TITLE: A Matter of Chocolate
AUTHOR: Copycat
E-MAIL: copycat_cliffhanger@hotmail.com
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: V R A
SPOILERS: I really wouldn't know. Nothing recent,
that's for sure.
SUMMARY: Harm ponders the events of the past 24
hours. Sequel to "Let's Talk About Chocolate" and
"Death by Chocolate".
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue. Please?
Phew. A promise is a promise. (Better late than
never, right?) For the people who asked for it, once
upon a time.
Thank you to Sagadog (999.997 LOL) for keeping me
writing, even when she's not, and to my computer for
not hitting me back.
Barb, provocation isn't my excuse this time...
Umm... Peer pressure. I blame peer pressure. Yeah,
that's my story and I'm stickin' with it. :)
~^~^~^~
No one matters more in my life
Or makes me feel like you make me feel inside
And I've come far enough to know
Love's worth never letting go of
And love is not a matter of pride
- Trisha Yearwood, "Down On My Knees"
~^~^~^~
I get up from my couch and sit back down for what
must be the thousandth time tonight.
I look at the phone, then down at my hands, drumming
a frantic beat on my coffee table.
I decided several hours ago that I wasn't going to
call her. I'm not feeling particularly eloquent
tonight. And I wouldn't have the faintest idea what
to say to her if she picked up. If I got her machine
I KNOW I'd end up leaving some angst-filled message
about whether or not she's gone to Mic's place for
the night.
Wonder if I could sweet-talk Jordie into prescribing
some nerve medicine of some sort. For the mood
swings I'm having.
I know what Grandma Sarah would say: "There's no
cure for love, Harmon." Obviously I haven't called
her, either.
Why hasn't SHE called ME, anyway? The other Sarah, I
mean. The one who's *not* called 'Rabb'. You'd think
she would. To chew my six if nothing else.
But she hasn't spoken a word to me since she came
back from lunch with Brumby. Or, rather, since I
casually strolled into her office and kissed her
like--
After she came back to the office she hid behind a
closed door and shut blinds. I didn't think much of
it, I just figured she needed some space after her
break-up with the Aussie.
Then when Tiner delivered a file that Mac thought I
needed, which I would have if I'd been working, I
started to worry. And when I discovered that she'd
snug out while I was in the head I started working
on my defense for the Article 32 hearing I'd be
facing for Sexual Harassment.
I feel like I should be playing my guitar. I'm in a
guitar-playing sort of mood tonight. It'd keep me
from fidgeting, if nothing else. Only trouble is,
Renee insisted I let her play it the other week and
she broke the G-string. Ironically.
And then she left for LA and I never got around to
replacing it.
Maybe I SHOULD call her?
Just to check if she's okay.
No, better not. I think I've made enough of an ass
of myself for ONE 24-hour period.
Hershey bars. For crying out loud. How old am I
anyway?
Who the hell goes out and risks one of the, no, THE
best friendship he's ever had, because of the
symbolic value Hershey bars have to him? No matter
HOW wrinkled the friendship may be around the edges
these days.
We've touched on the topic before, of course, but no
one has ever been this blunt about it. And, frankly,
no one has been much of anything lately.
There's a knock on my door and I wonder who it could
be at this hour. Only two people would come here at
this time of night, and one is across the country
and the other--only one person would come now.
I open the door, trying on an enthusiastic smile for
size. A guy's supposed to be happy when his
girlfriend comes back early, right?
The smile fades quickly, though, and I stand there
gaping for a bit before finally mumbling, "Mac."
She smiles slightly and nods. "Yes?"
Opening the door wider I step aside. "Come on in."
I guess I still look rather silly, because she
smiles a funny little smile. "Why thank you, Harm."
Once inside she takes a look around and then looks
at me expectantly.
"Uh--do you--do you want anything? Uh--to drink?" I
already said I wasn't feeling too eloquent, didn't
I?
"Coffee would be good," she replies, still smiling.
"Alright," I say, pleased to have something to do.
"Oh, uh--have a seat."
