"Oh, Christ," the admiral mutters resignedly, rolling his eyes heavenward and staring at Harm's prone form lying in a heap on the office floor. Sturgis, Harriet and I quickly kneel down next to him.
"Harm? Can you hear me? Harm?" I gently pat his cheek and receive a welcome groan in response. His eyes flutter open and I swear I see them roll around several times in his head before they finally come to focus on me. He blinks a few times, his gaze never leaving my eyes before he becomes aware that Sturgis, Harriet, and the admiral are hovering nearby, and that he's also claimed the attention of most of the office—quite a feat, I'd say, considering the astonishing news about Singer.
Noticing everyone's interest, he quickly attempts to sit up.
"Careful!" I warn as he almost flops back down.
"Ngghh," he moans, clutching his head.
"I wouldn't get in too much of a hurry, Harm. You probably hit your head against the tile when you fainted," Sturgis adds.
"Fainted? Ide didn't faint," he grumbles, sounding less nasal than earlier.
"Like a schoolgirl, sir," Tiner insists with a grin, earning a snort from the admiral and a dirty look from Harm.
"Oh, and just what would you call it?" I ask.
"Ide just…" he winces, and rubs a spot on the back of his head.
"You just…"
"My legs went out from udder me, doekay?"
"Harm. You fainted."
He scowls again and slowly attempts a standing position.
"Harm, maybe you should just sit for a minute and—"
"Mac, I'm find, doekay? See?" He rises unsteadily to his feet, with both Sturgis and I hovering at his elbows.
Seeing that their senior attorney will apparently live, the few onlookers that hadn't already turned their attention back to the screen when Harm first came to, return to the story aboard the Seahawk. Risking a glance, I see that the reporter has sidelined the public affairs officer and is interviewing him. Harm follows my gaze to the television screen and listens intently, growing paler by the second.
A picture of Singer, dressed in COD gear standing on the flight deck, flashes on the screen, next to another one, showing a incriminating paunch stretching the seams of her uniform.
"Ohhh, I think I'm going to be sick," Harm moans. He clutches his stomach with one hand and turns and slinks off towards his office.
**********
"Feel any better?" I ask, rubbing his back and shoulders with my left hand as I lean over him. Harm's sitting in his desk chair, his head buried in his arms, lying on his desk. I want to run my hand through his hair, run a finger behind his ear and tuck in a strand of hair out of line with the others. Harriet and Sturgis are in here, and Tiner just left to get some juice for Harm, so at the moment I'm at my limit for soothing gestures that fall in the "just friends/coworkers" range.
"Gnugh," he replies, which I take to mean no.
"I wonder who the father is? Do you know how drunk a guy would have to be before sleeping with Singer would be appealing?" Harriet asks, and we all look at her—even Harm, who raises his head to regard her comment before swallowing heavily and returning his head to its former position on the desk.
"Actually, ma'am," Tiner says, returning with a glass of juice and handing it to me, "if you remember what she wore to the colonel's engagement party she cleans up pretty nice, to say the least."
Harm makes a sound like he might throw up at any second and Harriet quickly produces a waste can at his side.
"Here you are, sir," Harriet says helpfully.
"Danks, Harriet," he mutters without looking at either the trashcan or Harriet.
"What I want to know," Sturgis begins, "is how long the lieutenant thought she could hide her pregnancy? Did she honestly expect that no one would notice?"
"She's four months along," I murmur, "that's about the exact amount of time she's been gone. She must have…gotten pregnant right before she left."
We all mull that information in silence, except for Harm who moans like he's in agony.
"Harm, you really need to go home and rest. You are not feeling well."
"No kibbing. You are not helbing, Mac," I think he mutters into his sleeve, but I can't be sure if I've heard him right, what with his muffled and nasal voice, and Sturgis talking.
"You're not considering the possibility that she could have become pregnant while aboard the ship?" Sturgis argues.
Harriet, Tiner, and I all give him an incredulous look.
"I'm sorry, sir," Harriet says, "but have you met Lieutenant Singer?"
"Really, Sturgis, given how far along she is she would have had to had relations almost immediately upon boarding the ship," I return. "What are the odds?"
"With all due respect, ma'am, sir," Tiner interrupts, "what are the odds of this happening period?"
"About a million to one," I concede.
