WHILE MORTALS SLEEP 5
Disclaimer: Characters and information from JAG are the property of Donald P. Bellasario/Belisaurius Productions/Paramount/CBS. This story is strictly not-for-profit and is just a way of sharing the fun and frustrations of JAG-watching. No copyright infringement is intended. The other characters and incidents are figments of my imagination and not meant to represent anyone living or dead, so any resemblance is purely coincidental. Any idiocies are entirely my own.
Author's note: The title of Scene Five is an allusion to a song by Tish Hinojosa on her "Destiny's Gate" CD (Warner Brothers). No, the last scene is not a song fic. But there is dancing, so there had to be music.
Chapter 5: Wondering Love
Scene One: Complication
Flight Deck
USS Sea Hawk
Southern sector, Arabian Sea
Late afternoon, Thursday, 19 December
The booming snap of the tailhook meeting the wire, the screech of the landing gear against the surface of the deck, the whir and shudder of engines shutting down were the welcome music of a return to ordinary operations. With so many things still going awry on the Sea Hawk, every one was tense about this first COD landing after the MANPAD incident. As the Greyhound slowed to a stop, Harm realized that he'd been holding his breath. He let it out with a shake of his head and strode toward the plane.
Mac caught sight of his familiar figure as she stepped out onto the deck. He greeted her with his flyboy grin and a crisp salute. "Welcome aboard, Colonel!" he shouted over the roar of wind and engines.
She pushed the strap of her colorful woven bag higher on her shoulder, held her cover on her head with her left hand, and returned his salute. "Great to be back, Commander!"
As her eyes met his she was suddenly aware of how awful she must look—haystack hair from the cold, dry in-country winds, dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, cracked chapped lips, and a uniform smudged with the sooty dust of the Qandahar airfield.
As their eyes met, Harm wondered how a woman could manage to look so weary and so beautiful at the same time. "Hey Marine, where's your shadow? Did you ditch Caldwell in Qandahar?"
"Don't worry, Squid, he'll be back on the morning COD. He's planning to shoot the USO show on Saturday."
Harm shrugged, "I guess you can't have everything." As a crewman slung packs and duffel bags onto the deck, Harm spotted Mac's, snapped it up, and slung it over his shoulder.
"Hey, Harm, you don't have to—"
"Who said anything about 'have to,' Jarhead?"
Mac shook her head and ducked through the hatch before him. After she'd signed in, she turned to find him fishing in his trouser pocket. Then, with a flourish, he held out a closed fist, fingers down. "Put out your hand, Mac. A little welcome home present." He dropped a tube of lip balm onto her outstretched palm.
Mac smiled up at him. "If it wasn't against regs, Sailor, I'd kiss you right here and now." She paused to smooth the lemony cream over her lips, then pressed them together. "Mmm. That's so good. I hereby amend my life's ambition, Squid. I want a good job, lots of comfortable shoes, and a good man with lip balm in his pocket."
"Looks like I'm your guy." Harm grinned again, then motioned for her to precede him down the narrow corridor. As they made their way to her quarters, he stayed close behind her, one hand always resting lightly against her lower back. If anyone else did that, I'd probably feel cornered, she thought. But she'd always liked that gesture of his. Somehow it made her feel as if he wanted to protect her, even though he well knew she could take care of herself. The way I feel about him, she thought. We all need someone to watch our six, no matter how tough our training makes us.
From the shadowy corner under the ladder to the Officer's Quarters, Mustafa saw the gesture too. So even the great Commander has his weakness. This is useful knowledge. Barak must know. A little insurance for our venture.
At her quarters, Harm dumped her duffel on the rack. Then he turned to face her. Reaching a hand toward the hatch and making a shutting gesture, he raised his eyebrows as if silently asking permission. Mac nodded. Harm closed the hatch with a quick, quiet sweep of his arm.