She sits down on my couch but twists around in order
to look at me while I'm in the kitchen area. "Did
you talk to Bud this afternoon?" She asks after a
while of silence that I don't find entirely
comfortable.
"No, why?" I ask and look up briefly.
"Oh, I was just wondering how his 'presentation'
went."
"Presentation?" What?
"Yeah, the law students who came in today. He was
going to tell them about being a military lawyer."
"Oh, so THAT'S what his pointer was for. He nearly
poked my eye out with that damn thing," I mutter.
Mac laughs. "You're lucky it was just your eye," she
says in what I must call a suggestive tone of voice.
Unless I heard her wrong. I think I must have.
"What's that?" I ask, not really sure what to think.
"Nothing, Harm."
I mutter something incoherent that0 *I'm* not even
sure what means and go back to making coffee.
She doesn't seem to find the silence uncomfortable;
at least she doesn't appear the least bit ill at
ease and she's not making attemps at conversation.
The latter may be a good thing now that I think
about it.
Finally able to bring two mugs of steaming hot
coffee with me I go to sit next to her.
"So how come you didn't talk to him yourself?" I ask
slowly, not really sure what kind of reply to
expect.
"I was busy. Paperwork has just been piling up."
Yeah, too busy to bring me the files I need, I think
to myself but I say nothing. I didn't REALLY need
them, anyway. "Did you catch up quick or take work
home with you, then?"
"Huh?"
"Well, you left kinda early, so I was just
wondering." I know I'm fishing, you don't have to
tell me.
"It was just a few minutes, and I'd already cleared
it with the admiral. I had a doctor's appointment,"
she adds at my inquisitive look.
Images of HappyMac and HappyMic with happy little
babies flash before my eyes and I feel dizzy.
"Nothing serious I hope?"
She shakes her head lightly. "No, no. Just a routine
check-up."
"Good," I nod, fairly certain that if she WERE
pregnant she would tell me. Wouldn't she?
She sips her now lukewarm coffee and frowns
thoughtfully.
"Is something the matter?" I ask. "Is that why
you're here?"
"What would be the matter, Harm?" She asks, and I
can't really tell if she's having me on. "Do I need
a reason to come here?"
"No, of course not," I assure her.
"Well, what makes you think there is one, then?" She
smiles, ever so slightly, and I feel pretty sure
she's not here because there's something terribly
WRONG.
"Oh, I don't know. It's been a while since you've
shown up on my doorstep unannounced."
"Yeah, well, I felt like trying something new today.
You know that feeling?"
I grin at the possible implications. "I think so,
yeah."
Gradually becoming more confident about the state of
our relationship--at least to the point of not
fearing charges--I chance another question: "So, how
was lunch?"
She shrugs. "It was okay," she says, noncommittally,
and immediately all my insecurities return with a
vengeance.
"So I take it Mic was his usual charming self?" I
ask with more venom than I intend but less than is
my custom.
"Well, he DID seem a bit--preoccupied," she says.
"He did tell me to thank you for the Hershey bar,
though."
"Did he enjoy it?" I'm not sure if she knows what it
really means, yet.
"Yes, immensely. He couldn't understand why I hate
the things at all."
"Did you explain it to him?"
"We were EATING, Harm, it didn't seem like the
perfect time to tell him that I made the mistake of
eating one when I had a hangover once."
I grimace at what she's suggesting. "No, I think
you're right."
"Chris left it for me on the nightstand. Breakfast."
She gets a far away look in her eyes and I frown.
"Breakfast?"
She looks at me with a half-smile. "Yeah, that was
back in the wild days. Pre-marriage. We were going
across the country, him working when he could get a
job and hustling or gambling when he couldn't. Which
was often. I mostly just drank the days away."
I nod, trying to come up with an appropriate
response. "Well, at least that explains your screwed
up eating habits."
Naturally, she slugs me. "Shut up, Harm."
As I make moves to retaliate she retreats and I
catch a glimpse of her left hand. Catching it in
midair I look at it closely. "So, how was lunch?" I
ask again, looking at her carefully.
She pulls back her hand and fidgets with her ring-
less ring finger. "That depends who you talk to, I
think."
