Summary: Sturgis plays matchmaker for Harm.
Rating: PG-13 for language and...sexual innuendos?
Note: This'll be a quick little story, maybe three or four parts. It should be updated pretty quickly, too.

Sturgis knocks. I look up to the open door and wave him in, returning my attention to my reading. I've been doing well at procrastinating again.

"Hey, you busy tonight?" he asks.

"Uh...no," I say, glancing up briefly, then rereading what I just skimmed. Damn. My attention span must be nonexistent. I start reading again, slower this time, when Sturgis speaks up.

"Then you can go to dinner with Bobbi and I." By this time, reading is pointless. I slam the book shut (a little too forcefully, because Sturgis gives me a wary look) and toss it onto my desk.

"You and Bobbi still....?"

"Yeah, we are, and we want to take you to dinner."

I narrow my eyes at him. Somewhere, behind that smart face and composed look is a cunning and devious man. "Why?"

Sturgis snorts, rather unattractively. "We're going to propose to you. Harm, c'mon, can you go or not?"

"Look, no offense," I start, "but I don't want to be the third wheel here."

"You won't be. I've got a friend from St. Louis flying in this afternoon."

I sigh. What else is there to say? I guess I could break my leg going down the stairs, but that's too much hassle. I could get sick, but that's too obvious. I'm stuck. At least I won't be stuck alone. "Yeah, I'll go."

"Good," Sturgis says, brightening noticeably. "We'll come by your house around seven." And he disappears.

A nice six hours later, I'm sitting alone on my couch, looking like an utter idiot dressed in khakis and a new shirt from my mother. Of course, since I've just admitted that I got the shirt from my mother, my idiocy triples. Yeah, well here I am, sitting on a couch, waiting for my friends to pick me up. Not to worry. I'm sure I look dashing sitting here on the couch...all alone...

The doorbell rings and I saunter over, not in any particular hurry. I open the door to Sturgis. "Ready?"

I nod. There's no way I'm going to tell Sturgis that I was getting ready only five minutes before, suddenly remembering I was to go to dinner. I lock the door behind us and we hurry down the drafty stairs and out the door. Sturgis' car is parked on the curb, and I can make out Bobbi in the front seat, laughing openly at something. Then I remember Sturgis' friend.

"So what's your friend do?" I ask, still a good distance from the car.

"She dances."

I swing my head around. Dancer? She? Whoa, can we backtrack? Okay, so I was under the impression that Sturgis has all male friends beside those at JAG. That was stupid of me, I agree. The dancer part....well, I like dancers. I open the back door and slide in. Through the overhead light I can make out her pale face. It's framed by a mass of curly red hair.

"Harm?" she asks, smiling. "I'm Diane Flaggery."

"Nice to meet you, Diane," I reply.

"So, Harm, I haven't seen you in a while," Bobbi says, twisting in her seat to try and look around the chair.

"Been busy."

"Oh," Diane says, "do you work with Sturgis?"

"Sometimes with him, sometimes against him." Sturgis chuckles at that. "Sturgis tells me you dance?"

"Yeah, at the St. Louis Ballet Company. I started five years ago, and it's been just marvelous. We still going to Batzi's?" The last question was directed to the front seat. I hold my breath; Batzi's is a great restaurant, but the main theme of it is dancing. I can dance, don't get me wrong. I can dance very well indeed. I just don't care for dancing tonight...and especially not with a professional dancer. Sturgis is not only cunning and devious, but also very cruel. Does he know how much Mac will make fun of me?

"Batzi's it is," Sturgis says, giving me a look through the rearview mirror. I hate the man.

We pull into the brightly lit parking lot. From the outside, someone would think of it as a truck stop. But Batzi's insides are stunning. The tables are all pushed to one side of the huge room. There are about ten booths, each tucked away in a private little nook. On the left of the room is a stage where some unrecognizable people play fairly good music. People mill around the dance floor, sometimes dancing, sometimes taking a drink of something.

Of course, we get a private little nook. I try to slide in with Sturgis, but Bobbi gets there before me. I sit next to Diane, who's wiggling in her seat, already itching to dance. I wonder what would happen if her legs were broken. It's almost too loud to talk, but the other three attempt while I glance around at the other people there. Old couples, younger couples...I feel strangely out of place.

