Hmm, when reading this, imagine Harm's face when he's confused. I love that face.
"Commander!"
I sit up in my bed and look around, startled. Rivera grins at me from the door. My head spins from sitting up too fast, and I place my hand on my forehead. What time is it? I look to my clock and realize I have half and hour to get dressed and get to work. Damn.
"Why didn't you wake me earlier?" I ask Rivera, throwing the cover off me and planting my feet on the ground.
"I thought you were up already," Rivera replies.
"Hiding in my room?" Where are my clean socks? Do I have any clean socks?
"Hiding, thinking, worrying," Rivera suggests, his tone innocent. I look up and shoot him a glare.
"What's that supposed to mean," I ask, pulling out two socks, then throwing one back when it doesn't match. "Never mind, I don't want to know."
"See you in a minute," Rivera says, then walks out. I wish that he was the kind that stayed shy and quiet, not the kind that annoyed you after you got to know them. Okay, let's forget the black socks. I pull out a brown pair, and figure that it'll have to do. I throw on the rest of my clothes (crumpled clothes, might I add) and rush to the bathroom.
I can't find the gel I use for my hair, so of course, I blame Rivera instead of myself. He pokes his head in when I yell at him. "Harm," he says, laughing, "you were supposed to go to the store Saturday."
That's right, but I was wallowing in thoughts about Mac, and I forgot. I don't tell Rivera this, but I'm sure he knows what I'm thinking. Frustrated, I look through the sink cabinet in search of anything that'll glue my hair.
"Hey," Rivera says. I turn around just in time to catch a bottle of gel.
"Thanks," I tell him, then get to work. Finally, with twenty minutes to get across town, Rivera and I pull away from my apartment and get stuck in traffic. I lean my elbows on the steering wheel and place the butts of my palms into my eyes. The weekend was one of the worst. After Mac stormed from McMurphy's on Friday, I knew I screwed up majorly again.
She had been frank and honest with me, and I had done nothing but avoid the subject. It's strange that when it comes to most women, I can flash them a smile and they'll forgive me, but with Mac it's different. I guess because I know Mac so well, and she likewise, that it just doesn't work. She knows when I'm being sincere, or when I'm lying. Damn her.
But then again, that's what's so great about her. I can't hide anything from her; not really. Yeah, there was that one time that I didn't tell her about my eye surgery, and I'm sure there are other ugly times, but she'll always find out. Friday was her way of trying to figure out what I'm thinking about where our relationship stands. Or doesn't stand. Either she's really nosey and really wants to know, or she already knows and is trying to make me admit it.
I hope it's the latter, so at least that way she knows that I want our relationship to keep heading the right way. I should really be seeing someone about this. I don't think it's healthy for me to try and figure out how relationships work. Furthermore, I don't think I should be trying to figure out this thing between Mac and me. At least, not with this much analyzing.
Traffic's moving again, and I accelerate. I drive the rest of the way without really thinking, just staring at the car in front of me. I park and step from my car. I'm in the building before I know it. The elevator stops at the correct floor and I allow Rivera to pass inside the bullpen before I do. I train my eyes on my office door, and I'm almost there when the object of my thoughts steps in front of me.
Mac thrusts a paper into my hand, and I look down to see that it's a schedule. "Court is on Thursday at 0900 hours. Closing arguments is scheduled for Thursday afternoon, but it might be moved to Friday morning depending on the length of the trial," she tells me, her eyes on the paper in my hands. "I'll be calling in two witnesses. How many do you have planned?"
"Uh," I say intelligently, shocked by Mac's forwardness. "Two."
"Good," she says, and turns to walk away.
"Mac," I try, but stop when she doesn't turn around.
"Commander," she calls over her shoulder. Ouch. That stung. I stand there for a moment, noticing how quiet it got in the bullpen. I turn around, and everyone suddenly starts moving. I sigh, looking at the paper in my hands. I'm suddenly annoyed, because Friday night wasn't entirely my fault. She could have done her part and started the conversation in a different spot, someplace where I didn't have to worry about someone else over hearing.
Yeah, well, I could have done my part and just tell her that I want to take 'us' to the next level.
"Commander?" Rivera asks. I look up to my office door. "The information you requested is here."
