Disclaimer: JAG isn't mine, I just like to make Harm do hot things
I know it's kind of short, but hopefully it is filled with enough hilarity that it won't matter. I just finally got some ideas!
* * *
We've exited the hotel. That's a start.
"Oh, you know what, we need to come up with names, too," he says.
This is all beginning to feel like a giant game of pretend. "Alright."
"I vote that we choose each other's names."
Uh oh. "Why, do you have something strange in store for me?"
"No, not really."
"Alright then, what?" I'm still a little afraid.
"Stephanie."
"Stephanie? Why?" I ask with a smile.
"I don't know, I always thought..." He trails off.
"Thought what, Harm?"
"I thought it was a beautiful name."
"Oh please!"
"So what's my name?" he asks, trying to escape the subject. I'll let him get away this once.
I think a bit. "Wyatt."
"Are you serious? Wyatt - what?!"
I backhand him in the chest. "Wyatt is a very respectable name! It was the name of George Strait's character in his movie!"
"Give me a break!"
"Hey, this was your idea! You picked mine, I picked yours, the end."
"Our last name should be Irish."
"O'Leary."
"Agreed."
Wow. That was fairly easy.
"Do you know any good places around here, Mac?"
"You've probably spent more time here than I have, sailor."
"Don't start that 'sailor' stuff with me, Marine."
I see how it is. "Squid."
"Jarhead."
"Deck ape."
"Gyrene."
"Knuckledragger."
"...Jarhead," he says in a feeble attempt to outdo me.
"Swabby."
Gosh, there are far too many names for Navy men.
"But you know what, Mac, those last few have to be disqualified."
Bull. "Why is that? Because you're a sore loser?"
"No, because your last ones only pertain to boatswain's mates and deck crew."
Wh-... Is he serious?
"I am totally serious."
Damn. Well, if that's how he's gonna play...
"Nugget."
"Ouch, Mac! Rookie pilot? A little below the belt, there!"
Hm, I can only imagine what else is below that bel- WHOA now, red light, Colonel! Snap to, suck it up, and whatever else those overrated DI's scream into your earlobes, I hafta motivate my ass away from that sort of stuff if I am to work my way back up to even temporary sanity.
I make no sense.
"So what do you think?"
Uh oh. While I was contemplating his belt he must have mentioned somewhere to go. I should learn to listen.
"Uh... sure."
"Mac?" he asks in a tone that suggests I need my head examined.
"Hm?"
He gives me a strange look. Oh God - was that not the right answer? He probably wasn't even talking about a restaurant.
"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with you?"
"No."
"Alright. Acceptance is the first step to recovery."
Is he sure? Doesn't denial or anger come before you can accept it? I'm not sure. Neither of us would be an expert on that, though.
* * *
So after an excruciatingly painful dinner to sit through without jumping Harm, we've found our way into a bar. How did that happen? And he's ordered me a non-alcoholic pina colada. Why the hell would he do either of those things to me? Non-alcoholic? Pina colada, now really.
We are sitting at the bar. It's pretty busy for it being early Thursday evening. I'm actually having a good time. I can act weird and look normal, it's nice.
"So, do you remember our honeymoon?" he asks, poking fun at our assignment.
"How could I forget? It was like Viet Cong the whole time."
"The rain was unfortunate." Where is he basing this? "But people do go Hawaii to swim, why shouldn't it rain?"
Ooh, good choice, flyboy. Classic and classy.
"Good point. That one day, the beach was packed, and once it started sprinkling everyone ran for cover."
"Everyone," he smiles.
"Everyone," I repeat vaguely.
"Yeah, but once they'd all gone, it left us free to go skinny dipping."
"Ouch, buddy, bringing out the big guns and bad memories?" Oh, this is too amusing.
"Bad memories? That was the most fun night of the trip!" I can only guess what he's imagining.
"But when we got out, our clothes were missing."
He frowns. "Oh yeah."
"All of them. Both sets."
"Hey, but we did find them."
"In wonderful disarray washed all over the shoreline."
"How was I supposed to know the tide would rise?"
God, we're a little too good at this.
I smile. "That was alright, though."
"Why is that?" He smirks. Oh God, he wants me to say it out loud.
I kiss him on the nose. "Because I got to watch you frantically search the beach nude for our clothes." I wink. He wrinkles his nose in mock resentment. "You should not ask questions with answers you don't like," I tell him. "Aren't you a lawyer?" I add in a whisper. I leave the bar and head for the bathroom.
When I come back, he's gone. I scan the room and see him sitting at a table with another guy. Harm sees me and shrugs. He points to the guy, then his Academy ring.
Of course. He was bound to run into someone he knew.
I sit back at the bar. "Get me another one of these things, please," I say to the bartender as I point to my pina colada.
"Non-alcoholic?" she asks.
