Author's Note: Ok, since I just got season 3 of The Unit on DVD, and haven't seen the whole thing yet, I'm leaving Sarah and Mack off here. Since I don't know exactly what happened to Tiffy and Mack. And I live in a rural area and don't even get CBS, so it'll be a while before I see Season 4, so if anyone wants to offer anything…feel more then free. Thanks!

Sarah.

I didn't get it.

Charles and Victoria cause holy hell and they get to go on a Disney Cruise, when I raise holy hell, I get my ass chewed out for thirty minutes by Ryan for fraternizing with a Air Force Officer. I didn't even kill anyone and he threatened to dock my pay. It was so not fair.

I got the whole ass chewing.

Red face and arm waving, it was amazing.

And when I yawned the threatening began.

I didn't even know how he knew.

But threatening to dock my pay was going to far.

I didn't even bring homework due to that. He'd have to deal with the backup on my desk.

The man was amazing anyway.

So when I went home and discovered Mack sipping a beer and all splayed out on the couch in my cabin, I was surprised to say the least. The shouting about fraternizing had carried down the hall through his office door. Mack had surely heard it. It wasn't like we were even dating and besides he was married, and I was not near over Armando.

I dropped my bag on the floor and locked the cabin door.

I still remained dry-docked in the trailer park. With Victoria being herded on base, I would remain here a while longer. My keys were put on the mermaid wall hook, "What are you doing here?"

Not bothering to ask how he got in the locked sailboat. That was a stupid question when addressing men such as these.

I walked into the kitchen.

Never having learned all the important sea terms. A galley was a kitchen, right? I didn't care. I grabbed a coke from the fridge pack and noted the tin of dip, truck keys, and spare change on the counter with a leather wallet. Nice to know Mack felt comfy enough to make himself at home.

"Tiffy has the girls. Grey's away and Jonas is with the wife. And you have four hundred TV channels.

The TV wasn't on.

He was staring out the window. Probably at my crack-head neighbors. They were entertaining.

I popped the soda tab and set out to make my salad. "Take off your boots, or get them off my coffee table. This isn't a barn."

He kicked the boots off, "Do you realize your neighbors have a bong on their picnic table?"

"Last week they had the sex-swing out," I informed him. Finding the lettuce, tomato and cucumber. I dumped them on the counter and grabbed the BBQ Smoked Chicken Balls from the fridge. "Did you eat?"

His blue eyes focused over on me, "No. You didn't have a date with flyboy tonight?"

I wasn't even going to dignify that with a response.

I flipped him off and looked for a sharp knife.

Upon finding the knife I grabbed a cutting board in the shape of a surfboard, turned, and he was leaning against the kitchen counter watching me. Beer gone. And barefoot. He really shouldn't have gone barefoot with those cowboy boots, but I wasn't about to be his mother.

Then I demanded of him, "Do you know what the problem with straight men is?" This seemed to mildly amuse him, "Do tell." I ripped open the box of chicken balls, ripped the bag open, dumped them on a plate, and popped them in the microwave. "They don't understand the word no. I tell them I'm not ready to date. I'm not over my husband. I'm not ready for a relationship yet. And nothing, it's like I'm Charlie Brown's mother. Straight men just don't get it."

Mack was silent for a moment.

He watched me slice the tomato and didn't speak till I tossed him a chunk. "There's nothing wrong with that, Sarah. You'll always love him."

I sighed and looked down at the pieces of tomato. The microwave whirled and the lettuce awaited chopping. "I miss him all the time and everyday. It can't be healthy. His death destroyed my life and I can't seem to pull the pieces together, I don't even feel like the same person. The spark is gone."

He took that in and held out an arm to me.

I liked to pretend that he understood me. What with his failed marriage, torture and all that. So I went over to him and let him hug me. Feeling at least a little better.

This could not be healthy.

Later that night…

Mack strolled out of my bedroom in a pair of boxers he had left from one of his previous sleepovers, towel drying his short carrot hair. Which was just absurd to me, but, whatever. I made a face that expressed my disbelief from my spot on the couch, barefeet on the coffee table and a brand new episode of COPS being filmed at the neighbors trailer across the street.

Someone had called in the bong on the table tip.

My own hair was up in a towel and I donned a t-shirt I'd picked up in the Heathrow Airport, a glorious image of their flag. And underoos to match. Classy, I know.

He plopped down beside me, "Diarying?"
I glared, "Plans for world domination."

Unlike most he didn't try to look. Instead he grabbed a magazine from my table. Conde Nast Traveler. "I think you and Charles subscribe to the same magazines," he commented, and then plopped his less then pretty feet beside mine. Which had a toe ring and purple painted toenails.

"Bite me," I suggested.

Flipping open the magazine he nibbled on my ear and that was about it. He did scoot back on the couch and put his feet on my lap. There had been enough sleepovers I switched writing hands, and rubbed his feet, while I continued to journal.

This was seemingly healthy.

Armando would have been almost proud, minus the previous gymnastic sex. But progress was progress.