The next thing she knew, his arms were encircling her and she could feel his breath in her hair as he bent to kiss the top of her head. "Mac, I'm glad you're okay. So damned glad that you're here," he whispered. As her arms closed around the solid expanse of his back she managed to choke out, "Oh, Harm."
He was gently stroking her back with one hand, while the other reached up to massage the nape of her neck. Mac nestled her face against his chest and breathed in the scent of him. She wanted this closeness to last forever. She wanted just to be there in his arms, to hold him.
He felt her trembling, then gently shaking, as she sobbed quietly. He drew her closer, and murmured in her ear, "Tough out there these last few days, Mac?" She nodded, whispering, "I can't talk about it yet. Maybe later."
"Sure?" She nodded again. His hands were moving tenderly against her shoulder blades, her ribs, the small of her back, stroking her gently. Gradually, her breathing grew more even and she rubbed her cheek against his chest with a snuggling motion that made him draw her closer still.
Mac felt the warmth of his hand against her jawline as he lifted her face and looked down into her eyes. Then his breath brushed warm against her forehead, followed by the gentle pressure of his lips. She breathed in and closed her eyes. She felt a fluttering kiss first on one eyelid, then the other. His lips brushed the skin along her left cheekbone, then her right, then the tip of her chin. As she leaned against him, feeling the solid strength of his chest against her breasts, she lifted her mouth to his.
Harm groaned and pulled back just a little, "Oh Mac, I can't…If I kiss you now, I…won't be able to stop." He took a deep breath and rested his forehead against hers. She pulled away just a little, resting the palm of one hand just over his heart. She could feel it thumping in his chest, almost as quickly and urgently as her own.
"And its not worth risking getting thrown in the brig," Mac sighed.
Harm lifted his head and smiled down at her. With his left hand spread firmly against her lower back, he pressed her more tightly against him, so that she distinctly felt his arousal through the layers of uniform between them. "Hey, Mac, I wouldn't say that."
He slid his right hand up along her ribcage and brought it to rest against the firm curve of her right breast, with a gentle pressure that made her breathing quicken. "On the contrary, I imagine it would be well worth risking a stint in the brig."
Mac laughed, then lowered her chin and took a deep, shuddering breath. When she looked back up at him, he saw she'd put on her most serious Marine face. She bit her lower lip. "But there's duty and honor…"
"Yeah, Mac. There's honor and duty…and love."
"Love?" Her voice sounded hopeful, but uncertain.
"That's what I meant when I said it was complicated. Heaven knows, Mac, I've wanted you one way and another since the moment I first laid eyes on you—"
"Diane," she whispered softly.
"Maybe for a little while—only at first. From day one you were different from any other woman I've ever known. Sure, I was attracted to you. Who wouldn't be? But you were—I don't know—you are so smart, so strong, so spunky. So much grit. Nobody's fool. Nobody's toy."
She shook her sadly. His hand was on her chin again, lifting her face so that their eyes met. "Hey, don't sell yourself short." He took a deep breath, then continued, "The truth is, I do love you, Sarah Mackenzie. And I want you. But not on the sly, not as just another good lay, and certainly not as some sort of conquest. We've got to be together in this. You're my best friend in the world, Mac, and the woman I belong to."
He held her close, swaying slightly. The rocking motion comforted them both. "I love you, Sarah. But with the kind of love that wants to cherish and protect. With the kind of love that means working side by side for a lifetime, with honor and faithfulness. Always."
"Harm, I love you, too. Always, " she whispered, her face against his shoulder. She nestled there for a moment, feeling safe, feeling as if, at long last, she really had come home.
Then he said, "You're tired, Sarah. What you need now is a warm shower while there's still hot water in the head, some comfy pajamas, and a good sleep." He was pulling away from her, reluctantly but firmly. "We've got to take our always one day at a time, Mac." He kissed her on the forehead, and was gone.
