Harm's Apartment
North of Union Station
Two days later- December 2
2015 local
Mac knocked on the door for the second time in a matter of
minutes. She knew Harm was home, despite the lack of answer. And she
was worried.
Logically, she told herself he would be fine. Heck, he hadn't
even been surprised when Webb announced that Mercedes Rabb had returned
to Russia. He'd simply nodded, and asked the agent to take care of
things, then left.
Not a word had been heard from him since. Mac had called
repeatedly on Saturday evening and all day today. All she'd done was
learn his answering machine message by heart.
And while her mind (which sounded suspiciously like Mic) told her
he was a big Squid and could take care of himself, her heart told her
he needed a friend or he'd simply retreat into himself and never come
back.
She debated calling to him through the door, but decided the point
was moot. So, hesitantly but determinedly, she pulled out the spare
key and unlocked the door.
As she opened it, the first thing that struck her was the darkness.
It was complete and total, and swallowed the apartment and everything
in it. She vaguely remembered it was a new moon, so even that slight
illumination was missing. She shut the door behind her before calling
out softly, "Harm?"
A ragged-sounding voice responded from somewhere near the couch.
"Go away, Mac," it said tiredly.
"No."
A sigh, then silence. She knew turning on the lights would be a
bad move, but she wasn't about to simply stand there like a fool. With
a mental shrug, she gave in and began feeling her way towards the
disembodied voice. She was a Marine, after all. She could hand a few
furniture-based bruises.
"Mac, what are you doing?" She noted that his voice seemed to be
coming from a slightly lower 'altitude' than normal. Probably sitting
on the floor.
"Trying to find you," she replied. She should be somewhere near the
couch...
"Fine," he answered testily, "just watch out, I moved the--"
*Whump!* Mac's foot found the coffee table leg, sending her
stumbling forward...
"...coffee table," Harm finished, just in time to catch a lap-full
of falling Marine.
"Ummm...sorry," she got out breathlessly. At least she'd found
him.
"Need to work on those landings," he told her, the faintest trace
of humor creeping in.
"Next you'll be telling me we should just leave the flying to you
Squids," she replied, carefully picking herself up and settling on the
floor next to him. "Don't suppose you've mind a bit of light? In case
you hadn't noticed, it's kinda dark in here," she said, trying to keep
things light.
"Really," he said, as she both heard and felt him move a bit,
before a candle flared to life on the offending table. "I think I got a
hint of that when I became a crash pad for a Jarhead." The light,
although dim, allowed her to see the weak grin that accompanied the
remark.
He settled back into his previous spot, arms resting on bent
knees.
"So."
"So."
Silence fell between them for a few moments. Harm simply gazed
into the candle's flame, lost in thought, giving Mac an opportunity to
observe him. More than anything, he looked worn out. Dark circles
rimmed his eyes, and the slightly scruffy-looking stubble on his face
indicated he hadn't bothered to shave for at least a day. One of the
buttons on his light blue chambray shirt was buttoned wrong. The shirt
itself was rumpled and the tails hung loose of his jeans. Nor did she
miss his bare feet, unusual for him this time of year in the
perpetually underheated apartment.
Gently, she laid a hand on his arm. "Harm," she said quietly,
"talk to me."
"There's not much to talk about, is there? Besides, Webb is
handling it, just like he's handling Sergei."
She withdrew the hand, not sure what to do, how to draw him out,
get a reaction. It took her a few minutes to come up with something she
knew would get a reaction-- one way or another. "You know, I was pretty
surprised when Mercedes showed up," she commented neutrally.
"She has that effect on people," he answered dryly.
"Not like that. She looked totally different--fancy hair, fancy
suit, and pale as a sheet. I think she was scared, a bit."
"Hmmmm."
"Yeah. And I don't think she liked Mic at all, either." If this
didn't work, she'd eat her dress blues.
Harm's head snapped around. "She met Mic?" he asked in sheer
disbelief.
"Yup."
"And he's still breathing?"
"Yeah.... why do you ask?"
"Well...she's been known to nearly throttle people that annoy her
enough just on sheer principle."
