1614 ZULU
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
"Wow, Sturgis, these are great!" The sound, but more likely the words, brings Mac shuffling in here. Even though I know her visit has more to do with her competition with Sturgis for the non-existent football seats (which reminds me, I really need to get around to confessing that), I am glad to see her. I look forward to her smile, her laughter, her touch—any kisses she might be willing to bestow—even her scowls and glares (unless she's really mad at me) more than she knows.
"Take a look at this Mac." I show her the objects of my admiration. Two tickets to Bob Seger's concert, four rows back from the stage. She peers at them for a moment, before shooting Sturgis an "I-know-what's-going-on- here-look."
"Nice. Where did you come by those?" She asks me—at least I think she's asking me. She's looking at me, but it seems the question could be more directed at Sturgis.
It's Sturgis who answers. "A buddy of mine was assigned TAD in Spain and he gave them to me. I know how much Harm likes Seger, so I thought I'd pass the good fortune onto him."
"Uh-huh. Just like that, huh?"
Right. I don't believe that one, either, Sturgis, but thanks anyway.
"Yeah. Harm and I are good friends," he emphasizes. Mac and him might want to compare notes so that they aren't just emphasizing the same points in their pleas for seats. "I thought he might appreciate the tickets."
"What about Congresswoman Latham?" Mac asks, voicing the thoughts in my head. "You could use the tickets as an excuse to take her out."
"A member of congress?" He asks, clearly skeptical of such an idea. "To a Bob Seger concert?"
"Yeah, sure why not? She's from Michigan. I'm sure she's heard of him. Who's to say if she may like him or not?" Judging by the look on Sturgis's face, this thought has not occurred to him. It might be a good idea to break the ice, or call a truce, or reestablish communication. "And she's hardly your typical member of congress."
"Yeah, Sturgis. This might be the opportunity you need to pursue a relationship with Bobbi," I add.
Sturgis looks at me strangely and I get the impression that he's thinking the same thing about my Superbowl tickets and Mac, or maybe it's just my conscience getting the better of me.
"No, no," he murmurs, thinking out loud. "There's actually a little jazz club I've been thinking about taking her to. You know, the one on 4th and Washington? It has some nice atmosphere."
Quiet, cozy, romantic. Yeah it does. Maybe I should take Mac there. I clamp down on that line of thinking. Those thoughts are going to lead to the marine beating I'll surely receive when Mac finds out the truth about her coveted Superbowl seats.
"Yeah, that is a nice place to take someone on a date," Mac agrees, and Sturgis and I both break out of our respective thoughts and stare at her.
"What? Dalton took me there a couple of times," she explains. I look away and Sturgis stares at her for a moment longer before returning to the topic of the Seger tickets.
"Well, I thought you and I might enjoy them. Get away from work and relax. We had a good time in Vermont."
I laugh and nod. "Maybe this excursion won't leave bruises all over my body," I say.
Mac smiles. I think of my visit Sunday, and I smile as well.
Sturgis glances at the two of us and comments, "Doesn't look like you suffered too much.
"Uh, er, no, the pain went away pretty quickly."
"I bet," he snorts, looking at Mac. She smiles innocently.
"Give it up, Commander, you're never going to win these tickets," she taunts.
"Well, you'll notice, Colonel, that all your efforts haven't solidified you a spot," he scoffs.
"That's because I haven't even begun my efforts," she says, turning her back to Sturgis and throwing a saucy look at me before she saunters out of my office. That little swing in her hips is back and I can't stop my eyes from following her figure out into the bullpen.
"Lunch?" she calls, knowing damn well I'm watching her.
"Sure."
Sturgis makes an odd noise, sort of a combination of a half-amused and half- disgusted sigh, and shakes his head.
"What?" I ask. No way can I say no to that—if that was Bobbi, I doubt he'd refuse, either.
"You've got it bad buddy," is all he offers.
"What? Mac and I—"
"'—are just friends'. 'We're in a pretty weird place now.' 'There's all that tension,'" he mimics. "Do you ever convince anyone with that? I don't think you guys can convince yourselves."
He's right, but damn if I'm going to admit it after this weekend.
"Look, it's—"
"'—complicated,' I know. I've heard it before. I doubt I'm the only one. You ever think you guys make it that way?"
I open my mouth to reply, but he cuts me off with a wave. "Listen, Harm, let me know if you want to go with me to see Seger."
"You sure about not taking Bobbi?" I ask, glad to put the topic of Mac and I to rest for the moment.
"Yeah, yeah. I have something else in mind," he says mysteriously.
"Hmm…well, yeah, I'm definitely interested, Sturg."
"Okay. We playing basketball tonight?"
"Yeah, I think I got all the kinds worked out from this weekend."
"Good. If not, it'll give you another good excuse to have Mac work them out." He grins wickedly and leaves.
Am I really that obvious?
*********
"Guess what, Flyboy?" I say excitedly before I stop dead in my tracks. Sturgis, the only occupant in Harm's office, raises an eyebrow.
"Flyboy?" he echoes. "Pet names for each other, and still you deny a relationship."
