Author's Note: Just in case…
Episode 9 Post-Game Celebration JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 0935 EST, October 2Admiral Chegwidden didn't normally make such a show of promotions… but this was one that he felt deserved a bit of fanfare. Had it been two months ago, he would never have dreamed of this… but now, it seemed like the perfect thing to do
"For your actions on board the USS Harry S. Truman, I, on behalf of the United States Navy, and with the regards of the Secretary of the Navy, grant you, Loren Singer, with the rank of Lieutenant Commander. Congratulations."
"Thank you, sir." Singer beamed as Admiral Chegwidden affixed the pins of her new standing on her uniform. From behind her, there was polite clapping, and one certain young Major who was bordering on going overboard.
Singer turned to face her co-workers, uncertainty and pride dueling among her emotions. They all looked so happy for her… maybe Commander Rabb was right… maybe this wasn't a competition… perhaps whenever one of them succeeded, they all succeeded…
"I'll admit; you and I have never been the best of friends." Sturgis began, "But you deserved this."
Singer smirked. "If I hadn't deserved this promotion for a long time, I doubt I would have accepted it. The only actions on the Truman I performed outside of anyone else were simply blind luck."
"Lt. Commander Singer, are you being modest? What is the world coming to?" Mac quipped.
"Sometimes you have to be lucky to be good, Lieutenant… Commander." Harm hastily added. "I never got a chance to thank you. From what I've been told, I owe you my life."
"Well, I'm glad that you recovered fully." Normally confident and superior, the attention was starting to embarrass her. "Besides, if anyone really deserved a promotion out of all of this, it should have been Major Harrington. I mean… he was the one that pieced the entire conspiracy together."
"That depends on Air Force High Command." Harrington replied with a shrug, "I wouldn't bet on one coming though. They tend to drag their feet when it comes to accolades of any kind."
"This calls for a party!" Harriet suddenly announced. "And we can kill two birds with one stone to boot!"
"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" Harrington muttered warily.
"You still haven't had your housewarming party, sir!" Harriet chirped excitedly, "We can hold the celebration at your place, and take care of both at once!"
Harrington grimaced as Harriet nearly skipped away. "I was hoping she had forgotten about that…"
Mac laughed, "Lt. Sims never forgets a potential party. You might as well get it over with, Major."
"You're probably right." Harrington sighed in resignation, "Well then… I better go find out what she is planning, and correct it accordingly."
Before he could chaperone Harriet's party preparations, the bullpen went silent, for Clayton Webb had just appeared at the entrance. His expression was flat, somewhat similar to a little kid who had just been reprimanded.
Approaching the group of officers, he began sheepishly, "Congratulations on your promotion, Lt. Commander Singer… I just wanted to thank all of you for tracking down this espionage act…"
"No doubt you made yourself a hero in the process." Harrington grunted. "I wonder just how truthful you were about your role…"
Webb pursed his lips, "If I did elaborate my role, I would consider us even for me not reporting a potential assault of a CIA agent. You saved my ass, and I spared yours."
"Not much of an assault when my target crumples like an accordion after one punch." Harrington smirked.
At that moment, the attention focused on Webb's left cheek, which was a nice shade of black and blue. Mac turned to Harrington, and asked, "Did you two boys have a teensy-weensy incident after I left?"
"He took me by surprise." Webb grumbled.
"Hey, Webb, I wouldn't worry about it." Harm said slyly, "So you got caught with a bare six. From what I understand, that's nothing new for you."
Webb's face went completely red in anger and embarrassment as the officers responded in varying stages of chuckling, or outright laughter. Even Admiral Chegwidden couldn't stop himself from grinning in amusement.
"I swear, Major Harrington, I am going to get you back for this little breach of confidence." Webb threatened.
"Sure you will, Webb." Harrington replied, "Just don't expect me to supply you with any ammunition."
"Regardless, can I talk to you in private, Major?" Webb asked, before walking away to Singer and Harrington's office.
Mac addressed Harrington again, "Wow… he really doesn't like you, does he?"
"The feeling is mutual, Colonel." Harrington replied with an angry frown, "In my report of his shenanigans in Seattle, I reached the conclusion that Mr. Webb represents everything wrong with the CIA. That conclusion hasn't changed much since."
Harm shrugged, "I can't believe I'm about to defend Clayton Webb… but he's been a pretty good asset at times… when he feels the need to share everything we need to know that is."