"Oh no," Mac gasped out, beginning to laugh. "You do realize Webb
is chasing her down, right?"
Harm just stared at her. "Oh my God. He's never gonna know what
hit him," he said, before dissolving into laughter right along with
Mac.
*******************
Later
Same place
2147 local
After a good laugh (and several bad puns involving Webb getting run
over by a certain make of German automobile), Mac persuaded Harm to
order dinner.
So they now sat across from each other, enjoying the Chinese
delivery that had arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Mac was finishing
off hers when Harm looked up at her, a serious look on her face.
"Mac....I'm thinking about going over there."
She froze, a bite halfway to her mouth. "To Russia? But Harm,...."
she paused, taking a good look and seeing the truth in his eyes.
"You've already decided," she stated flatly, dropping the food back in
its container, her appetite gone.
"Mac...."
"Why, Harm? Just tell me why. What do you expect to accomplish
there?" she demanded.
"Dammit, Mac, I don't know. But I can't sit here and do nothing,
and I'm not sure we-- I can trust Webb to handle things."
"That may be, Harm, but there are people over there who want you
dead. Not mention those who will want to cover this whole thing up."
"I have to take that chance, Mac."
"I see," she stated quietly. Then slowly, she gathered up her
things and made her way to the door.
Harm made one last effort. "Mac....please...try to understand,"
he pleaded.
She stopped at the door, and turned to face him. "I'm not sure I
can, Harm, but I'm trying. Give me some time," she said softly, before
slipping out the door.
"Mac..." he began, but she was gone.
With a resigned sigh, Harm went to the bedroom to pack. As he
began putting things together, it occurred to him that once again, she
hadn't wished him good luck.
*******************
Admiral Chegwidden's Home
Next day- Monday, December 3
0545 local
AJ had just finished his morning jog when the phone rang. He didn't
need to look at the caller id to know exactly who was on the line.
"Chegwidden."
"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but--"
"Go with him, Mac. His plane leaves in an hour and a half. I'll
take care of things here."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Thank me by coming back in one piece, Colonel."
TBC................
North of Union Station
Two days later- December 2
2015 local
Mac knocked on the door for the second time in a matter of
minutes. She knew Harm was home, despite the lack of answer. And she
was worried.
Logically, she told herself he would be fine. Heck, he hadn't
even been surprised when Webb announced that Mercedes Rabb had returned
to Russia. He'd simply nodded, and asked the agent to take care of
things, then left.
Not a word had been heard from him since. Mac had called
repeatedly on Saturday evening and all day today. All she'd done was
learn his answering machine message by heart.
And while her mind (which sounded suspiciously like Mic) told her
he was a big Squid and could take care of himself, her heart told her
he needed a friend or he'd simply retreat into himself and never come
back.
She debated calling to him through the door, but decided the point
was moot. So, hesitantly but determinedly, she pulled out the spare
key and unlocked the door.
As she opened it, the first thing that struck her was the darkness.
It was complete and total, and swallowed the apartment and everything
in it. She vaguely remembered it was a new moon, so even that slight
illumination was missing. She shut the door behind her before calling
out softly, "Harm?"
A ragged-sounding voice responded from somewhere near the couch.
"Go away, Mac," it said tiredly.
"No."
A sigh, then silence. She knew turning on the lights would be a
bad move, but she wasn't about to simply stand there like a fool. With
a mental shrug, she gave in and began feeling her way towards the
disembodied voice. She was a Marine, after all. She could hand a few
furniture-based bruises.
"Mac, what are you doing?" She noted that his voice seemed to be
coming from a slightly lower 'altitude' than normal. Probably sitting
on the floor.
"Trying to find you," she replied. She should be somewhere near the
couch...
"Fine," he answered testily, "just watch out, I moved the--"
*Whump!* Mac's foot found the coffee table leg, sending her
stumbling forward...
"...coffee table," Harm finished, just in time to catch a lap-full
of falling Marine.
"Ummm...sorry," she got out breathlessly. At least she'd found
him.
"Need to work on those landings," he told her, the faintest trace
of humor creeping in.