"Try a billion," Harriet says. "Singer as a mother." She shakes her head disbelievingly.
"Wait 'til Gunny hears about this. He owes me a bottle of scotch," Tiner announces gleefully. Harriet, Sturgis and I frown.
"Where's that trashcan?" Harm asks, looking around worriedly.
"Have we determined whether or not Commander Rabb will live today?" The admiral interjects, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.
"Yes, sir," we all chorus, snapping to, except for Harm.
"Jury's still out," Harm mutters, just loud enough so I can hear, before rising to his feet. He only sways a little before I discreetly reach out an arm and steady him.
"As you were," the admiral commands and Harm slumps down in his chair again, reaching into his pants pocket for his handkerchief, which, like my sailor, looks as if it has seen better days.
"Good, then I don't have to remind all of you that we still have a job to perform."
"No, sir," We reply, except for Harm who sniffles noisily. The admiral fixes him with a sharp look. "Commander, finish up your report from court today and go home."
Harm nods, rather gratefully, I note with suspicion. Something's up with him.
"Colonel, see to it the commander gets there."
"Aye, sir." Gladly. Chauffeuring time is grilling time.
"Everyone else, tell the commander to get well and get back to work."
************
Bidding Harriet goodbye with a promise to call later, I usher everyone out of Harm's office and close the door behind them. I turn to my sick best friend and partner and…whatever it is we are to each other now and regard him thoughtfully.
He has returned to his previous posture, head down over the desk, arms folded around him. Crossing my arms over my chest and stand and wait patiently for a response. It's not long in coming.
"Harriet's right."
"About what?"
"She got hib drunk and sebuced hib."
"We don't know that, Harm," I remind him. "It could have been a completely consensual act."
"Ugh! Bon't say thab." He says, horrified. "She took abbantage of hib. He was depressed and lonely and ubset with me and he probably drank too much and she saw the obbortunity and took it."
"Wait, what are you talking about?"
He looks away and I feel my eyes widen with surprise.
"You know who the father is?"
He looks down.
"You do!" I cry incredulously, unable to believe my ears. Eyes. Whatever.
"Who? Who is he?"
He winces and looks out the frosted window.
"It's snowing abain," he comments.
"Hoorah," I reply, not giving an elf's hammer about the weather. "Who? Come on, Harm, you can tell me," I practically whine, but I can see he's wavering on whether to give in and I've always found whining to Harm quite successful.
"You knobe what's good in code weather? Hob chocolate."
"Delicious. Come on, Harm. I'm your best friend, if you can't trust me who can you trust," I say, knowing that will illicit just enough guilt to sway him. If he doesn't tell me then it's as though he doesn't trust me, and I know there's no way he's going to allow for that miscommunication to wreck things between us. I am taking ruthless advantage here, I fully admit, especially given his condition.
"Bokay. You hab to promise nob to tell anyone, no matter what," he says sternly. Or as sternly as one manage with a Rudolph nose, teary eyes and a voice like Elmer Fudd.
"Of course," I swear.
"'Cause I don't know for cerbain, but dime pretty sure… I mean, all signs seem to point thab way…" he trails off, putting his head in his hands. "Ugh, dis is my worst nightmare come true. Literally."
"What? Just tell me, Harm."
He heaves a sigh and nods.
"Bokay, you remember back in Aubust when Sergei wabs leaving and I wabs going to take him to the airport?"
I nod. "Well I gob there a libble late," he makes a gesture that seems to indicate he's aware that it's the norm for him, "and Sergei alreaby had his lubbage out on the curb."
I frown and nod wondering why this conversation is focusing so much on him and Sergei…
I swallow as my stomach tightens and I force myself to hear Harm out before jumping to any conclusions.
"He tolb me he had found someone to gib hib a ride and thab I didn't hab to bother. A few minutes later, Singer dribes up."
Oh no.
My expression must give away my thoughts because he nods emphatically—"waib, it gets better. Or worse, really," he adds to himself.
The knot in my stomach tightens almost painfully but I force myself to breathe and continue to listen with, I don't have to add, rapt attention.
"He dibn't come right oub and say it, but Mac! He allubed that there was something…deeber going on…that something deeber had gone on. Mac, I think he slept wib her."
He looks at me with wide eyes and starts to babble about something but it's lost in a crash and a moment later I'm staring at the ceiling.
TBC…