I think about it very hard. "Yeah, I guess so." The night's been fun so far, I can't go and get drunk so I can turn evil.
She returns with another. "Thanks," I mumble.
Some random guy comes and sits on my left. I feel him glace at me every so often. Actually, very often. Great, now I have some guy chasing the skirt, right on my tail.
I look over my right shoulder to find Harm. Once we make eye contact, I give him an insistent expression that suggests he wrap it up and bail me out. His eyes widen, telling me he's stuck, too. Dammit.
I turn back to my semi-drink. The man beside me finally looks at my face. I ignore him. I'm good at that.
"Hi there, I'm Chris," he says congenially.
I smile like I've just noticed him. "Hi. Chris..."
"Paget."
"Chris Paget," I repeat. I'm good at that, as well.
"And you are?"
"O'Leary."
"Got a first name?" he asks smilingly.
"Steph." I smile to myself. I've already corrupted my given name.
"So, Steph, are you here alone?"
I give him a smile that could mean either "yes, I'm alone, save me" or "no, I'm not, and he'll kick your ass." Chris is confused, but doesn't inquire further. I finish off my pina colada.
"Let me buy you a drink," he offers.
"A third one of these would be good."
"Third..." he mutters. Ha... he thinks he's getting me drunk. Fat chance anyway, I've got a pretty high tolerance.
He flags down the bartender. "Would you get her another, please?"
"Of course."
When she comes back, she does me an enormous favor. Being a woman herself, she sees the nuisance that lies before me.
"Virgin pina colada," she says with a smile to me.
I can't help but giggle a bit. I see his brain hit the floor when he realizes I'm not drunk.
I see another way to embarrass him. My hand is flat on the bar. I pat it a few times, making it seem like I'm just bored.
He hears clicking and looks at my hand to find the wedding rings. The remains of his cerebellum flop to the ground as he's managed to thoroughly humiliate himself. He hit on a married woman.
So what if I'm not really?
He points to my hand. "Is your husband here?"
I act as though I hadn't been trying to bring the rings to his attention. "Oh. Yes, he is."
Chris looks at the empty seat on my right. "Where is he?"
Is Chris worried? "He met up with an old camp friend," I say bitterly. I almost said Academy, but since we are undercover, I figured I'd give Wyatt a different past.
"Camp?" he asks.
"Yeah," I sigh, "boot camp."
"Oh, is he in the military?"
"Yep, Marines." I couldn't resist.
"Really? My brother's a Marine. What rank is your husband?"
I swallow. "Gunnery sergeant." Inside, I am dying of laughter. I don't know if he even knows the song...
"Sergeant O'Leary?" he asks skeptically. I guess he does.
"I'm serious," I say with a firm expression.
He practically does an about face. Boy, he had no idea what he was getting into when he chose to sit by me.
He clears his throat. "So, do you two have to move a lot?"
"No, he's on permanent assignment here."
"Oh yeah? You live in Norfolk?"
"Yes, we do." I almost tell him on Sullivan Street, but I don't even know if there is one in this city. And that would get pretty suspicious. Since he already recognized Sergeant O'Leary, I might have as well told him about Mama Leoni and Mr. Cacciatore.
Much to the relief of Chris and me, Harm finally comes back and sits down.
"Sorry about that, you know those guys," Harm says.
"Unfortunately, I do. This is my new friend Chris. He hit on me," I shrug.
The poor man turns the shade of Harm's car.
"Oh, it's okay," Harm says amiably. "I don't jump people I've just met," he adds with a slight sneer.
Poor Chris seems utterly distressed and horrified. Harm is extremely tall and, might I add, impressively well-muscled. Chris isn't a wimp, but he is considerably smaller. He's very much afraid.
Ah, what have I done to this poor creature? Very fun things...
Harm sneaks his arm around the small of my back. I tingle. I can tell he's trying to make me uncomfortable.
"So what'd you talk about?" Harm asks.
"Umm, I believe he mentioned that his brother was a Marine, right?"
He nods. "He's a staff sergeant."
Harm nods in approval.
I slide my hand into Harm's back pocket. Ooh, now who's tingling?
Still me, actually, but I've just made it very hard for him to form thoughts. I've turned his brains to mush, much like I have Chris. But Chris is now emotionally scarred.
I can still make it up to him. "Hey," I say, "you see that girl there?"
I point, and he nods. "She's been watching you with great interest for a while."
He smiles. "Excuse me."
Once he leaves, Harm and I burst into laughter. "It was so much fun messing with him," Harm comments.
"Oh, you have no idea the trauma I caused that pitiful soul. I did so much more to him, oh, you would have died."
I refuse to remove my hand from his pocket.
He doesn't mind.
~ ~ ~
I shamelessly stole the names of DJE's children, his character in "Degree of Guilt," and a few lyrics from Billy Joel's "Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)." None of those are mine either!