Scene Two: Keying Sequences
Legal Office One
USS Sea Hawk
Morning, Friday 20 December
Something had changed. Petty Officer Jennifer Coates couldn't quite put her finger on it. Before this morning, Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie had always seemed to work together with an easy intimacy that she'd envied. They often sat shoulder to shoulder—like lovers—but keeping up a stream of banter and debate that made them seem oblivious to their physical proximity. This morning they had carefully positioned their chairs about a foot apart as they settled in for the morning's briefing.
The odd thing was, they didn't seem tense or angry. If anything, they were treating each other with a studied courtesy. Maybe it was that Caldwell fellow. Maybe something had happened in country. As she poured coffee for the late-morning break, Coates asked Colonel Mackenzie. "So, how was it, Ma'am? Your peace mission, I mean."
Mac cradled her mug of coffee in both hands, staring down into the fragrant liquid as if she saw the last few days reflected there. "I'm glad I went, Coates. Even though those kids hadn't the ghost of an idea about Christmas, giving out those little brown paper bundles made me feel like Santa Claus."
"I bet anything you made a better Santa than I did," Coates grinned, "Ma'am."
"You had the better costume, from what I hear." Mac's eyes twinkled. "All I had was a desert camouflage utility uniform. No red hat, no white beard. Evans wanted at least an elf hat we could share, but we vetoed that. We didn't want to offend the villagers, especially since, by the Hijrah, we were coming in pretty close on the heels of Ramadan. Just to be on the safe side, we scheduled the trip well after the moon's new crescent." Mac's face grew pensive. "You wouldn't believe how happy those kids were about mittens and caps and sweaters. It was Christmas for us, but they were just celebrating warm clothes—"
She was interrupted by a knock on the hatch. It was Gray Caldwell, with his camera bag on one shoulder and a backpack on the other. Harm noticed with satisfaction that Gray's black eye was in that stage of fading when the bruise turns a sickening shade somewhere between rotting plums and green vomit.
"Commander Rabb. Petty Officer Coates" Gray nodded to each of them, then turned to Mac. "Mac, I thought you'd like to know that the doctors think Ahmed and the other two boys are going to make it."
Seeing tears well up in her eyes, Harm reached out and touched Mac's arm gently, without a word.
"That's great," Mac said, biting her lip. "And his arm?"
"They didn't have to amputate. He's lost the hand of course."
Mac nodded. Harm looked from Mac to Gray and back at Mac again.
Seeing the look, Gray said quietly, "She hasn't had a chance to tell you yet? Pretty rough stuff. I'm sure Mac'll fill you in when she's ready. But you ought to know, Rabb, the Colonel's quite the heroine. She saved that kid's life. Mine, too."
"Welcome to the club," Harm said. "How'd she manage to save your six?"
"Fought off a renegade Taliban supporter enraged by our infidel conduct."
"That's my Marine," Harm said, rubbing his hand lightly over Mac's shoulder. Despite the presence of witnesses, she didn't pull away. Noticing the gesture, Gray pressed his lips together in a rueful half-smile, and, without realizing it, sighed. The sigh wasn't lost on Harm.
"Hey, Gray, want some coffee?" Somehow Harm suddenly felt he could afford to be magnanimous. As Mac watched the two men negotiate their unspoken truce, she felt a little fist of tension unclenching in her chest.
After some talk of Qandahar, the ironies of peacekeeping, and the discomforts of Afghan roads, Gray mentioned an impromptu dance Evans and some of the others were getting up in the Officers' Ward Room that night. "If," as Coates said, "by tonight the Ward Room's got enough juice to run a CD player. Nobody's got a handle on these electrical problems yet."
"Hey, Mac," Harm gave Mac a sideways look and said with studied nonchalance, "whaddaya say we drop in on this dance?"
Mac pressed her lips together to suppress a decidedly un-Marine-like impulse to giggle, "Okay by me, Sailor."
