm..." The admiral's response was noncommittal, but he let it drop, returning to the files in front of him.
"Now that Commander Rabb has joined us, I guess we can go over this new case." He flipped open the file and scanned the cover sheet.
"Lieutenant Steven Mercer. Arrested last night at Whidbey Island Naval Air Station. It seems Mercer took advantage of his gold wings to smuggle Ecstasy across the border from Canada. Apparently, there's some concern about Mercer's international connections, thus his transfer to Norfolk for trial here." He flipped a page, scanning quickly. "Looks like they're in a hurry on this one. NCIS delivered him to us personally at 0500 this morning." He glanced around the table, and his next words dropped like stones in a pool of still water. "The lead investigator on the case is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs."
Harm's head snapped up as he felt three pairs of eyes fasten on him and slide away. The admiral glanced back at the file, made a decision, and looked back at his attorneys.
"Colonel, you'll prosecute. Commander, you'll defend."
"Yes, Sir."
The admiral handed case files to the two attorneys and stood.
"That's it, people. Let's get to work."
Chairs scraped and papers rustled as the group prepared to leave.
"Commander."
"Sir?"
"Try to be on time tomorrow."
"Yes, Sir."
Harm caught Mac's small grin and traded it for a glare. Her smile widened, but she turned away before he could say anything, and he shook his head with a half smile of his own.
A maintenance worker stood just outside the room.
"Commander Rabb?"
"Yes."
"You reported the problem with the elevator, Sir?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's fixed. I thought you might like to have this."
He handed Harm the single sheet of paper he held in his hand. Harm glanced at it, and then back up, confused.
"I don't understand. Why would I want the 'Out of Order' notice?"
"I thought you might like to see the back, Sir."
Harm flipped it over, and muttered an oath that caused Mac's eyebrows to shoot up.
"What is it, Harm?"
He held it up. On the back, in bold letters, was the single word, "Gotcha!" with a big smiley face.
Mac's laugh escaped, despite her heroic attempt to hold it back. Sturgis, Bud, and the admiral fought grins of their own.
"You're not exactly off to a flying start today, Sailor."
"This isn't funny, Mac."
"No, of course it isn't. I'll see you later, ok?"
Still laughing, she entered her office, closing the door behind her. Suspicious sounds floated through the crack under the door, and he glared at it balefully.
Bud and the admiral had already left to return to their own offices, so Harm fixed his best interrogation stare on the one remaining suspect. Sturgis threw up his hands in surrender.
"I don't know anything about it, Harm."
With a snort, Harm turned and headed back to his office. He wasn't certain who the guilty party was, but whoever it was, they were in trouble. They were messing with the master.
Grumpily, he dropped into the chair, absently picking up a pencil and tapping it against the scarred desktop. He had a pretty good idea who the culprit was, and a slow grin spread over his face as he plotted his revenge. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up.
"It's open," he called.
Mac poked her head inside.
"Is it safe?"
"Shouldn't it be?"
"Thought I should make sure before I exposed myself to enemy fire," she grinned.
Harm put his hands to his chest in mock pain.
"Your lack of faith wounds me."
His smile gave the lie to his remark, and she came in, relaxing into a chair on the other side of his desk.
"Just thought I'd check. Listen, I'm heading off to Norfolk for a preliminary interview. Gibbs and his team are meeting me there. Want to tag along?"
"Sure. I'll even buy you lunch."
"Meat?"
He groaned.
"If I must."
"You must."
A few minutes later, they were settled in Mac's Corvette. The engine purred to life, and Harm arranged his legs in the small space.
"You know, we'd have been more comfortable in the Lexus."
"Probably, but this is more fun. Besides, it was my idea that we go together. That means I get to drive."
"Bossy."
Her only answer was a smug grin as she expertly maneuvered the car through the city streets and onto the highway. Harm spent a few minutes glancing through the slim case file, then he closed the folder and focused his gaze on the passing scenery.
Her soft voice finally broke the silence as she glanced at him, concern in her eyes.
"Are you ok with this, Harm?"
"Am I ok with what?"
"Gibbs."
He didn't answer right away. When he finally did speak, his voice was low, bitter.
"It's not something I like to talk about, Mac."
"You're angry."
"Not angry, really. Disappointed."
"Disappointed?"
"Yeah."
"About what?"
He looked over at her, frustrated that the confined space wouldn't allow him to turn his body.
"Why didn't you come to see me?"
Surprise flitted across her face as she glanced over and then back at the road.
"Didn't the admiral tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"He ordered us to stay away."
"Hmm..." Harm's voice was noncommittal as he returned his glance to the passing scenery.
