First glance
Disclaimer: I don't own JAG. If I did, Harm would take his foot out of his mouth and act like a man occasionally.
A/N: This is the third part of the Dwight series, which started with 'One of those kisses' and 'Long and slow'. I'll probably stop writing the series when I run out of lines from the song.
I've always considered people-watching to be a sport. I can sit for hours and try to figure out what the people passing by do with their lives. I've seen doctors, actors, politicians, accountants; it never gets old. The man at my register now is obviously a government employee. He's of middling height, weight, and coloration; no one could ever pick this guy out of a lineup. Plus, he forgot to take off his ID tag, and it's telling me he's an assistant supervisor for personnel for the State Department.
I finish checking him out, handing him his receipt and cough syrup as he nods in thanks. Bored with my easy catch, I turn my attention to the next person in line. He's even easier than the last guy; he's wearing a Navy uniform. It's people watching for dummies today, apparently.
The man sets down a colorful assortment of cold and flu medications, which if taken all together could probably knock out an elephant. I give him a quick assessing look; this stuff is definitely not for him. He looks like he's never been sick a day in his life. He may have been easier to figure out than the first guy, but he's also much easier on the eyes. Six foot something, with clear, intelligent eyes and a gorgeous smile. I could melt when he opens his mouth and speaks in a warm, mid-range baritone.
"Hi there."
Jesus, two words and I'm done for. I nod mutely, starting to price scan the medications on the counter. I find my voice after the second bottle of Nyquil, looking up to meet his eyes.
"Planning on getting sick this weekend?" I ask, and he chuckles, a gentle laugh that sends warm shivers up my spine. God, I hope he's moved into the neighborhood.
"My partner's sick," he explains easily, reaching for his wallet as I scan the last bag of cough drops. His partner? I knew it. All the really handsome ones are gay. He's in uniform, though, so I can't believe he just admitted it so freely. Don't ask, don't tell, right?
The door jangles behind me. I don't look, used to the noise, but the sailor does, giving the person who's just walked in an exasperated look.
"I told you to wait in the car," he says, fond exasperation in his tone as he shakes his head. "You're going to catch pneumonia."
"I've probably already got it," a woman's voice replies, sounding congested. I finally look over and see one of those women the rest of us spend our lives trying to look like. Thin and tall, with sleek brown hair, curves in all the right places and a hint of a smile dancing on her lips, the only things that would keep her from being named Miss America are the Marine Corps uniform, which doesn't go with her complexion, and the bright red tip of her nose. She's the textbook illustration of a pretty girl with a nasty cold.
His smile changes when he looks at her; it goes from friendly to radiant, and it's obvious he's in love with her. I look back at her and see an answering brilliance in her expression. Suddenly, I put two and two together and come up with a different definition of 'partner'. Reminding myself what happens when you assume, I hand him back his Visa card and his bag, blushing bright red.
"Have a nice day," I murmur, keeping my eyes on the counter. I can really be dumb sometimes. I'm never going to let myself live this one down. His partner. Maybe I'm not as good at this game as I think I am. Watching them leave together, his arm around her waist, I console myself that at least I can recognize people in love when I see them.