Soon the conversation had rounded back to the Jameson case, the thefts, and the Sea Hawk's tech malfunctions. After Mac and Harm had filled him in on some of the dilemmas the evidence presented, Gray said, "Look's like you've got a puzzle with lots of pictures, but no key."
"No key," Coates repeated, wrinkling her forehead. "Why in heck didn't I think of it before? There should have been another key card with Jameson's things. It wasn't on the list. One of those need-to-know things. But he must have had one. Surely they wouldn't leave STARcom Two unlocked."
"Coates," Harm said. "Get the MP's on the shipcom. We ought to check this out and we're going to need back up."
"Aye, Sir." Coates was punching buttons before he'd finished speaking. Then, the receiver to her ear, Coates frowned, jiggled the hook, and listened. "Sorry, Sir. But it's dead."
As Mac told Coates to go for back up, the lights flickered, dimmed, flickered, went out. Despite the blackout, Gray's first instinct was to shoulder his camera bag. After a few seconds of darkness, the auxiliaries came on, casting just enough light for them to make their way through the hatch and into the equally dim corridor. There, the emergency lights cast an eerie red glow.
"You ought to feel right at home, Caldwell." Harm murmured. "Now the whole damn ship's a darkroom."
Scene Three: Strength in Numbers
Tech Room 17
STARcom Two Support Terminals
Morning, 20 December
When Harm, Mac, and Gray got to the outer bay of the STARcom Two center, they found the hatch open. By the auxiliary lighting they could see the vacant computer terminals, and the large-screen wall monitors, scan-maps, and targeting displays. All dark, all silent. By the closed hatchway to the inner office, they could just make out two figures, one corpulent, the other of medium build. The big man on the left wore loose trousers, a flowing tunic, and a close-fitting cap; to his right, the smaller man slouched against the wall in a U.S. Navy officer's uniform.
Harm motioned to Mac to stay with him as he crept along the shadow-lined wall toward the two figures, then nodded to her to take the smaller man. As he did so, Mustafa lunged forward, catching Mac off guard as Barak slid forward to block Harm's advance. After a brief scuffle, Mustafa was back against the wall, one arm cinched tightly around Mac's waist, another holding a narrow-bladed knife to her throat.
Barak al-Barak's smooth voice cut through the darkness smoothly as a scalpel's edge. "As you see, Commander, if you take another step, Mustafa will gladly spill the blood of your infidel whore." Harm tensed, fighting for control of the rage he felt welling up in him.
Then Barak reached over to open the hatch and Mustafa backed into the inner chamber, dragging Mac with him. Barak slammed the hatch shut after them.
Harm sprang at Barak, pushing his bulk against the wall behind him. For a moment, Harm vividly remembered an inflated clown punching bag he'd had as kid. Ramming into Barak felt a little like that. But, like the clown, the man was weighted to recoil. He slammed a huge fist into Harm's diaphragm with a force that stunned Harm for an instant. That was long enough for Barak to get a firm hold on Harm's arms. Then, Harm felt himself being lifted, twisted, and flung face down on the floor. "I would have preferred a more poetic finish, Commander." For a large man, Barak moved with remarkable agility. He was at Harm's side in an instant, raising a booted foot above Harm's neck. "But whether by a flight from the fantail or the force of a boot, the broken neck of a dog is a broken neck."
As the sole of Barak's boot brushed the back of Harm's neck there was a blinding flash, quickly followed by another. Barak flung a thick arm upward to shield his eyes from the photographer's flash and staggered backward. As he did, something that felt like a padded barbell struck Barak a solid blow between his right ear and his chin as his head connected with the packed camera bag Gray had flung at him.
Harm dragged himself to his knees, tasting the salty trickle of blood oozing from his nose. As Barak lunged back toward Gray, Harm tackled the big man at the knees, sending him over sideways. Barak's head struck one of the consoles and he lay still. Gray was already yanking lengths of electrical cord from the closest terminal to bind Barak's hands and feet. As he handed several lengths of cord to Harm, Gray said dryly, "I hate to think of the damages the Navy's going to assess against me on this one. But then, I plan to bill them for the repair of my cameras."