Mac added, "Besides, its hard to do his line of work. You have to tread a thin line between disclosing just enough to get the job done, but not too much by giving away classified information."
Harrington regarded the arguments grimly. "I was more referring to his irritating tendency to push for a conclusion that suits him best, whether or not it is the proper conclusion, as well as his tendency to glorify himself for his own personal gain."
Mac and Harm pursed their lips, and said in almost perfect unison, "Oh… in that case…"
Singer cut in, "Perhaps you should have your private talk before Mr. Webb gets impatient."
Harrington nodded, and without further conversation, slipped into the office, and shut the door.
Inside, Webb only had one immediate question. "I think I already know the answer to this question… but when you suddenly burst out after some unknown person in London, was it a certain person we both know?"
"You're right, Webb… you already know the answer to that question." Harrington replied blandly.
"What do you think he was doing in London?"
"Gee… there was an act of espionage, and he was in the city… seems pretty obvious what he was doing."
"That's what I thought." Webb nodded, "I just wanted to see if you had reached the same conclusion. All right, well then, if we find out any more, I'll see to it that you get it. I know how much you want to be there when we finally bring him down."
"Thanks, Clay."
Webb smirked, and replied, "I'm serious though… I'm going to get you back for leaking that… incident of mine." With that, Webb left the office, and from there, left the bullpen.
Singer slipped inside, and asked, "So… what was that all about?"
Harrington shrugged, and replied, "Just some more empty threats…"
Gainsborough Court, Halifax, VA- 1730 EST, October 3Harrington frowned as Harriet adjusted the banner just in front of his doorway for about the twentieth time. His apartment looked like a surrealist's vision gone wrong with all the decorations that Lt. Sims had drug in from God-knows-where. He accidentally stepped on a stray balloon that had escaped from its pin on the ceiling, and then jumped when it burst with a pop that sent little AJ dropping to the deck in surprise.
Harriet glared at Harrington like she was accusing him of trying to wreck the decorations. Shaking his head in denial, he turned around and sighed. At least she hadn't protested about the lack of catering after she had sampled some of his handiwork.
While he was on the topic, he returned to the small kitchenette, and looked over the various dishes that he was waiting to either finish baking, broiling, or steaming. Looking over some of the vegetables, he decided to add a little bit more seasoning, then replaced the steamer cover.
He once again tried to convince himself that he wasn't doing this for his housewarming, but as congratulations to his old friend. That helped a little… at least that way he had a somewhat rational excuse to allow Harriet to transform his apartment into Picasso's nightmare.
However, in an internal apology to Lt. Sims, the decorating itself wasn't that bad… it just seemed a tad on the excessive side. Especially since he never recalled the use of dry ice smoke as acceptable in his lease…
Further conjecture into the legality of the decorations was stalled when the first of the guests arrived. Opening the door, he smiled at none other than the guest of honor. Singer looked down at the floor, where a strange light gray smoke flittered with her ankles.
"Don't ask." Harrington sighed before Singer could query.
"Lt. Sims?" She asked wryly.
Harrington only nodded as Singer entered the apartment, gasping at the large banner that looked professionally done that was pinned to the top of the entryway walls. "Congratulations, Lt. Commander Singer" it said in bold blue type.
"How did…" Singer gasped, "That must have been…"
"I have no idea how much it cost, or where she got it done on such short notice." Harrington replied, "I get the nagging feeling I don't want to find out either."
From there, Singer's eyes followed the ceiling, almost completely covered in white and navy blue balloons. "How long has she…?"
Once again, Harrington answered before she finished. "She skipped out of work about 1300, and I, stupidly, gave her a key to this place. Bud, his son, and I, got here about 2 hours ago. I started cooking while they finished up what you see here."
"It just seems so… much… especially for me…"
"Well, if it consoles you any, I get the feeling that Lt. Sims has been itching for a party for some time." Harrington replied with a smirk. "I mean, heaven forbid someone actually would go out of their way for you, right?"
Singer's glare silenced Harrington, and instead he suddenly yelped, "Oh, Lord… I almost forgot I'm still cooking!"
"Do you need a hand?" Singer asked.
"Loren, remember the last time you tried to help me in the kitchen? You're fortunate Aunt Nina didn't make you clean off the ceiling tiles." Harrington reminded as he quickly opened the broiler to make sure that he hadn't overdone one of his dishes. "Hey, that wasn't my fault!" Singer protested. "I didn't mean to close the pressure hole!"