"How did Mic think it went?" I'm practically
spasmodic with nervous jitters.
"Not too well, I'm afraid." Her voice is completely
void of emotion.
"And what did you think?"
"Well, the soup wasn't warm enough and we had to
wait for almost--"
"Mac," I interrupt her, unable to stand the suspense
for another second.
"It wasn't what I expected when I agreed to go with
him," she looks at me and smiles. "But all in all I
think it went fairly well."
"So, you lost the ring AFTER lunch, then, I
suppose?" I am NOT fishing. I am NOT fishing. Okay,
so I'm fishing.
"Well, the meal pretty much ended when I did, if
that's what you mean," she admits.
You can't beat around the bush forever without
eventually crushing the greenery. "So you finally
decided to give it back?"
She looks away and frowns thoughtfully. "I believe
you decided that for me, Harm," she comments dryly
before looking at me, smiling.
I grin happily (probably looking more than a little
dim).
She bites her lip and looks at me. "At least I HOPE
you did, because if not, I just made a real ass of
myself in front of the guy who wanted to marry me."
I run a hand through her hair and let it settle
holding her chin, my thumb running across her bottom
lip. "I did what I could," I smile.
She smiles back, and turns her head slightly to kiss
my palm.
"And I've been worried sick ever since because I
didn't know if I did enough, or I just made an ass
of myself in front of my best friend," I admit,
parroting her, as she plants feather kisses up my
arm in a very distracting way.
She stops, looks up at me and shakes her head.
"That's what you've been doing for the past ten
months," she explains, as if I didn't already know
that.
"That ends now," I promise, using my free left hand
to pull her head closer to mine.
"It'd better," she admonishes as she leans in the
rest of the way and kisses me softly.
Figuring she's done with my right arm now, I wrap it
around her waist and pull her closer.
She crawls into my lap and snakes her arms around my
neck before kissing me again, more passionately this
time.
"Does this mean you'll make me a proper breakfast
tomorrow, then?" She smiles when we come up for air.
I grin. "Maybe. How do you feel about chocolate chip
pancakes?"
THE END
AUTHOR: Copycat
E-MAIL: copycat_cliffhanger@hotmail.com
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: V R A
SPOILERS: I really wouldn't know. Nothing recent,
that's for sure.
SUMMARY: Harm ponders the events of the past 24
hours. Sequel to "Let's Talk About Chocolate" and
"Death by Chocolate".
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue. Please?
Phew. A promise is a promise. (Better late than
never, right?) For the people who asked for it, once
upon a time.
Thank you to Sagadog (999.997 LOL) for keeping me
writing, even when she's not, and to my computer for
not hitting me back.
Barb, provocation isn't my excuse this time...
Umm... Peer pressure. I blame peer pressure. Yeah,
that's my story and I'm stickin' with it. :)
~^~^~^~
No one matters more in my life
Or makes me feel like you make me feel inside
And I've come far enough to know
Love's worth never letting go of
And love is not a matter of pride
- Trisha Yearwood, "Down On My Knees"
~^~^~^~
I get up from my couch and sit back down for what
must be the thousandth time tonight.
I look at the phone, then down at my hands, drumming
a frantic beat on my coffee table.
I decided several hours ago that I wasn't going to
call her. I'm not feeling particularly eloquent
tonight. And I wouldn't have the faintest idea what
to say to her if she picked up. If I got her machine
I KNOW I'd end up leaving some angst-filled message
about whether or not she's gone to Mic's place for
the night.
Wonder if I could sweet-talk Jordie into prescribing
some nerve medicine of some sort. For the mood
swings I'm having.
I know what Grandma Sarah would say: "There's no
cure for love, Harmon." Obviously I haven't called
her, either.
Why hasn't SHE called ME, anyway? The other Sarah, I
mean. The one who's *not* called 'Rabb'. You'd think
she would. To chew my six if nothing else.
But she hasn't spoken a word to me since she came
back from lunch with Brumby. Or, rather, since I
casually strolled into her office and kissed her
like--
After she came back to the office she hid behind a
closed door and shut blinds. I didn't think much of
it, I just figured she needed some space after her
break-up with the Aussie.