"A zero-sum game." Harm said, jerking Barak's hands together behind his ample back, pulling the cord tightly around the man's wrists, and knotting it securely. Then, Harm motioned to Gray to stand at one side of the inner hatch. Harm moved to the other, then knocked loudly on the hatch door. When Mustafa opened it, the two men grabbed him, dragged him out, and—with surprisingly little resistance—trussed him up beside Barak.
Scene Four: Getting to Zero
Tech Room 17A
STARcom Two Terminal
Morning, 20 December
Harm was the first to slide through the door, but Gray was right at his shoulder. The slender young man at the computer terminal was focused entirely on the screen above him, his fingers moving expertly over the keys. He had his back to Mac, who was tied to a metal chair that had been shoved against the wall opposite the console. As Harm moved toward her, Mac shook her head, then nodded toward the large screen on the wall above the console.
Against a shimmering background of violet blue, lines of blue-white ones and zeroes pulsed softly. As Harm watched, the zeroes seemed to be cascading across the screen, spilling from one line to the next, with increasing speed--like water entering a bulkhead.
After a few seconds' pause, the Cipher turned his face toward Harm and Gray as slid his hands from the keyboard. "You are too late. Like Ali Baba I have not only found my way to the door, but I have found the word that opens this door to all your treasure." The young man's nostrils flared slightly. "STARcom, of course, talks not only to the bridge, to the other ships, to the planes, the helos, the drones, but to the womb of the missiles, deep in the belly of this ship." As he spoke, the Cipher tapped his fingers on the tops of his legs, as if they were a keyboard.
Harm wanted nothing more than to go to Mac and release her, to reassure himself that she was all right. But he knew that he needed to follow her lead. She was listening intently, her eyes focused on the slim young man whose clipped words filled the little room. "Of course, the missiles are sleeping. They must be armed in order to be dangerous. No problem, no problem at all. Everything I needed was already on this ship."
The Cipher turned his gaze back to the cascading waves of zeroes. Harm took a step forward. But Mac hissed, "No. Hear him out, Harm. We need a key. Some way in. It's all we've got."
Ignoring Mac's words, the Cipher turned back to Harm and Gray. "Mustafa has served his purpose well. I have made another little machine—of chips and wires and a child's toy. Mustafa has attached it to a very powerful missile. I have taught this little machine, too, to speak the language of death. When my little machine of numbers reaches the string of code for the munitions center, it will pause to speak with the little machine of chips and wires. Most convenient, the wireless technology. The great missile will detonate. There will be, as the American newscasters say, a chain of reaction." The Cipher bowed his head.
Harm heard footsteps behind him. Coates was at the door with several M.P.'s Harm motioned them inside. As they pulled the Cipher from the console and handcuffed him, Harm knelt at Mac's side, drew out his clasp knife and quickly cut the ropes that bound her. Freed, she rubbed her wrists and flexed her ankles. "Thanks," she whispered, looking into Harm's eyes with more than gratitude. "It's okay," he murmured, lightly brushing his hand against her arm.
As the M.P.'s led the young man to the door, the Cipher spoke again, "The Sea Hawk is dead. No faithless one can find the word that closes the door of death. The STARcom listens only to the voice of the Cipher." He cast one last glance at the screen, and smiled.
"Should we keep him here?" Coates asked, "Make him stop it?"
Mac shook her head. "He's looking for martyrdom. He'd die before he told us."
Coates slid into the chair and began tapping at the keyboard. "Then we've just got to find that damn word."
"We don't have time," Gray muttered, "it could be anything."
"Or nothing," Mac said. "Maybe it's that—or 'cipher.' Try that."