"You don't believe me?"
"No. I believe you."
"Then what?"
"Nothing." He was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with disappointment. "It's just that if it had been you in there, nothing would have kept me away."
She looked over at him. "You'd have gone against a direct order." It was a statement, not a question.
"If I had to, yes. It wouldn't have been the first time."
"It wasn't just the orders that kept me away."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Yeah."
"What was it then?"
"I didn't know how to help you, Harm. If I'd gone to you, I could've ended up being a witness for the prosecution." She glanced at him again, her expression serious. "I couldn't take that chance."
"You think I would have told you something that would hurt my case?"
"I don't know," she said. "I suppose I thought it was possible."
He pondered that for a minute.
"Why didn't you come to see me after I got out?"
"I did."
"Yes, but as an afterthought. You were already committed to that fiasco in Paraguay."
"Fiasco is right. I'll never forgive Clay for dragging me into that mess."
"Why did you go?"
"You know why, Harm. Orders."
He sighed. "Sometimes I hate the military."
"Me, too."
Silence. Then Mac's quiet voice.
"Forgive me?"
He looked at her, meeting her eyes for a brief moment before she flicked them back to the road ahead.
"Yeah."
He was rewarded with a relieved smile.
"Thanks."
He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up her hand from where it rested on the gear shift, squeezed it gently, started to release it, and then changed his mind and held it, surprised and pleased when she didn't immediately pull away. He tried to act nonchalant, turning his head to look out the window as though he'd simply forgotten to let go, yet every fiber of his being zeroed in on that single point of contact, the warmth and softness of her small hand nestled securely in his. He concentrated on the moment, and on the bubble of quiet peace that surrounded them, and tried not to let optimism overcome realism in his heart as the car sped toward their destination.
He'd missed this feeling of closeness between them, this sense of being two parts of a single entity. There'd been a time when it had been a constant in their relationship, his anchor in a storm. Then life had gone crazy, as it had an annoying tendency to do at times. Now he had Mattie, she had Webb and everything was different; and yet, in a strange way, everything was the same. He'd never said it to her, and the way things were looking right now, he probably never would, but a fact was a fact, no matter which way you twisted it. And the simple fact here was that Mac held a piece of his heart that he'd never be able to retrieve, no matter how bad things got between them.
A light tug forced his attention back to the present, and he released her hand so that she could shift gears, pleased to see a soft smile curving the corners of her mouth. Neither of them said a word, as though acknowledging what had just happened might somehow jinx it, and a few minutes later, they pulled up outside the brig. Mac set the handbrake and looked over at him.
"You ready?"
"Let's do it. I'll meet with my client while you talk to Gibbs and his crew?"
"Deal."
They unfolded themselves from the low slung car, and Harm stretched the kinks from his back and legs before reaching in for his briefcase. Moments later, they were walking into the building in companionable silence.
Gibbs stood at the guard desk, signing in and turning over his handgun. He turned when the door opened to admit Harm and Mac. There was a heartbeat of tense silence before Harm spoke.
"We meet again," he said, feelings and memories washing over him.
"Looks that way," Gibbs replied, and clipped the visitor's badge to his lapel. He gestured to the two people standing to one side, visitor's badges already fixed to their jackets.
"I believe you remember Agent Dinozzo?"
Harm exchanged nods with Tony, still grateful to the man for the extra bit of effort that had saved his neck all those months ago.
"This is Special Agent Caitlin Todd." Gibbs indicated the slim, dark haired woman who was observing the reunion with interest. Harm wondered how much she knew about him, and realized it might be very little. Gibbs wasn't exactly the gossipy sort. He nodded in her direction, and received a slight dip of the chin in reply.
"Shall we get started?" Mac asked then. "I believe they have a conference room reserved for us, Agent Gibbs. Harm? We'll meet back up with you in a couple of hours."
"Sounds good," he said, scribbling his name in the entry log while the guard inspected his ID. He picked his cover up from where he had set it on the desk, clipped on the visitor's badge, and turned back to the group.
"See you in a while," he said, and turned to follow the MP down a familiar hallway to the meeting rooms. Mercer hadn't been brought in yet, and while the guard went to collect him, Harm settled himself at the table, opening his briefcase to pull out a fresh legal pad and pencil, then snapping it shut and standing it on the floor beside his chair. He had just time enough to jot down the date and time at the top of the paper when the door opened to admit his new client.
Harm glanced up, observing the man as he walked across the room and settled himself in the other chair. He'd been a lawyer long enough to know that his first impressions were usually accurate, and he didn't like what his instincts were telling him about the lieutenant.
