"Here's home," I say, swinging the door to my apartment open and setting my briefcase down. I flip my cover off and place it on the couch. Louis steps through the doorway and looks around carefully.

"It's nice," he says honestly.

"It's where you're living for the next week, so get used to it," I tell him, heading into the kitchen. He closes the door behind him, places his briefcase down and places his cover neatly on top.

"Did you have it renovated? It doesn't seem to...er...match the rest of the area."

"Renovated it myself."

"Nice job," he says, standing on the other side of the kitchen counter. "What's to eat."

"Hope you like vegetables."

"You're a vegetarian?" he says. "I'm not fond of meat myself."

I grin at him, trying to decide what to cook. Louis must've seen my distress, because he steps around into the kitchen and begins digging through my refrigerator and cabinets. I watch him as he pushes the salt aside to look farther inside the cabinet, then watch him as he removes olive oil from the cabinet. It's almost irritating how he places the salt in the exact spot where it was before.

He turns to me. "I'll cook."

"Really? Didn't know you were a chef."

"I'm nowhere near being a chef," he says. "You're going to be my guinea pig, Commander."

"It's Harm outside of JAG," I reply automatically. "Since you're cooking, I'll go change." Louis nods and I slip from the kitchen into my room. I take off my uniform and put on jeans and a sweatshirt. I walk back into the kitchen to find Louis over the stove. I peer into the pot to see what he has cooking. "Pasta?"

"It's an old Italian recipe that my father taught me," Louis replies. I look over Louis. He's very hispanic looking with a short build and dark skin. He had a bulky build, more fit than fat.

"Italian?"

"My father was, actually, a real chef. Owned his own restaurant in California," Louis replied, shredding basil. I wonder where he got it from, as I don't remember having any in my house.

"And you didn't follow his lead?" I ask.

"Nope," Louis says. "Law was what I wanted. My father, before he passed away, told me that I should be in the Navy instead."

"Sorry for your loss," I tell him, sincerely.

"Thank you." I notice how calm he seems about it. "I stayed with law, but realized that I could go into the military, also. That's why I'm here; I want to be a JAG."

"You're not too far off, Louis," I tell him. "You'll be a damn good lawyer. And being at JAG isn't as boring as it sounds."

"I'm sure it's not," Louis says, then grins.

****

"Do you have any beer?"

I wince. Normally, I would get kind of mad. My friends and colleagues usually know better not to ask that question, but I guess I have to be understanding since Whipple doesn't know me. I set down my newspaper from that morning and twist to try and see inside the kitchen. She's poking her head in cabinets. "Not in this house," I answer her, turning back around.

"Don't do alcohol?" she asks, much closer than before.

"Bad experiences, and let's just leave it at that," I say. There's no way I'm going to have a nice little girl-talk with Whipple. She flops onto the couch without replying, then flicks on the television. I try not to throw her out of my apartment. "Shouldn't you be catching up on the case?" I ask her when I hear 'Friends' running.

"I know the case," Whipple says.

"What's the name of Lieutenant Edwards' wife again?"

She clucks her tongue and turns the television off. I can feel her eyes on me, and I lift my head to look at her. She's giving me a cold look. It's surprising how much she looks like Singer. If only she had blonde hair. "You know," Whipple starts, "when I submitted my name to the Dean for this opportunity, I was looking forward to experience. I wasn't planning on revisting my mother." She stands up to leave.

The nerve of her. I'm tempted to yell, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't do anything. "When I became a JAG lawyer, I didn't expect to deal with disrespectful law students. As long as you're living in my house, and working under my authority, you'll appreciate what I have to offer."

Whipple gives me another look and I notice her shoulders slump. She knows as well as I do that if I my final report on her is bad, it could mean the end of her law career and thousands of dollars that were invested into her education gone. "Where will I be sleeping?" she asks, her voice not admitting her defeat.

"I've got an inflatable in my closet, unless you prefer the couch," I tell her, starting for my bedroom. I quickly pull out my old inflatable mattress and drag it into the living room. I plug it into the wall, switch the pump on, and wait for it to inflate. I find some clean sheets and a blanket and start to make the bed, and I'm glad to see Whipple has enough decency to help me.

I examine the bed with my hands on my hips. Seems all right. Satisfied, I give a curt goodnight to Whipple and retreat to my own bedroom. I just can't wait to work some more on the case tomorrow.

Hmm, do you want longer chapters, or are these all right? Longer chapters will mean longer update waiting, but you choose.