Then when Tiner delivered a file that Mac thought I
needed, which I would have if I'd been working, I
started to worry. And when I discovered that she'd
snug out while I was in the head I started working
on my defense for the Article 32 hearing I'd be
facing for Sexual Harassment.
I feel like I should be playing my guitar. I'm in a
guitar-playing sort of mood tonight. It'd keep me
from fidgeting, if nothing else. Only trouble is,
Renee insisted I let her play it the other week and
she broke the G-string. Ironically.
And then she left for LA and I never got around to
replacing it.
Maybe I SHOULD call her?
Just to check if she's okay.
No, better not. I think I've made enough of an ass
of myself for ONE 24-hour period.
Hershey bars. For crying out loud. How old am I
anyway?
Who the hell goes out and risks one of the, no, THE
best friendship he's ever had, because of the
symbolic value Hershey bars have to him? No matter
HOW wrinkled the friendship may be around the edges
these days.
We've touched on the topic before, of course, but no
one has ever been this blunt about it. And, frankly,
no one has been much of anything lately.
There's a knock on my door and I wonder who it could
be at this hour. Only two people would come here at
this time of night, and one is across the country
and the other--only one person would come now.
I open the door, trying on an enthusiastic smile for
size. A guy's supposed to be happy when his
girlfriend comes back early, right?
The smile fades quickly, though, and I stand there
gaping for a bit before finally mumbling, "Mac."
She smiles slightly and nods. "Yes?"
Opening the door wider I step aside. "Come on in."
I guess I still look rather silly, because she
smiles a funny little smile. "Why thank you, Harm."
Once inside she takes a look around and then looks
at me expectantly.
"Uh--do you--do you want anything? Uh--to drink?" I
already said I wasn't feeling too eloquent, didn't
I?
"Coffee would be good," she replies, still smiling.
"Alright," I say, pleased to have something to do.
"Oh, uh--have a seat."
She sits down on my couch but twists around in order
to look at me while I'm in the kitchen area. "Did
you talk to Bud this afternoon?" She asks after a
while of silence that I don't find entirely
comfortable.
"No, why?" I ask and look up briefly.
"Oh, I was just wondering how his 'presentation'
went."
"Presentation?" What?
"Yeah, the law students who came in today. He was
going to tell them about being a military lawyer."
"Oh, so THAT'S what his pointer was for. He nearly
poked my eye out with that damn thing," I mutter.
Mac laughs. "You're lucky it was just your eye," she
says in what I must call a suggestive tone of voice.
Unless I heard her wrong. I think I must have.
"What's that?" I ask, not really sure what to think.
"Nothing, Harm."
I mutter something incoherent that0 *I'm* not even
sure what means and go back to making coffee.
She doesn't seem to find the silence uncomfortable;
at least she doesn't appear the least bit ill at
ease and she's not making attemps at conversation.
The latter may be a good thing now that I think
about it.
Finally able to bring two mugs of steaming hot
coffee with me I go to sit next to her.
"So how come you didn't talk to him yourself?" I ask
slowly, not really sure what kind of reply to
expect.
"I was busy. Paperwork has just been piling up."
Yeah, too busy to bring me the files I need, I think
to myself but I say nothing. I didn't REALLY need
them, anyway. "Did you catch up quick or take work
home with you, then?"
"Huh?"
"Well, you left kinda early, so I was just
wondering." I know I'm fishing, you don't have to
tell me.
"It was just a few minutes, and I'd already cleared
it with the admiral. I had a doctor's appointment,"
she adds at my inquisitive look.
Images of HappyMac and HappyMic with happy little
babies flash before my eyes and I feel dizzy.
"Nothing serious I hope?"
She shakes her head lightly. "No, no. Just a routine
check-up."
"Good," I nod, fairly certain that if she WERE
pregnant she would tell me. Wouldn't she?
She sips her now lukewarm coffee and frowns
thoughtfully.
"Is something the matter?" I ask. "Is that why
you're here?"
"What would be the matter, Harm?" She asks, and I
can't really tell if she's having me on. "Do I need
a reason to come here?"