"Next you'll be telling me we should just leave the flying to you
Squids," she replied, carefully picking herself up and settling on the
floor next to him. "Don't suppose you've mind a bit of light? In case
you hadn't noticed, it's kinda dark in here," she said, trying to keep
things light.
"Really," he said, as she both heard and felt him move a bit,
before a candle flared to life on the offending table. "I think I got a
hint of that when I became a crash pad for a Jarhead." The light,
although dim, allowed her to see the weak grin that accompanied the
remark.
He settled back into his previous spot, arms resting on bent
knees.
"So."
"So."
Silence fell between them for a few moments. Harm simply gazed
into the candle's flame, lost in thought, giving Mac an opportunity to
observe him. More than anything, he looked worn out. Dark circles
rimmed his eyes, and the slightly scruffy-looking stubble on his face
indicated he hadn't bothered to shave for at least a day. One of the
buttons on his light blue chambray shirt was buttoned wrong. The shirt
itself was rumpled and the tails hung loose of his jeans. Nor did she
miss his bare feet, unusual for him this time of year in the
perpetually underheated apartment.
Gently, she laid a hand on his arm. "Harm," she said quietly,
"talk to me."
"There's not much to talk about, is there? Besides, Webb is
handling it, just like he's handling Sergei."
She withdrew the hand, not sure what to do, how to draw him out,
get a reaction. It took her a few minutes to come up with something she
knew would get a reaction-- one way or another. "You know, I was pretty
surprised when Mercedes showed up," she commented neutrally.
"She has that effect on people," he answered dryly.
"Not like that. She looked totally different--fancy hair, fancy
suit, and pale as a sheet. I think she was scared, a bit."
"Hmmmm."
"Yeah. And I don't think she liked Mic at all, either." If this
didn't work, she'd eat her dress blues.
Harm's head snapped around. "She met Mic?" he asked in sheer
disbelief.
"Yup."
"And he's still breathing?"
"Yeah.... why do you ask?"
"Well...she's been known to nearly throttle people that annoy her
enough just on sheer principle."
"Oh no," Mac gasped out, beginning to laugh. "You do realize Webb
is chasing her down, right?"
Harm just stared at her. "Oh my God. He's never gonna know what
hit him," he said, before dissolving into laughter right along with
Mac.
*******************
Later
Same place
2147 local
After a good laugh (and several bad puns involving Webb getting run
over by a certain make of German automobile), Mac persuaded Harm to
order dinner.
So they now sat across from each other, enjoying the Chinese
delivery that had arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Mac was finishing
off hers when Harm looked up at her, a serious look on her face.
"Mac....I'm thinking about going over there."
She froze, a bite halfway to her mouth. "To Russia? But Harm,...."
she paused, taking a good look and seeing the truth in his eyes.
"You've already decided," she stated flatly, dropping the food back in
its container, her appetite gone.
"Mac...."
"Why, Harm? Just tell me why. What do you expect to accomplish
there?" she demanded.
"Dammit, Mac, I don't know. But I can't sit here and do nothing,
and I'm not sure we-- I can trust Webb to handle things."
"That may be, Harm, but there are people over there who want you
dead. Not mention those who will want to cover this whole thing up."
"I have to take that chance, Mac."
"I see," she stated quietly. Then slowly, she gathered up her
things and made her way to the door.
Harm made one last effort. "Mac....please...try to understand,"
he pleaded.
She stopped at the door, and turned to face him. "I'm not sure I
can, Harm, but I'm trying. Give me some time," she said softly, before
slipping out the door.
"Mac..." he began, but she was gone.
With a resigned sigh, Harm went to the bedroom to pack. As he
began putting things together, it occurred to him that once again, she
hadn't wished him good luck.
*******************
Admiral Chegwidden's Home
Next day- Monday, December 3
0545 local
AJ had just finished his morning jog when the phone rang. He didn't
need to look at the caller id to know exactly who was on the line.
"Chegwidden."
"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but--"
"Go with him, Mac. His plane leaves in an hour and a half. I'll
take care of things here."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Thank me by coming back in one piece, Colonel."
TBC................