Mercer was tall, nearly as tall as Harm, but bulkier, with a massive chest and shoulders that spoke of hours spent lifting weights. In contrast, he was slim through the hips and thighs, giving the overall impression of a triangle that had been tipped on end. His brown hair, close cropped even beyond the demands of Navy regs, did nothing to sharpen the angular planes of his face, but it somehow emphasized the crooked nose that was likely the result of more than one ill-conceived bar fight. Mercer's mouth, wide and full lipped, was stretched tight in controlled anger, his hazel eyes sullen.
"You going to get me out of here?" he asked, his tone bordering on disrespect.
"I think that depends on you, Lieutenant. Have a seat."
Harm had Mercer's service file in his briefcase, along with the case file that contained the basics of the crime. He didn't want to look at cold facts right now, though. He wanted to hear the story from his client's own lips, get a feel for him as a man and a human being. He'd long since found it to be the best way to begin to formulate a defense strategy.
"Want to tell me what happened?"
"NCIS tricked me. That's what happened."
"Tell me about it."
"You're my attorney, so you have to keep what I say private, right?"
"That's right."
"I've been doing this for years. Flying those birds back and forth across the border makes it easy, you know? Who'd ever think a Navy pilot would be shipping drugs? My guys in Canada and Denmark are happy because they get their money. My pals in Washington are happy because they get their merchandise. I get enough money to buy my wife a nice home and maintain our membership at the country club. Everybody's happy."
Harm resisted the urge to throttle the man then and there. The arrogant fool didn't even think he'd done anything wrong.
"Anyway, a couple of months ago I get this new client. Woman. Real good looking if you know what I mean," Mercer smirked, causing Harm's blood pressure to notch up a few more points.
"She wanted an ounce of Ecstasy. I told her sure, no problem. We made the deal, and we both walked away satisfied."
Mercer shifted, stretching out his legs in front of him.
"She called me again, 'bout a month later. Wanted a pound this time. I said fine. Gave her the routing numbers for my bank, said we'd hook up in a week. She seemed happy enough with that, so we went our merry ways, and I scheduled a trip to Copenhagen to pick up more supplies. I get back last night, and those NCIS goons are waiting for me. The way they acted, you'd have thought I was an ax murderer. I was surprised at first, until I saw my newest client carrying a badge and a Sig-Sauer."
He shook his head in disgust, though whether at himself for trusting a pretty client, or at her for the set up, Harm couldn't tell.
"I'm not a bad guy, Commander. All I do is answer the call of supply and demand. I don't sell the stuff on the streets, and I don't use it myself. I'm not stupid enough to do that, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm even here."
"You mean aside from the fact that you broke half the regs in the UCMJ?"
"Those regs are out of date. They need revising to keep up with the times. Like I said, I wasn't hurting anybody, so what's the problem?"
Harm leaned forward, speaking slowly and clearly.
"Lieutenant Mercer, you're looking at hard time here. You took advantage of your uniform to smuggle a Schedule I controlled substance . The members aren't going to look kindly on that."
Mercer had the decency to look a little ashamed.
"Look, I know I shouldn't have done this while I was on duty, but the uniform made things easier, you know? Who's going to suspect a Navy pilot? Besides, look at me. I'm not exactly profile material, you know." He almost preened, and Harm mentally added vanity to the growing list of things he disliked about this client.
Harm sighed. The fact that Mercer was a Navy pilot, gold wings and all, turned his stomach. For him, those wings symbolized commitment to the highest standards, the utmost respect for the military and the United States of America. In contrast, the man sitting across from him right now seemed to see the wings merely as a means to an end, a way to step up on the economic ladder of life, and God help anybody who got in his way. He lifted his briefcase to the table and opened it, returning his notes and pencil before closing it again with a snap. He stood up, moved to the door and knocked, his signal to the guard that he was finished.
"Wait. That's it?" Mercer was agitated. "When do I get out of here?"
"I don't know, Lieutenant - certainly not before the trial, not with these charges and the amount of evidence against you. For now, I need to compare our conversation today to my case notes and think about where to go from here. I'll be in touch."
The door opened, and Mercer stood to leave, then stopped, turning back to Harm with the first traces of concern on his face.
"You're going to get me out of this, aren't you, Commander?"
"I'll do my best, Lieutenant." He didn't like it. In fact, right now there was nothing he'd like better than to lock the man in the brig and throw away the key, but unlike Mercer, he respected the laws of career and country, so he'd do everything he could to make sure the lieutenant got a fair hearing.