Harrington thought about this for a moment, and realized that it was probably better to give her something to do. Since it probably wasn't a good idea to leave her in Harriet's care… that left only one other option.
"Just watch the broiler… once the fish gets a light brown, let me know." Harrington ordered, "It probably wouldn't hurt to stir the vegetables in the steamer every couple of minutes as well."
1805 EST"I know it's a bit crowded in here." Harrington apologized as he looked at basically the entire office staff sitting in various positions in the kitchen and living room, "But… I am glad you all made it."
Holding up his wine glass filled with fruit punch (he had decided for Mac's sake to make the event void of alcoholic beverages, despite Mac's protests not to pander to her), and said, "As the host of this little get-together, I would like to offer a toast to our guest of honor."
He smiled warmly, and said, "When I first met Loren Singer, she was a cold, calculating, devious, and cynical woman. It's amazing how little has changed in 6 years."
"Hey!" Singer shouted in mock protest.
Harrington dipped his head slightly, and replied, "In all seriousness though, it had been almost two years since I had met her face to face, but I still was impressed. Her skill had sharpened, her determination had grown stronger, and despite her rigid exterior, the woman who I had come to known was still there."
"You've deserved this for some time, Lt. Commander Singer." Harrington concluded, "I hope you see this as proof that if you work hard enough, you'll eventually get what you deserve. Cheers."
Singer flushed as the rest of the partygoers affirmed the toast. She wasn't used to this. Her MO had always been to do the job, and not worry about who recognized or approved of it. But to see people that she had distrusted for so long, had fights with, and just generally been a bitch towards… applauding her… showing their approval…
Harrington, catching onto Singer's discomfort, drew the attention back to himself quickly. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I would suggest we begin the dinner before my handiwork has aged beyond it's best potential. I slaved for almost 2 hours on this, and I'm certainly not going to let it go cold."
Packing as comfortably as they could into Harrington's kitchen, his guests lined the walls as he unveiled each dish.
"We have snow peas, sweet corn, and broccoli, steamed for sides." Harrington began with his usual flair when dealing with his culinary work, "We also have mashed potatoes and candied yams, if that is more to your liking." Moving to the large dishes in the center of his table, he pulled off the steam covers, "For the main course, we have lemon pepper oven-roasted chicken marinated in stock, as well as Alaskan salmon broiled in olive oil." Then opening one last pan, he commented, "And for Commander Rabb's special palate, I have prepared vegetable stir-fry, cooked in soy sauce and white wine. And when we are ready for desert," Harrington finished, "I have Dutch Apple pie, triple fudge devil's food cake, and peach turnovers with pecans."
With the exception of a scant few who had the opportunity to sample Harrington's kitchen prowess in the past, the assembled guests marveled at the spread that rivaled any professional caterer's in the city. Mac licked her lips in anticipation, and moved for the dishes.
"Now, Colonel…" Harrington chided, intercepting her hand, "It is custom to allow the guest of honor first choice."
"Fine." Mac stated, "But I'm going second."
"No one would dare challenge that claim, Mac." Harm joked.
1847 ESTAdmiral Chegwidden took one last sip of punch, and handed his plate to Harrington, who dutifully placed it in the sink with the rest of the dishes that were compiling. "Major, I must offer my thanks for such a wonderfully prepared dinner."
"Ah, that was actually pretty easy stuff, sir." Harrington said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
Harm laughed as he slipped next to the Admiral, handing over his plate in the process, "Well, Steve, the Admiral knows all about people who weren't exactly… skilled cooks."
Chegwidden winced at some of the memories, then smiled deviously at Harrington. "It just is nice for me to know that if I am ever in the urge for prime cooking that won't cost me an arm and a leg, I know who to order…" with that, he slipped away back into the living room.
Eventually deciding that the Admiral was joking, Harrington turned his attention to the guests who were now chatting in the living room. Noticing Singer sitting in Harrington's plush reclining chair, the back of her beige shirt leaving a small opening between the fabric and her neck, his mouth twisted into a trickster's smirk.
"What is going through your head, Steve?" Harm asked warily as Harrington quietly opened his freezer, and emerged with a lone ice cube.
Harrington waved Harm aside, and commented in a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh… nothing much, Harm… just a little college prank that 'broke the ice', so to speak…"
Meanwhile, Singer was actually having a genial conversation with Commander Turner and Lt. Sims, two people that she had never before would have felt at ease enough to even exchange pleasantries with. It was quite an epiphany to realize just how easy it was to get along with them when she decided just simply to give it the effort, and not instantly assume the worst.