"Coming," I reply. This will be one hell of a day.
****
Singer enters the bathroom as I exit the stall. I go to the sink to wash my hands, and she leans against the wall with superior smile on her face. "Morning, Lieutenant," I tell her. I came in the bathroom because I needed to get away from Whipple's side remarks and suggestions about how she could be more useful if she did this. And now Singer herself is in here. I feel like I'm being stalked by over-achieving, ambitious women.
"You and the Commander having problems this morning?" Singer asks.
"What makes you say that?" Game plan: denial.
"You're being awfully formal with each other."
"We're at work, we're supposed to be formal."
"So you're not upset with him?" Singer pushes.
What did she hear? "Why would I be?" I ask.
"Oh," Singer says, looking strangely disappointed, "no reason." She grabs some towels from the dispenser and finds me watching her. "I spilled coffee on my desk," she tells me before I can ask.
I have a funny feeling she didn't come in here for napkins. "There are napkins in the break room."
"Are there?" she wonders. I force a smile and walk from the bathroom, just in time to knock into none other than Harm. For once, I don't like being smashed up against his chest. No, I like it, but I just don't want it to happen now. Why couldn't it have happened Friday? Maybe that would have changed his stubborn mind.
"My apologies," I say, then step around. He steps the same way. I step to the left, and he follows. I wonder briefly if he's doing this on purpose. "Excuse me," I say, annoyed, and take a huge step to the right, running into Singer. God, what is it about Mondays? She gives me a look and continues on her way. Furious, I spin on my heel and glare at Harm. "Are you following me, Commander?"
"You're the one who came out of the women's bathroom," Harm replies.
"Did you want me to come from the men's?" I snap.
"Mac, listen," he says, grabbing my arm just as I'm about to walk away. I look up at him; it sucks that he's taller.
"Do I have a choice, Commander?" I ask.
"Are you going to keep treating me as if I'm your co-worker?"
"I'm sorry, I was under the impression that you were my co-worker," I reply, lowering my voice. No need to bring the Admiral running. Or Singer, for that matter.
"Only your co-worker?" Harm asks, his hand still around my arm.
"Are you going to keep treating me as if I'm only your friend?" I challenge. He opens his mouth to retaliate, but whatever he had to say got stuck, giving me time to wrench my arm away and continue back to my office. I spot Singer and Whipple sitting in my office and immediately change direction to the break room, wondering what the hell Singer's doing in my office.
It seems that wherever I go, someone else has to be there. Sturgis is leaning against the counter, drinking a bottle of water. He glances up at me and takes another swig of his water. "Morning Mac."
"Mmm," I reply, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Sturgis opens his mouth to tell me something, but he closes it when I choke on the coffee. It tastes like water more than coffee. I set my cup down, sloshing the liquid onto the counter. "Who made this?"
"I did," he replies. "I tried to warn you."
I'm about to say something nasty to say to him, but I don't, since fighting with Sturgis won't bring any desired results. I take another bottle of water and sip it slowly, staring at the bottle. I think about what I said to Harm. It was harsh, and very shocking, to say the least. I basically just told him I want to be more than friends. No, correction, I just told him again. I could have been worse; I could have told him that I loved him.
With that annoying thought, I look up at Sturgis, who's watching me intently. "What?" I ask, defeated.
"Trouble in paradise?" he asks. I refrain from rolling my eyes.
"There's no paradise to begin with, Sturgis," I tell him.
"So that's the problem," he counters.
"Oh, no you don't," I tell him. "Not again. You're not getting anything else weaseled out of me." With that, I take my water and start to leave. It's just my luck that I run into Harm. I give him a disbelieving look. Twice is too weird. He tries to say something, but I brush past him before he can say whatever it was.
****
Sturgis whistles. I turn to him, a bit dazed. "Something wrong?" he asks.
"I've run into her twice now, twice. Isn't that like an omen or something?" I ask.
"You're sounding like Bud," Sturgis replies. He walks past me, pats me on the back, and says, "Nice socks."
Glancing down, I notice that one leg of my pants is tucked into my wonderful, brown sock. I lean against the counter and let my head flop onto the cabinet behind me with a thud. I really do need to see someone about this...'relationship'.