Sturgis offers to dance with Bobbi during a slow, drawn out song right before we order. I swear the man winked at me as he walked away.

"Oh, this song is great. It's sort of weird to go to places like this and hear regular music. Oh, cause you know, I'm a dancer to classical. It can get rather dull after a while. Especially with our head. She's a wonderful dancer, but she's got an ego the size of a stadium, and not to mention the fact that she hates me. At least I get paid!"

I force a laugh. Time for damage control. So, having no other choice and being the courteous and sensitive man I am, I offer to dance with Diane. She agrees readily, sobered up by the slower music. We push through the mass of people and find a relatively empty part of the floor.

She slips her right hand into my left, and I put my hand on her waist. Rather smoothly, too. We sway to some old song. Diane starts chattering about something that doesn't interest me, but I listen in anyway. I smile and nod in the right places. At least I think I do, because she keeps going.

"Harm?"

I snap out of my trance. Diane looks up at me. "Are you home?" she asks.

No. Actually, I'm far away, dreaming of a beach. "Definitely. I just need a drink. Want anything?"

"Think they have Sprite here?"

Nope. No Sprite. There's no Sprite anywhere in the world. "I'll ask." I slide through people dancing and reach the bar. The bar tender looks at me, and I order water and, reluctantly, a Sprite. Sturgis appears at my elbow.

"Looks like you and Diane hit it off."

Sturgis, where have you been? "She's friendly." And talkative. And not nearly as funny as Mac.

"What do you think of her?"

I give Sturgis a look. "She's nice."

"She likes Navy men."

Well then go and dance with her yourself. And suddenly it dawns on me. "Sturgis," I growl, "tell me you're not setting me up with her."

"What?"

"You're playing matchmaker."

"No."

"Bobbi's making you play matchmaker."

He hesitates. "No. Harm, I just thought you'd like companionship."

"I would have settled for a guy who likes to talk about football and not the finer points of ballet."

"Harm."

"Sturgis."

"Harm, I know you're lonely."

"Really? Well look, thanks but no thanks." I take a deep drink of my water.

"I know," Sturgis says quietly, "I know she's not Mac, but try and like her."

I choke on my water. "What the hell does this have to do with Mac?"

"Nothing, if you don't want it to."

"What...what's that supposed to mean?"

Sturgis raises his eyebrows, then slides off the stool and disappears into the crowd. I still hate that man.

*

The elevator dings and I step off, tired and gloomy. Diane is not someone who cheers you up or keeps you interested. My mood is further spoiled by Harriet, who bounces over and hands me a creamy envelope. I flip it over: S.W.A.K.

"What's swak mean?"

Harriet smiles, her eyes glitter. "Sealed with a kiss," she whispers. My eyebrows, I'm sure, disappear into my hair. Harriet obviously wants me to open it here, but I've got a sneaky suspicion as to who it's from, so I hurry off to my office. Of course, I manage to bump in Sturgis, who snatches the envelope and examines it quickly.

"Swak?"

Sealed with a kick. "Sealed with a kiss," I say, averting my eyes. He's going to laugh.

He doesn't, and I look up. He grins at me. "Told you Diane was worth your time."

I laugh dryly. "Yeah, whoever seals letters with kisses deserves my time!"

And, having my luck, Mac strolls by at that exact moment. "I should seal my letters that way, too," she tosses over her shoulder. Sturgis and I stare at her as she walks away, dumbfounded. I'm telling myself not to take that the wrong way.

Although, I don't think I would mind getting S.W.A.K letters from Mac.

*

Sturgis watches as Harm walks away, then grins and starts to head off his own way. Harriet gets to him first, though, and stops him in the middle of the bullpen. She looks at him, bursting with happiness. "Who's it from?"

"The letter? The Commander's new friend."

"Female friend?"

"Yes," Sturgis, his voice dragging out the word.

"Did you find this friend for him?" Harriet asks, now sounding a bit worried. "Are you playing matchmaker?"

Sturgis shrugs. "Yes."

"Do you think that's wise, sir? You know that the Commander and the Colonel...." Harriet stops and looks around as if they would both appear with daggers at any moment. "Aren't you hurting him more by doing this, sir?"

"That's the beauty of it all," Sturgis says. "This is just the thing they need."

Very sorry for grammatical and spelling mistakes. A cookie for those who review.