"Flyboy is actually a fairly common nickname for an aviator. It's one of the nicer names I refer to him as. And what 'pet names' have you heard him call me?" I demand. A few examples pop into my mind, but I'm pretty sure Sturgis has never heard them. Harm calls me by pet names only slightly more often than he calls me Sarah.
"'My Marine dream.' Oh, wait, nevermind. I think that was Keeter."
"You guys talked about me?" Harm talked about me? I'm tempted to ask, but I'd like to think I'm a little more mature than the average grade schooler. Good grief, we're adults. We don't need some middleman to get us together.
I hope not, anyway. Then again, it may help where all other attempts have failed.
"I think your name was mentioned briefly. We were talking about women in general."
"So, how did my name get mentioned," I ask as casually as possible. Please say Harm brought it up. Please say Harm brought it up.
I'm not fooling Sturgis for a second with my detached interest.
"I think Keeter asked how you were."
Damn. Didn't tell Harm tell me that Sunday?
"Oh."
"What you're not going to make some comment about being a 'Marine Dream,'" Harm snickers from the doorway. He strolls in and continues, "Especially Keeter's. If I called you my marine dream I bet I'd wind up with my six sitting on my shoulders."
Don't be so sure, flyboy. You may find yourself pinned in a marine liplock, instead.
"I'm more interested in what you had to say on the subject of me," I reply honestly.
"It wasn't much of interest," he replies, avoiding my eyes.
"Actually," Sturgis chimes in, "it was quite interesting and I do recall you going on about it for quite some time." Sturgis squints hard, as though trying to jog his memory. "In fact, didn't Keeter tell you to 'shut up already and just'—how did he put it?"
To say I am keenly interested in this topic is an insult so heinous, I'm sure it requires an analogy worthy of its ugliness, but I can't take my attention away from Harm and Sturgis and what Keeter said to think up an appropriate one. What's even more gratifying is watching Harm turn about three shades of red before he kicks Sturgis's chair as he walks by.
"Uh—did you need something Sturgis?" Harm asks, shooting him a menacing glare.
"'Just—well, grab her and—'"
"Are those files for me?" he asks loudly, trying vainly to snatch them out of Sturgis's hands. Sturgis, due in part to the desk separating him and his own quick reflexes, evades Harm's grasp easily.
I'm glad. I want to hear what Keeter said. And watch Harm squirm a bit more.
"'Grab her' and…?" I prompt. Harm towers over his desk and makes another grab. He misses again.
"Well, maybe I'd better not say," Sturgis amends. Harm lets out a very audible sigh of relief.
"So," Sturgis says brightly. "Did we ever figure out who's getting that extra seat to the Superbowl?"
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
"Wow, Sturgis, these are great!" The sound, but more likely the words, brings Mac shuffling in here. Even though I know her visit has more to do with her competition with Sturgis for the non-existent football seats (which reminds me, I really need to get around to confessing that), I am glad to see her. I look forward to her smile, her laughter, her touch—any kisses she might be willing to bestow—even her scowls and glares (unless she's really mad at me) more than she knows.
"Take a look at this Mac." I show her the objects of my admiration. Two tickets to Bob Seger's concert, four rows back from the stage. She peers at them for a moment, before shooting Sturgis an "I-know-what's-going-on- here-look."
"Nice. Where did you come by those?" She asks me—at least I think she's asking me. She's looking at me, but it seems the question could be more directed at Sturgis.
It's Sturgis who answers. "A buddy of mine was assigned TAD in Spain and he gave them to me. I know how much Harm likes Seger, so I thought I'd pass the good fortune onto him."
"Uh-huh. Just like that, huh?"
Right. I don't believe that one, either, Sturgis, but thanks anyway.
"Yeah. Harm and I are good friends," he emphasizes. Mac and him might want to compare notes so that they aren't just emphasizing the same points in their pleas for seats. "I thought he might appreciate the tickets."
"What about Congresswoman Latham?" Mac asks, voicing the thoughts in my head. "You could use the tickets as an excuse to take her out."
"A member of congress?" He asks, clearly skeptical of such an idea. "To a Bob Seger concert?"
"Yeah, sure why not? She's from Michigan. I'm sure she's heard of him. Who's to say if she may like him or not?" Judging by the look on Sturgis's face, this thought has not occurred to him. It might be a good idea to break the ice, or call a truce, or reestablish communication. "And she's hardly your typical member of congress."
"Yeah, Sturgis. This might be the opportunity you need to pursue a relationship with Bobbi," I add.
Sturgis looks at me strangely and I get the impression that he's thinking the same thing about my Superbowl tickets and Mac, or maybe it's just my conscience getting the better of me.
"No, no," he murmurs, thinking out loud. "There's actually a little jazz club I've been thinking about taking her to. You know, the one on 4th and Washington? It has some nice atmosphere."
Quiet, cozy, romantic. Yeah it does. Maybe I should take Mac there. I clamp down on that line of thinking. Those thoughts are going to lead to the marine beating I'll surely receive when Mac finds out the truth about her coveted Superbowl seats.
"Yeah, that is a nice place to take someone on a date," Mac agrees, and Sturgis and I both break out of our respective thoughts and stare at her.