"No, of course not," I assure her.
"Well, what makes you think there is one, then?" She
smiles, ever so slightly, and I feel pretty sure
she's not here because there's something terribly
WRONG.
"Oh, I don't know. It's been a while since you've
shown up on my doorstep unannounced."
"Yeah, well, I felt like trying something new today.
You know that feeling?"
I grin at the possible implications. "I think so,
yeah."
Gradually becoming more confident about the state of
our relationship--at least to the point of not
fearing charges--I chance another question: "So, how
was lunch?"
She shrugs. "It was okay," she says, noncommittally,
and immediately all my insecurities return with a
vengeance.
"So I take it Mic was his usual charming self?" I
ask with more venom than I intend but less than is
my custom.
"Well, he DID seem a bit--preoccupied," she says.
"He did tell me to thank you for the Hershey bar,
though."
"Did he enjoy it?" I'm not sure if she knows what it
really means, yet.
"Yes, immensely. He couldn't understand why I hate
the things at all."
"Did you explain it to him?"
"We were EATING, Harm, it didn't seem like the
perfect time to tell him that I made the mistake of
eating one when I had a hangover once."
I grimace at what she's suggesting. "No, I think
you're right."
"Chris left it for me on the nightstand. Breakfast."
She gets a far away look in her eyes and I frown.
"Breakfast?"
She looks at me with a half-smile. "Yeah, that was
back in the wild days. Pre-marriage. We were going
across the country, him working when he could get a
job and hustling or gambling when he couldn't. Which
was often. I mostly just drank the days away."
I nod, trying to come up with an appropriate
response. "Well, at least that explains your screwed
up eating habits."
Naturally, she slugs me. "Shut up, Harm."
As I make moves to retaliate she retreats and I
catch a glimpse of her left hand. Catching it in
midair I look at it closely. "So, how was lunch?" I
ask again, looking at her carefully.
She pulls back her hand and fidgets with her ring-
less ring finger. "That depends who you talk to, I
think."
"How did Mic think it went?" I'm practically
spasmodic with nervous jitters.
"Not too well, I'm afraid." Her voice is completely
void of emotion.
"And what did you think?"
"Well, the soup wasn't warm enough and we had to
wait for almost--"
"Mac," I interrupt her, unable to stand the suspense
for another second.
"It wasn't what I expected when I agreed to go with
him," she looks at me and smiles. "But all in all I
think it went fairly well."
"So, you lost the ring AFTER lunch, then, I
suppose?" I am NOT fishing. I am NOT fishing. Okay,
so I'm fishing.
"Well, the meal pretty much ended when I did, if
that's what you mean," she admits.
You can't beat around the bush forever without
eventually crushing the greenery. "So you finally
decided to give it back?"
She looks away and frowns thoughtfully. "I believe
you decided that for me, Harm," she comments dryly
before looking at me, smiling.
I grin happily (probably looking more than a little
dim).
She bites her lip and looks at me. "At least I HOPE
you did, because if not, I just made a real ass of
myself in front of the guy who wanted to marry me."
I run a hand through her hair and let it settle
holding her chin, my thumb running across her bottom
lip. "I did what I could," I smile.
She smiles back, and turns her head slightly to kiss
my palm.
"And I've been worried sick ever since because I
didn't know if I did enough, or I just made an ass
of myself in front of my best friend," I admit,
parroting her, as she plants feather kisses up my
arm in a very distracting way.
She stops, looks up at me and shakes her head.
"That's what you've been doing for the past ten
months," she explains, as if I didn't already know
that.
"That ends now," I promise, using my free left hand
to pull her head closer to mine.
"It'd better," she admonishes as she leans in the
rest of the way and kisses me softly.
Figuring she's done with my right arm now, I wrap it
around her waist and pull her closer.
She crawls into my lap and snakes her arms around my
neck before kissing me again, more passionately this
time.
"Does this mean you'll make me a proper breakfast
tomorrow, then?" She smiles when we come up for air.
I grin. "Maybe. How do you feel about chocolate chip
pancakes?"
THE END