Disclaimer: Don't own'em.
A/N: A little bit of fun. I wrote this during what I've decided to call "study breaks". Shame on me.
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Hit On
Harm sat at the bar, idly watching the ball game on the television screen. He sighed. Mac was taking an uncharacteristically long time in getting back from the ladies' room. She'd been gone for, he squinted at the time on the corner of the screen … four minutes and something seconds. They'd just finished having drinks with Sturgis, Bud and Harriet, and were planning on going out for dinner and maybe catching a movie. If they could decide on which movie. Mac wanted to watch an action flick starring some stubbled, muscled, unnaturally good-looking male. He wanted to see the new thriller that was out – it was rumoured to be Oscar-worthy.
Besides, why did she need to see some stubbled, muscled, unnaturally good-looking male prance around onscreen when she was dating him? Minus the stubble. She was a Marine after all; he would never have guessed that she liked the unkempt look. Hell, maybe he'd forego shaving this weekend and see if she liked how it looked and felt. The thought had him grinning.
He'd offer to flip a coin to decide the movie as soon as she came back. He glanced at the washroom doors over his left shoulder. If she ever came back. Five minutes and something seconds. Maybe he'd try to charm her into watching his choice, first.
He felt someone standing close to his right shoulder. Must be Mac. He turned, full-fledged smile firmly in place, only to find himself looking at a stranger – a blonde woman. Definitely not Mac. He swallowed his smile.
"I apologize," Harm said off-hand, "I mistook you for someone else."
The woman smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. "You can mistake me for whoever you want." Her tone was dripping with innuendo.
Harm's eyes widened, but he recovered admirably.
"I'm sorry for the mistake, Ma'am." He turned back toward the televised ballgame.
The blonde sat down on the barstool next to his. She crossed her legs towards him, causing her skirt to ride up her thigh and reveal more leg than was appropriate in any public setting. She swung her foot casually. The toe of her shoe brushed against his pant leg with each swing. Harm squirmed away.
"Don't be sorry." She purred, placing her hand on the counter, almost touching his. He moved his hand and glued his eyes to the screen.
Oh, god. If Mac walked in on this – they'd just gotten into the swing of things, the two of them – he'd be scraping parts of himself off the floorboards well into the next decade.
The thought made him slide to the edge of his barstool. A difficult task for a man his size. He was practically teetering in his seat. He tried to appear blasé.
The leggy blonde chose this as a sign to stand and scoot up next to him. He could smell her breath, she was that close. Minty. Peppermint, he would guess. Mac favoured spearmint. He favoured Mac. His eyes darted towards the washroom. How long was she taking? How was he going to get rid of this woman?
"So," Leggy Blonde started. "What's a good-looking man like you doing all by yourself on a Friday night?"
"Actually, I'm not by myself. I'm waiting for someone." For good measure, he glanced towards the restroom doors. Again.
"Really?" She breathed on him. Definitely peppermint.
He cleared his throat and stared at the washroom doors over his shoulder, trying to convey his disinterest to Leggy Blonde.
"I'm also waiting for someone," this time, her voice was throaty. "Want to wait together?"
He would give her points for tenacity.
"Well, my girlfriend should be back soon. She just—"
"Girlfriend, huh?" She put a hand on Harm's forearm, where it rested on the counter. "What can I do to change your mind?"
Harm stared at Leggy Blonde, too surprised to move his arm. Definite point-deduction for sheer brazenness. When Leggy Blonde leaned her face closer to his and dropped a hand to his knee, he jerked away, swivelling on his stool to come face to face with-
"Mac!" Shit. He froze. She was standing right in front of him, arms crossed.
"Mac?"Leggy Blonde echoed. She looked Mac up and down, and then confidently stated, "Well, Mac, me and Handsome here are waiting for his girlfriend."
"Handsome and I," Mac absently corrected, watching Harm with an expression of … amusement?
"Ah, I can explain," he fumbled, all the while wondering why. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong. Leggy Blonde had come onto him. Leggy Blonde who just put a possessive hand on his knee. Harm's eyes flew down to his knee – where he briskly pushed Leggy Blonde's hand away – and then up at Mac. Was she laughing?