Coates chewed on her upper lip as she continued to type. Then, "No Ma'am. I've found the box. The password has only four letters."
"Zero." Harm said. Four little clicks.
"Damn," Coates muttered. "That's not it."
"A cipher is a code," Harm said. Four little clicks.
"Nope." Coates said through gritted teeth.
"Null." Mac offered. Click-click-click-click. The zeroes flowed across the screen.
"Void." Harm countered. Coates's fingers danced over the board. The zeroes continued to advance.
"Try 'love,'" Gray said.
"Love?" Coates half-turned toward him. "Tennis," Harm said. "A score of zero," Mac added.
Click. Clickety. Click. Coates groaned. "No dice."
The zeroes were moving faster, gobbling the strings of code as they swam onto the screen. Mac moved forward to place a hand on Coates's shoulder. Harm stood close to Mac, silently slipping an arm around her waist. Gray stood on the other side of Coates, his fists clenched at his side, his head bowed. The only sound in the room was the quick tense rhythm of their breathing.
Mac's voice broke the silence. "Try S…I…F…R."
"S.I.F.R.?" Coates turned to give Mac a puzzled frown.
"'Cipher' comes from an ancient Persian word for zero. 'Sifr' is the closest I can come in the Roman alphabet." Coates entered the letters with four sharp clicks. Zeroes continued to engulf the screen. Coates pounded a fist on the console. Mac sighed. Harm said nothing, but pulled Mac a little closer.
Gray's head snapped up. "Backwards," he said. "Turn it around."
Mac nodded, "He's right. Try R…F…I…S."
Coates didn't stop to question. Click-click, click-click. A pause.
The numbers on the screen froze. Then they began pulsing again. The flood of zeroes stood still, followed by normal patterns of zeroes and ones.
"Bingo! We did it!" Coates leaped from her chair and gave Gray a hug that nearly took his breath away. Mac turned to Harm and slid her arms up over his broad shoulders. She brought her hands together at the back of his neck as he pulled her into him for a fervent, lingering embrace. Then, remembering the others, they pulled apart and straightened, but remained standing side by side, their shoulders touching.
"How did you…" Harm began. Mac broke in with, "I should have realized. Arabic languages are written from right to left. He had to use our alphabet, but he entered the letters in the order that felt natural to him—that of his own language."
"Nice move, Gray." Harm stepped forward and slapped him on the shoulder.
"We were all in this thing together, Rabb," Gray responded, smiling at Mac.
Mac reached over and gave Harm's hand a brief squeeze. Coates saw it, and grinned, "Man are we gonna celebrate tonight," she crowed. "But I bet there won't be one tech officer at that dance. They're going to be reprogramming this baby from now till next Christmas."
"Or at least till next year," Gray grinned at her. The overhead lights flickered, then came on. He looked at his watch, "Hey, folks, we missed lunch. What do you say to raiding the galley?"
"I'm all for that," Mac said.
"Let's get going," Harm urged, "hungry Marines are no laughing matter." He chuckled, "And this one's especially dangerous on an empty stomach." He ducked aside as Mac aimed a playful punch at his ribs. Gray laughed and motioned for Coates to precede him out of the hatch. As they vanished into the tech bay, Harm paused a few feet short of the hatch. "We make a great team, Mac" he murmured as he pulled her close. "You can say that again, Sailor," she whispered. Then their lips met briefly, tenderly, in a kiss full of promise.
Scene Five: Baby Believe
Officers' Ward Room
USS Sea Hawk
Evening, 20 December
When Harm and Mac got to the Ward Room, it was already packed. Though most of the ship's electricity was back in working order, the room's overhead lights were dim, so that the twinkling Christmas garlands looked more festive than they did in ordinary light. A little like strings of stars, Mac thought, happily. Almost makes up for the fact that Harm has to leave for the Coral Sea tomorrow. But there's always Christmas. Some of the tables and chairs had been removed and others pushed back against the walls to clear a makeshift dance floor, filled with people moving to the beat of a tune Mac didn't recognize.