So engrossed was she in her conversation, that she had forgotten to keep an eye on her old college friend, since his antics during parties, generally targeting her, had been become subject of urban legend at Dartmouth. She had assumed that the adult world would have tempered his playfulness.
That proved to be a mistake.
"I'm sure that A.J. will grow out of his 'artistic' phase, Lieutenant." Singer replied as Harriet had just completed discussing her son's new hobby of finger-painting the walls of her house. "Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to give him some more conventional means to express him…self!" Her last syllable ended in a yelp as she felt something freezing slip down the back of her shirt, lazily sliding down the curve of her spine. Her mouth opened in shock as she went totally rigid, finally relaxing once the offending article fell to the seat of the chair.
It took Singer all of two seconds to figure out what and who was responsible for her sudden discomfort. She found the timing quite uncanny. The first time Harrington had done that to her, served as the breaking point that finally had caused her to open up to him, and begin trusting him. Tilting her head to see the mischievous grin plastered on Harrington's face, she knew that he remembered the significance.
Grinning sadistically, Singer growled, "Remember what happened the last time you did that to me?"
"Yeah." Harrington answered, his smile still firmly in place. "You chased me around the house for about 20 minutes, and then beat the tar out of me."
"What makes you think it'll be any different this time?"
That got the smile to disappear. He gauged Singer's expression, trying to determine the seriousness of her threat.
Harm finally commented, "I suggest you start running, Major."
That Harrington did, bursting out the door of his apartment, and down the hall, Singer a mere second behind. When the laughter died down, the guests were left wondering as to just what they should do.
"This may occupy our host and guest of honor for a few moments." Harm stated with a broad smirk, "In the meantime, anyone up for another slice of pie?"
1900 ESTHarrington panted as he stood in between the stairwell of the first and second floors along the east wing of the apartment complex. "Hi, how you doing?" He said breathlessly to a middle-aged couple walking by, who looked at him like he was either stoned, or just plain nuts, before proceeding up the steps at a slightly faster rate.
Looking back up to the top of the stairwell, he noticed that Singer had stopped pursuing him, probably waiting for him to think she had left, and then to have him walk right into her clutches.
"Like hell I will." Harrington muttered to himself, turning around to the first floor exit. He could work his way around to the west wing, and then climb up that stairwell to his floor.
Smirking at his ingenuity, he opened the first floor door… to find Singer staring right at him.
"Elevators are quirky little things, aren't they?" Singer asked rhetorically, slowly advancing on her prey. Harrington stepped back at the same rate, until he tripped on the first step of the stairwell, falling on his back.
"Now, I've got you right where I want you." Singer smirked evilly, that is, until she yelped in surprise. Harrington had swept her legs out from under her, catching her as she fell backwards. Kneeling next to her, he asked smugly, "Now… who's got whom here?"
A mere second later, he had collapsed to his side next to his victim, a recipient of a vicious grab and pull from Singer. What happened next, Harrington decided was the work of some demonic possession, since it disregarded any and all common sense.
It was like someone had set off a firecracker in his stomach. The expanding warmth was a very welcome experience, despite every logical corner of his mind was screaming at him to regain his senses. However, the longer he continued, the harder it was to stop, and the easier it was for him to ignore that little voice of conscience.
By the time they had broken away from the kiss, Harrington rolled over on his back, rubbing his temples, and muttered, "We did not just do that…"
"No, we didn't." Singer agreed, equally disgusted by her actions. True, disgust was probably the last feeling she had possessed at the time, but now given time to decompress and rationalize again, there was no doubt that she had been more than stupid.
"We were hallucinating… that's all."
"Yeah, that's it… the paint in this stairwell looks quite new, we've just inhaled too many fumes."
"Perhaps we should get out of here before our guests start wondering what happened to us." Harrington suggested.
"For once you have a good idea." Singer replied. After they had stood up, one last flash of indiscretion caused Singer to close the distance between them again.
Harrington allowed himself to enjoy the moment for a brief second, but this time, his sense took control before it got nearly as out of hand. "We really need to stop hallucinating, Loren."
Singer nodded, "I know…"
"We'll talk about this later… okay?" Harrington explained, "How about after the guests leave?" Waiting for Singer's nod, noting her silent approval to the idea, Harrington began the trek up the stairwell.
It suddenly looked a hell of a lot longer going up than it did on the way down…
End Episode 9