"Mac?" He was definitely confused. Why wasn't she upset? He thought she'd be upset. But then, why should she be upset; it wasn't as though he'd done anything wrong.
"Isn't Mac a kind of truck?" Leggy Blonde asked, rather cattily, Harm thought. At least she was keeping her hands to herself. He wondered why Mac hadn't moved from the spot she was standing in.
"That's Mack, with a 'k'," Mac replied conversationally, putting her hands in her jacket pockets.
"Oh. So you're Mac like the computer? Or the cosmetics?" Harm wasn't sure if he could detect sarcasm. Cosmetics? Really? He tried to remember what brand lipstick Mac wore.
"Yeah, like." She nodded at Leggy Blonde. Harm frowned, his attention now on Mac; she really didn't seem affected by Leggy Blonde's presence.
Maybe he was in some kind of twilight zone. Or on Candid Camera. He searched the bar for the telltale red light.
"Well, Mac like the computer," Leggy Blonde started, even more cattily this time, in Harm's opinion. "You can leave Handsome and me – oh, excuse me, Handsome and I – to wait for his girlfriend. Maybe one of those balding men by the jukebox would like to dance with you."
Harm braced himself for Mac's reaction. This had ugly written all over it.
"Handsome and me," Mac corrected again. She definitely seemed amused by all this. "You had it right this time."
Harm stared at Mac, still surprised by her good humour. He glanced at Leggy Blonde, who was glaring at Mac through narrowed eyes. He turned back to watching Mac and decided that grammatical punctiliousness was a total turn on. Especially if Mac was the one being grammatically correct. Punctiliousness. That was a good word. Mac would appreciate it.
When Mac didn't move, Leggy Blonde arched an eyebrow and sidled further into Harm to emphasize her point. Harm immediately shuffled away, forgetting that he was already sitting on the edge of his barstool. He almost toppled to the ground, just managing to grab the bar counter with one hand and brace his foot on the ground to keep himself upright.
He pulled himself to a standing position, feeling more embarrassed than he had in ages. He realized that Leggy Blonde had taken his clumsiness as an opportunity to wrap an arm around him.
Hastily, he pulled away and looked guiltily at Mac. She was still trying hard not to laugh. He was relieved that she wasn't mad, yet he was affronted. Shouldn't she be upset that he was getting hit on? By a clingy, tactile, Leggy Blonde, no less? Harm examined Leggy Blonde's face more closely. She was pretty okay looking, too. If a male equivalent of Leggy Blonde had hit on Mac, he'd have been upset. Why wasn't she upset? It chafed at his ego.
He realized that Mac and Leggy Blonde were both staring at him. He glanced at Mac, who was barely suppressing a grin. She looked like she was watching a highly entertaining sitcom, waiting for the next punch line. She could've been sitting in front of the television eating popcorn. He spent a few extra moments admiring the particularly appealing sparkle in her eyes. He then spared a glance for Leggy Blonde. She was glaring at him impatiently. He frowned.
"Ugh," Leggy Blonde grunted. She turned around and stalked off towards the other end of the bar.
Harm looked back at Mac. She was biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. The appealing sparkle turned into a mischievous glint. He knew that look. She was going to tease him. He shook his head, grinning at her. Her sense of humour would be the death of him. Harm stepped towards Mac and shook a finger at her.
"Not funny, Marine. You could've at least helped."
"What?" she finally gave in to her laughter. "And missed out on seeing the famous Rabb charm in action?"
"I turned her down." He scoffed. His ego was getting the better of him. He was dimly aware that he ought to shut up right about now.
"Very suavely, too, Don Juan." She was needling him. It definitely chafed at his ego. He was good looking – Leggy Blonde herself had said so. And intelligent. And he flew tomcats. She had to be a little jealous. It was healthy, after all.
"If I turned on the suave, not a woman in this bar would be immune." He stated this with all the confidence of a six year old towering over an ant.
She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at that. His pride interpreted her stance as disbelief. He had no choice but to press his point.