When he spotted them, Evans grabbed Harm's elbow and shouted over the din of the music, "We've got a table for you guys right over here." Harm kept a hand lightly on Mac's elbow as they steered their way around the edge of the crowd. Coates and Gray were already at the table for four and they both stood as Harm and Mac reached them.
Suddenly the music stopped and Evans held his arms up, shouting out over the murmuring voices. "Hey gang! Our guests of honor are all here, so what do you say we give them a round of applause?" The hearty clapping was punctuated by cheers, huzzahs, and loud whistles. Mac felt herself blushing and saw Harm looking intently at his shoes. Coates wore a sort of deer-in-the-headlights expression and Gray was gripping the back of a chair with both hands, watching his own knuckles whiten. Then, mercifully, there was music and the dancing began anew.
Gray turned to Harm, "You guys always this popular?"
Harm grinned, "Not by a long shot."
Gray smiled at Mac and turned to ask Coates to dance. As they melted into the crowd of dancers, Harm scooted his chair a little closer to Mac's. He looked at her as she watched the dancers, wondering how she managed to look so good in the short-sleeved khaki shirt and tailored slacks of her service uniform. No amount of tailoring could disguise the full curves of her body, and the short sleeves showed off the graceful curve of her arms. Just as he was about to reach for her hand--a gesture he hoped would be discretely screened by the table--Evans strolled over and set down two packages. "Caldwell asked me to deliver these," he said, then walked away.
Harm motioned to Mac. "You go first." Her package was small, rectangular, not much bigger than a glove box, but a little deeper. It was wrapped in red tissue paper and tied up with a length of gold braid. Easing off the paper and opening the box she found a parchment-colored card resting on top of folded white tissue paper. Turning the card over, she read,
" Dear Mac,
This is for Colonel Sarah from her not-so-secret admirer and devoted friend. I thought it only fair that your Commander get a chance to see you wearing it. I wish you both every happiness.
Most cordially,
Gray
P.S. If Rabb gives you any trouble, you just email me. Any time. Any where. I'll be back on the next plane to set him straight."
Mac laughed and handed the card to Harm.
"You know, Mac, I ought to call him out."
"Oh Harm, get a grip." Mac chuckled. Then she unfolded the tissue paper to reveal a rose-colored silk scarf, edged in gold and embroidered with tiny gold leaves. "Oh," she said as she lifted it out of the box. "Oh."
Harm's package was also rectangular, but flat. As he tore off the green paper, he found a matted color photograph--a head shot of Sarah wearing a rose-colored silk scarf with designs in gold. Her gaze seemed to be directed toward something a long way off, and a subtle smile played at the edges of her lips. He didn't know whether she looked more like an angel or an Arabian princess. He did know that the photographer had captured something of the both the softness and strength of her face. And maybe a little of her loveliness. He turned the picture so she could see it. "It's a good likeness, Mac, but it doesn't do you justice." She smiled shyly.
"You know, that Caldwell grows on you after a while." Harm admitted.
"I knew you'd like him," Mac said, giving Harm's hand a gentle squeeze, "once you got to know him." Harm turned his hand palm up and held on to her hand, gently running his thumb back and forth over the soft skin. Her eyes looked darker and more luminous than ever in the subdued light.
"Care to dance, Sarah? They're playing our song."
"I didn't know we had one, Sailor."
"We do now, Ninja Girl," Harm said, pulling her to her feet.
As she settled into his arms for the dance, Mac heard Tish Hinojosa singing, " You look at me and I see a light shinin'/ Brighter than I've ever seen." Harm pulled her close and bent his head so that his cheek rested against her hair. He was grateful for the density of the crowd of dancers, the excuse to hold her near. "I'm learnin' about somewhere far deeper than I've ever been" he murmured into her ear, "Baby believe that I am."