I know it's kind of short, but hopefully it is filled with enough hilarity that it won't matter. I just finally got some ideas!
* * *
We've exited the hotel. That's a start.
"Oh, you know what, we need to come up with names, too," he says.
This is all beginning to feel like a giant game of pretend. "Alright."
"I vote that we choose each other's names."
Uh oh. "Why, do you have something strange in store for me?"
"No, not really."
"Alright then, what?" I'm still a little afraid.
"Stephanie."
"Stephanie? Why?" I ask with a smile.
"I don't know, I always thought..." He trails off.
"Thought what, Harm?"
"I thought it was a beautiful name."
"Oh please!"
"So what's my name?" he asks, trying to escape the subject. I'll let him get away this once.
I think a bit. "Wyatt."
"Are you serious? Wyatt - what?!"
I backhand him in the chest. "Wyatt is a very respectable name! It was the name of George Strait's character in his movie!"
"Give me a break!"
"Hey, this was your idea! You picked mine, I picked yours, the end."
"Our last name should be Irish."
"O'Leary."
"Agreed."
Wow. That was fairly easy.
"Do you know any good places around here, Mac?"
"You've probably spent more time here than I have, sailor."
"Don't start that 'sailor' stuff with me, Marine."
I see how it is. "Squid."
"Jarhead."
"Deck ape."
"Gyrene."
"Knuckledragger."
"...Jarhead," he says in a feeble attempt to outdo me.
"Swabby."
Gosh, there are far too many names for Navy men.
"But you know what, Mac, those last few have to be disqualified."
Bull. "Why is that? Because you're a sore loser?"
"No, because your last ones only pertain to boatswain's mates and deck crew."
Wh-... Is he serious?
"I am totally serious."
Damn. Well, if that's how he's gonna play...
"Nugget."
"Ouch, Mac! Rookie pilot? A little below the belt, there!"
Hm, I can only imagine what else is below that bel- WHOA now, red light, Colonel! Snap to, suck it up, and whatever else those overrated DI's scream into your earlobes, I hafta motivate my ass away from that sort of stuff if I am to work my way back up to even temporary sanity.
I make no sense.
"So what do you think?"
Uh oh. While I was contemplating his belt he must have mentioned somewhere to go. I should learn to listen.
"Uh... sure."
"Mac?" he asks in a tone that suggests I need my head examined.
"Hm?"
He gives me a strange look. Oh God - was that not the right answer? He probably wasn't even talking about a restaurant.
"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with you?"
"No."
"Alright. Acceptance is the first step to recovery."
Is he sure? Doesn't denial or anger come before you can accept it? I'm not sure. Neither of us would be an expert on that, though.
* * *
So after an excruciatingly painful dinner to sit through without jumping Harm, we've found our way into a bar. How did that happen? And he's ordered me a non-alcoholic pina colada. Why the hell would he do either of those things to me? Non-alcoholic? Pina colada, now really.
We are sitting at the bar. It's pretty busy for it being early Thursday evening. I'm actually having a good time. I can act weird and look normal, it's nice.
"So, do you remember our honeymoon?" he asks, poking fun at our assignment.
"How could I forget? It was like Viet Cong the whole time."
"The rain was unfortunate." Where is he basing this? "But people do go Hawaii to swim, why shouldn't it rain?"
Ooh, good choice, flyboy. Classic and classy.
"Good point. That one day, the beach was packed, and once it started sprinkling everyone ran for cover."
"Everyone," he smiles.
"Everyone," I repeat vaguely.
"Yeah, but once they'd all gone, it left us free to go skinny dipping."
"Ouch, buddy, bringing out the big guns and bad memories?" Oh, this is too amusing.
"Bad memories? That was the most fun night of the trip!" I can only guess what he's imagining.
"But when we got out, our clothes were missing."
He frowns. "Oh yeah."
"All of them. Both sets."
"Hey, but we did find them."
"In wonderful disarray washed all over the shoreline."
"How was I supposed to know the tide would rise?"
God, we're a little too good at this.
I smile. "That was alright, though."
"Why is that?" He smirks. Oh God, he wants me to say it out loud.
I kiss him on the nose. "Because I got to watch you frantically search the beach nude for our clothes." I wink. He wrinkles his nose in mock resentment. "You should not ask questions with answers you don't like," I tell him. "Aren't you a lawyer?" I add in a whisper. I leave the bar and head for the bathroom.
When I come back, he's gone. I scan the room and see him sitting at a table with another guy. Harm sees me and shrugs. He points to the guy, then his Academy ring.
Of course. He was bound to run into someone he knew.
I sit back at the bar. "Get me another one of these things, please," I say to the bartender as I point to my pina colada.
"Non-alcoholic?" she asks.