"You'd be fighting them off with a stick." He hoped he didn't sound too much like a petulant kid.
To his dismay, she started laughing.
"A stick?" She sat down on a barstool, chuckling.
He frowned, sitting down next to her. He was trying to be serious.
"Seriously, Mac. It didn't bother you that she was hitting on me?"
"Of course not, Handsome." She turned to face him, taking his hand in hers.
"Mac." He leaned forward in his stool, his tone indicating he wanted to have a proper conversation, not kid around.
She sighed, her smile fading.
"What's the problem, Harm?"
He cocked his head to the side and studied her.
"If some guy tried to hit on you, I'd be upset."
"Harm," she said his name as only she could, a mix of indulgence and exasperation. "You got upset when that guy held the door open for me at the supermarket yesterday."
"He was checking out your six," he defended.
"Come on. Like you've never done that while holding the door for a woman."
"Mac!" He was appalled until he realized that she was teasing him. Her mood frustrated him. "Mac. I'm trying to talk to you."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry." She gave his hand a squeeze to convey her sincerity.
He nodded his acceptance and tried to suppress the feeling that he was being unreasonable.
"Harm, why do you think it should bother me if you get hit on?" She began patiently. "If you had been the one flirting with her, it'd be a different matter. But it's not like you did anything to welcome it. You're too honourable. Besides, I trust you. We've been working on the whole trust thing, remember?"
He looked at their clasped hands. That was true. It wasn't easy, not with their chequered history and especially not after the Bugme/Renee saga, but they were making progress. She was working on trusting him with her heart and he was working on being more open with her.
"Yeah," he conceded. But still, she had to be at least slightly jealous. "But it doesn't even bother you a little?"
He looked up to see her smiling impishly. It took his breath away, sometimes, how beautiful she was.
"What?"
"You want me to be jealous," she stated, her eyes glinting with mischief.
"No!" He answered quickly. Perhaps too quickly.
"You do!" She was grinning widely, now.
"I do not!" It was a lost cause he knew, but he put up a token defence anyways.
"Hey," she ignored his protests. "How about we make a deal. The next time someone hits on you-"
"You mean some woman," he interrupted.
"Someone," she repeated pointedly, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. He sighed, knowing she'd win this point too. "Someone hits on you, I pretend to be jealous."
"And what do you want in return?" He played along.
"What're you offering, Sailor?" Her tone was suggestive; he decided he liked this game.
"Well, Marine," he'd start low and see negotiate his way up. "The next time I hold a door open for you, I get to check out your six."
She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "You do that anyways when we're out of uniform."
"I do not!" She didn't really believe that he stole opportunities to stare at her six, did she? He would never admit to it.
Scepticism was written all over her face at his reply. She gave him the silent, sceptical treatment until he fidgeted.
"I don't!" He defended his honour.
Her expression did not change.
"Well, alright. But not always. And only since we started dating." He would concede that much; but that was all.
She kept looking at him. It was unnerving.
"Alright, alright." He gave in with reluctance. "More since we started dating."
"I knew it!" she exclaimed victoriously.
He fought the blush creeping up the back of his neck. She really would be the death of him. He grinned. What a way to go.
"Power down, Marine," he warned, tugging her hand to regain her attention. "Negotiations aren't over yet. What's your counteroffer?"
"Ooh, the possibilities." She slid off her stool and stepped between his legs, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Where to start?"
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, enjoying her rare public display of affection. So far, she'd usually used words in public, saving these kinds of touches for when they were behind closed doors. The physical aspect of their relationship was still quite new and very powerful; they tended to get carried away rather easily. Not that he was complaining.
"Start anywhere you want, Sarah," he gave her an affectionate wink, "As long as you're with me at the end."
She gazed at him with a tenderness he was still not used to seeing directed his way.
"You know what, Harm?"She stepped further into him, putting her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his hair
"Hmm?" He loved the feel of her fingers on his scalp.
"I think I already have everything I need right here." She brought one hand down to the top button of his shirt, tugging it gently. "Let's blow this Popsicle stand."
He grinned as he stood up and took her hand in his.
"I'll get the door for you, Mac."