Mercer left, and Harm was alone in the empty room. He sighed. He truly hated cases like this, hated having to fight for a guilty man's freedom. With luck, Mac would be willing to consider a plea bargain, though he hadn't discussed the idea with Mercer yet. Before he did, he wanted to go over the case file and whatever information he could get from Mac in discovery.
Until then, he wouldn't even know what his bargaining position was. He did know, however, that Gibbs was one of the best. He'd be willing to bet that the case he'd built against Lieutenant Mercer would be rock solid. His only hope would be to look for a weak spot, a chink in the massive amounts of paperwork that these types of cases always generated. Somewhere, somehow, he had to find an uncrossed "t," or an undotted "i."
He scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the mere thought making him tired. Long hours of poring through masses of documents loomed ahead of him, and he was dreading it. Paperwork had never been his strong suit, and to get stuck with mounds of it for a client he knew was guilty did not make him happy. Standing, he pushed the chair in with a touch more force then was absolutely necessary, then he grabbed his briefcase and left the room, hoping that Mac was ready to go.
Luckily, she was, but she looked tense, and Harm wondered what had happened in her meeting to put those lines around her mouth. He glanced around. Gibbs, Dinozzo, and the new agent, Todd, were nowhere in sight.
"Everything all right, Mac?"
"Everything's fine." Her voice, a shade too bright and a shade too edgy, brought his head up from where he'd been bent over the logbook, signing out.
"What happened in there?"
"Nothing, Harm. I told you, I'm ok. Are you ready to head back?"
"Sure am, but if I remember right, I owe you lunch first."
Her eyes brightened, as he'd thought they might.
"Food?"
"Sure. What are you hungry for?"
"How about Mexican?"
He groaned.
"Spicy?"
She grinned. "Is there any other kind?"
Pleased that he'd managed to chase away the worry lines, he gave in.
"All right. We'd better get going, though."
"Right behind you, Flyboy."
Twenty minutes later they sat across from each other in Mac's favorite Mexican restaurant. They sipped from tall glasses of iced tea and munched on fresh tortilla chips while they waited for their food to arrive.
"So who do you think pulled that elevator stunt this morning?" Mac asked.
Harm groaned. "Did you have to bring that up again? It'll take me months to live that down."
"Yeah. I know. Isn't it great?" Her smile was wide, and her eyes danced in merriment, causing Harm to catch his breath. It'd been a while since he's seen a smile that made it all the way to her eyes, and he'd almost forgotten how beautiful it made her.
"Never fear. I fully intend to get even with the perpetrator."
"Oh? And who do you think that might be?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
"Surely you don't think I did it."
He didn't answer, merely watching her with a quirked eyebrow and a twinkle.
"I didn't!"
She was playfully indignant at the accusation.
"I believe you." But he didn't really, and she knew it. She huffed at him in exasperation, but he just grinned at her and reached for another chip, dipping it into the queso and waiting for the extra cheese to drip off before bringing it to his mouth.
Mac watched him, unaccountably fascinated. A tiny drop of bright yellow dotted his chin, and she picked up her napkin, unable to resist the temptation. She targeted the spot with her eyes, dabbed it, glanced up, and froze. His eyes held an intense light that she'd only seen once before. It had sent her heart into overdrive then, and it had the same effect now, causing her to suddenly feel like she'd just run the hundred yard dash. He caught her wrist and held it gently, his thumb stroking tiny circles against her skin. The action momentarily shorted out her internal clock, and she lost track of the passage of time while she struggled to remember how to breathe.
"All right, who had the enchilada plate?"
It was their server, and Harm released her to look up. She sank gratefully back in her chair and willed her heart to slow down, her diaphragm to force the air in and out of her lungs.
"I did."
It was a good thing Harm answered, because she was pretty sure that the only sound she could make right now would be a moan.
"Cujo over there ordered the fajitas."
That brought her back to reality with a thud.
"Cujo!"
She fired her wadded up napkin at him, and he ducked, coming back up with a wide grin. Their server chuckled and refilled their tea glasses before leaving to attend his other duties. She glared at Harm.
"Cujo?"
"As I recall, he was pretty fierce and he liked meat. It seemed to fit."
"You're terrible, you know that?" But she couldn't help smiling at him.
"I try."
He waggled his brows and then turned his attention to his food, pointedly ignoring her snort of laughter.
1900 Zulu (1400 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Harm and Mac stood at attention in front of the admiral's desk. He looked up at them, his annoyance at the interruption plain on his face.
"Well? What can I do for you?"
"Request permission to book a flight to Seattle, Sir. We need to interview witnesses on the Mercer case."