I think about it very hard. "Yeah, I guess so." The night's been fun so far, I can't go and get drunk so I can turn evil.
She returns with another. "Thanks," I mumble.
Some random guy comes and sits on my left. I feel him glace at me every so often. Actually, very often. Great, now I have some guy chasing the skirt, right on my tail.
I look over my right shoulder to find Harm. Once we make eye contact, I give him an insistent expression that suggests he wrap it up and bail me out. His eyes widen, telling me he's stuck, too. Dammit.
I turn back to my semi-drink. The man beside me finally looks at my face. I ignore him. I'm good at that.
"Hi there, I'm Chris," he says congenially.
I smile like I've just noticed him. "Hi. Chris..."
"Paget."
"Chris Paget," I repeat. I'm good at that, as well.
"And you are?"
"O'Leary."
"Got a first name?" he asks smilingly.
"Steph." I smile to myself. I've already corrupted my given name.
"So, Steph, are you here alone?"
I give him a smile that could mean either "yes, I'm alone, save me" or "no, I'm not, and he'll kick your ass." Chris is confused, but doesn't inquire further. I finish off my pina colada.
"Let me buy you a drink," he offers.
"A third one of these would be good."
"Third..." he mutters. Ha... he thinks he's getting me drunk. Fat chance anyway, I've got a pretty high tolerance.
He flags down the bartender. "Would you get her another, please?"
"Of course."
When she comes back, she does me an enormous favor. Being a woman herself, she sees the nuisance that lies before me.
"Virgin pina colada," she says with a smile to me.
I can't help but giggle a bit. I see his brain hit the floor when he realizes I'm not drunk.
I see another way to embarrass him. My hand is flat on the bar. I pat it a few times, making it seem like I'm just bored.
He hears clicking and looks at my hand to find the wedding rings. The remains of his cerebellum flop to the ground as he's managed to thoroughly humiliate himself. He hit on a married woman.
So what if I'm not really?
He points to my hand. "Is your husband here?"
I act as though I hadn't been trying to bring the rings to his attention. "Oh. Yes, he is."
Chris looks at the empty seat on my right. "Where is he?"
Is Chris worried? "He met up with an old camp friend," I say bitterly. I almost said Academy, but since we are undercover, I figured I'd give Wyatt a different past.
"Camp?" he asks.
"Yeah," I sigh, "boot camp."
"Oh, is he in the military?"
"Yep, Marines." I couldn't resist.
"Really? My brother's a Marine. What rank is your husband?"
I swallow. "Gunnery sergeant." Inside, I am dying of laughter. I don't know if he even knows the song...
"Sergeant O'Leary?" he asks skeptically. I guess he does.
"I'm serious," I say with a firm expression.
He practically does an about face. Boy, he had no idea what he was getting into when he chose to sit by me.
He clears his throat. "So, do you two have to move a lot?"
"No, he's on permanent assignment here."
"Oh yeah? You live in Norfolk?"
"Yes, we do." I almost tell him on Sullivan Street, but I don't even know if there is one in this city. And that would get pretty suspicious. Since he already recognized Sergeant O'Leary, I might have as well told him about Mama Leoni and Mr. Cacciatore.
Much to the relief of Chris and me, Harm finally comes back and sits down.
"Sorry about that, you know those guys," Harm says.
"Unfortunately, I do. This is my new friend Chris. He hit on me," I shrug.
The poor man turns the shade of Harm's car.
"Oh, it's okay," Harm says amiably. "I don't jump people I've just met," he adds with a slight sneer.
Poor Chris seems utterly distressed and horrified. Harm is extremely tall and, might I add, impressively well-muscled. Chris isn't a wimp, but he is considerably smaller. He's very much afraid.
Ah, what have I done to this poor creature? Very fun things...
Harm sneaks his arm around the small of my back. I tingle. I can tell he's trying to make me uncomfortable.
"So what'd you talk about?" Harm asks.
"Umm, I believe he mentioned that his brother was a Marine, right?"
He nods. "He's a staff sergeant."
Harm nods in approval.
I slide my hand into Harm's back pocket. Ooh, now who's tingling?
Still me, actually, but I've just made it very hard for him to form thoughts. I've turned his brains to mush, much like I have Chris. But Chris is now emotionally scarred.
I can still make it up to him. "Hey," I say, "you see that girl there?"
I point, and he nods. "She's been watching you with great interest for a while."
He smiles. "Excuse me."
Once he leaves, Harm and I burst into laughter. "It was so much fun messing with him," Harm comments.
"Oh, you have no idea the trauma I caused that pitiful soul. I did so much more to him, oh, you would have died."
I refuse to remove my hand from his pocket.
He doesn't mind.
~ ~ ~
I shamelessly stole the names of DJE's children, his character in "Degree of Guilt," and a few lyrics from Billy Joel's "Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)." None of those are mine either!