"What? Dalton took me there a couple of times," she explains. I look away and Sturgis stares at her for a moment longer before returning to the topic of the Seger tickets.
"Well, I thought you and I might enjoy them. Get away from work and relax. We had a good time in Vermont."
I laugh and nod. "Maybe this excursion won't leave bruises all over my body," I say.
Mac smiles. I think of my visit Sunday, and I smile as well.
Sturgis glances at the two of us and comments, "Doesn't look like you suffered too much.
"Uh, er, no, the pain went away pretty quickly."
"I bet," he snorts, looking at Mac. She smiles innocently.
"Give it up, Commander, you're never going to win these tickets," she taunts.
"Well, you'll notice, Colonel, that all your efforts haven't solidified you a spot," he scoffs.
"That's because I haven't even begun my efforts," she says, turning her back to Sturgis and throwing a saucy look at me before she saunters out of my office. That little swing in her hips is back and I can't stop my eyes from following her figure out into the bullpen.
"Lunch?" she calls, knowing damn well I'm watching her.
"Sure."
Sturgis makes an odd noise, sort of a combination of a half-amused and half- disgusted sigh, and shakes his head.
"What?" I ask. No way can I say no to that—if that was Bobbi, I doubt he'd refuse, either.
"You've got it bad buddy," is all he offers.
"What? Mac and I—"
"'—are just friends'. 'We're in a pretty weird place now.' 'There's all that tension,'" he mimics. "Do you ever convince anyone with that? I don't think you guys can convince yourselves."
He's right, but damn if I'm going to admit it after this weekend.
"Look, it's—"
"'—complicated,' I know. I've heard it before. I doubt I'm the only one. You ever think you guys make it that way?"
I open my mouth to reply, but he cuts me off with a wave. "Listen, Harm, let me know if you want to go with me to see Seger."
"You sure about not taking Bobbi?" I ask, glad to put the topic of Mac and I to rest for the moment.
"Yeah, yeah. I have something else in mind," he says mysteriously.
"Hmm…well, yeah, I'm definitely interested, Sturg."
"Okay. We playing basketball tonight?"
"Yeah, I think I got all the kinds worked out from this weekend."
"Good. If not, it'll give you another good excuse to have Mac work them out." He grins wickedly and leaves.
Am I really that obvious?
*********
"Guess what, Flyboy?" I say excitedly before I stop dead in my tracks. Sturgis, the only occupant in Harm's office, raises an eyebrow.
"Flyboy?" he echoes. "Pet names for each other, and still you deny a relationship."
"Flyboy is actually a fairly common nickname for an aviator. It's one of the nicer names I refer to him as. And what 'pet names' have you heard him call me?" I demand. A few examples pop into my mind, but I'm pretty sure Sturgis has never heard them. Harm calls me by pet names only slightly more often than he calls me Sarah.
"'My Marine dream.' Oh, wait, nevermind. I think that was Keeter."
"You guys talked about me?" Harm talked about me? I'm tempted to ask, but I'd like to think I'm a little more mature than the average grade schooler. Good grief, we're adults. We don't need some middleman to get us together.
I hope not, anyway. Then again, it may help where all other attempts have failed.
"I think your name was mentioned briefly. We were talking about women in general."
"So, how did my name get mentioned," I ask as casually as possible. Please say Harm brought it up. Please say Harm brought it up.
I'm not fooling Sturgis for a second with my detached interest.
"I think Keeter asked how you were."
Damn. Didn't tell Harm tell me that Sunday?
"Oh."
"What you're not going to make some comment about being a 'Marine Dream,'" Harm snickers from the doorway. He strolls in and continues, "Especially Keeter's. If I called you my marine dream I bet I'd wind up with my six sitting on my shoulders."
Don't be so sure, flyboy. You may find yourself pinned in a marine liplock, instead.
"I'm more interested in what you had to say on the subject of me," I reply honestly.
"It wasn't much of interest," he replies, avoiding my eyes.
"Actually," Sturgis chimes in, "it was quite interesting and I do recall you going on about it for quite some time." Sturgis squints hard, as though trying to jog his memory. "In fact, didn't Keeter tell you to 'shut up already and just'—how did he put it?"
To say I am keenly interested in this topic is an insult so heinous, I'm sure it requires an analogy worthy of its ugliness, but I can't take my attention away from Harm and Sturgis and what Keeter said to think up an appropriate one. What's even more gratifying is watching Harm turn about three shades of red before he kicks Sturgis's chair as he walks by.
"Uh—did you need something Sturgis?" Harm asks, shooting him a menacing glare.
"'Just—well, grab her and—'"
"Are those files for me?" he asks loudly, trying vainly to snatch them out of Sturgis's hands. Sturgis, due in part to the desk separating him and his own quick reflexes, evades Harm's grasp easily.
I'm glad. I want to hear what Keeter said. And watch Harm squirm a bit more.
"'Grab her' and…?" I prompt. Harm towers over his desk and makes another grab. He misses again.
"Well, maybe I'd better not say," Sturgis amends. Harm lets out a very audible sigh of relief.
"So," Sturgis says brightly. "Did we ever figure out who's getting that extra seat to the Superbowl?"