A.J. sighed.
"I suppose you both need to go?"
Harm and Mac exchanged glances.
"Yes, Sir," Harm answered. "We need to interview the flight crew and Lieutenant Mercer's commanding officer. We could bring them here, but it'd be cheaper for Mac and I go to out there."
"All right, then. Permission granted. Get your flight information to Coates. Dismissed."
Harm was right behind Mac as they walked through the bullpen, so when she stopped suddenly, he plowed into her and nearly knocked her to her knees. He caught her shoulders to steady her, greatly enjoying the incidental close contact, even when she turned a halfhearted glare in his direction.
"Tailgating's illegal, you know."
"Sorry."
Somehow he didn't look very sorry, and she quirked an eyebrow at him suspiciously. He responded with his best innocent schoolboy impression, causing her to grin despite herself.
"You're hopeless, you know that?"
"I try, Mac. I try."
She gestured toward a group of people clustered around the water cooler.
"I wonder what that's all about."
"Let's go find out."
Harm's height advantage had him chuckling before Mac could see what was going on.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer, but caught her by the arm, gently maneuvering her closer to the cooler.
"That's what it is."
Mac looked, and burst into laughter. Inside the bottle, floating merrily about, were a dozen tiny rubber ducks. She was staring at the brightly cheerful little objects, wondering who would have had the nerve to pull such a stunt, when Harm started humming a familiar song behind her. With a wide grin, she started to sing along.
"....you make bath time lots of fun. Rubber ducky...."
Gradually, the people around her joined in, their voices fading in and out as their laughter allowed. Mac angled her head up to look at Harm when they launched into the second verse.
"Rubber ducky, joy of joys.... When I squeeze you, you make noise..."
"What's going on out here?"
The voice of doom brought an immediate guilty silence as choir members scattered like so many startled sparrows. Mac turned around as A.J. came to a stop beside her, folding his arms across his chest as he rocked back on his heels and cocked his head to one side in puzzlement.
"Has the whole world gone mad?" he asked rhetorically.
"I don't think so, Sir. Looks like a bit of innocent fun to me."
"Whose innocent fun, Colonel?" He glared down his nose at her, as though holding her personally responsible.
"It wasn't me, Sir. I was with Harm in your office, and before that we were in Norfolk."
"Uh huh..." He looked as though he didn't quite believe her.
"Coates!" he bellowed.
"Yes, Sir?"
A.J. started slightly, obviously not expecting to find her standing right beside him. He twisted his head around, turning his scowl on her.
"Lose the ducks."
"Um... What would you like me to do with them, Sir?" Her question earned her an over the shoulder glare from the retreating officer.
"I don't care what you do with them, Coates. Just get rid of them!"
"Right away, Sir."
The admiral's door closed behind him, and Jen turned to look at Mac, who threw her hands up in self-defense.
"I have no idea, Jen."
Jen sighed and stared at the water cooler, evidently trying to determine how to dispose of the offending objects without creating a minor flood. Mac left her there and returned to her office, only to find Harm comfortably ensconced in one of her chairs waiting for her.
"Any preference on flight times?" she asked him.
"Mattie left this morning with her volleyball team for an out of town tournament. She's supposed to be gone until Sunday afternoon. If we can get a flight out tonight, we'd have three or four days to do interviews."
Mac picked up the phone. "I'll see what I can do."
In short order, she had them both booked on a flight that would leave Dulles at 1930 and arrive in Seattle at about 2200 local time. She followed up with a rental car reservation, and they were all set. She'd even thought to make sure that Harm got an aisle seat on an exit row so that he'd have a little room to stretch out his legs. She hung up the phone and turned to Harm, who'd found mysterious reasons to wait in her office instead of returning to his own where he might actually accomplish something productive.
"We're all set," she said, jotting the flight and rental car information on a piece of paper that she handed over to him. "Would you drop this off with Jen on your way back to your office?"
"She's not exactly on my way, but sure, I'll take care of it."
"Thanks. And Harm?"
He turned away from the door, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.
"Why don't we take my car? That way there'd only be one parking fee to pay at the airport."
"That's good thinking, but there's a problem with it."
"What's that?"
"There's no way I'm getting back into that matchbox you call a car."
"Harm?" she said sweetly, turning his expression instantly suspicious.
"Yeah?"
"Deal with it."
He rolled his eyes.
"I tell you what."
"What?"
"Since you drove to Norfolk, I'll drive to the airport. Meet me at my place at 1730. We'll leave your car there and take mine." He was gone before she had a chance to object.
**** To be continued...****