Disclaimers: See Chapter 1
Who Is He This Time? Conclusion Author: Another Tracy
Harm stood before her door, his hand poised to knock again. His left hand was behind his back, a red rosebud in between his thumb and index finger. He brought his hand down for a moment and brushed the sweaty palm against his denim-covered pant leg. He was more nervous than he had been before the crowd of students earlier in the week; more than he had ever been in a courtroom; or even on the receiving end of a tirade from the Admiral. He was about to lay it all on the line.
He had decided to use the knowledge he had gained over the last few months; to put it to work for him in finally making his move on one Sarah Mackenzie. He spent Thursday night in the library searching for something to go with the flowers that were delivered on Friday. He finally settled on a quote in "Othello" in which the lead character speaks of his love for Desdemona.
Friday night he discovered that the library closed early, so he went to the nearest bookstore and coughed up the cost of the Bard's collected works. They might as well have charged him by the pound! The volume was expensive, and it was massive. But it was worth it, as it would serve him as the 'how to snare Sarah Mackenzie' toolkit.
That night he wrote out in long hand the sonnet that he found to include with the cake. He figured if the sonnet didn't do it, the cake was a good fall-back. She might be able to resist him, but not Jann's chocolate cake. After his morning run and a quick shower, he ran out to the Sweet Shop to arrange the delivery of the cake he'd ordered the day before and to give them the letter to enclose.
He returned to his apartment to bury his nose in the book. He remembered something romantic from a video Mac had made him sit through a couple of years ago, and decided to start with that. He'd spent the rest of the morning 'learning his lines'. He wasn't sure he was quite ready, but he figured that he could stall all day, or seize the day. And so here he was: rosebud (check); lump in throat (check); sweaty palms (check); no real plan in the event that she tosses him out on his six (check, and double- check).
He raised his hand again to knock when the door flew open. Mac stood before him with a brilliant smile. "Hi, Harm!" she said. She grabbed his arm, still outstretched from his knocking, and pulled him into the apartment. "Come on in!" She closed the door behind him, then came back around to look at him, still smiling. "What's up?"
OK, this wasn't part of the plan. Why was she so happy? 'The cake, you moron, and the verse!' Oh, right. He had set the stage to make sure she was in a good mood, and completely forgotten that it WAS part of the plan!
He was silent for just a moment, thrown off his game. Mac couldn't help but think he had that same "deer in the headlights" look he got every time they tried to have a serious discussion. 'Uh-oh. What's up now?' she wondered, her smile fading a little as worry began to settle in her chest.
Harm saw her face fall, and decided it was now or never.
"Fair Sarah, and most fair, will you vouchsafe to teach a sailor terms such as will enter at a lady's ear, and plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?" he said softly, sliding his arm down so that he took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it. As he raised his head, he brought his left hand around in front of him and handed her the small red rosebud.
To say that Mac was stunned would be putting it mildly. Struck dumb, she took the rosebud. Her eyes wide and round, she looked up at him, her lips parted just slightly. Harm was transfixed by the sight of those soft, luscious lips. He cleared his throat and fought the blush that started to rise from where his thoughts were headed. He started again, "O fair Sarah, if you will love me soundly with your Marine heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it. Do you like me Sarah?"
Mac still had not spoken, but she recognized the dialogue from the last scene of Henry V. 'Sailor? Marine heart, huh? Nice touch, squid.' She had made Harm sit through the movie with her one night. He had done so begrudgingly, but he changed his mind after hearing Henry's speech to the troops before the battle of Agincourt. Unfortunately, she couldn't remember this scene well enough to know what she might say. After all, the character in the play is French, and doesn't actually understand him. That's it! She purred back to Harm, "Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell what is 'like me'."
Harm smiled, "An angel is like you, Sarah, and you are like an angel."
Mac was again unable to speak, partly because she couldn't remember what the rest of the lines were, but also by the expression on Harm's face, the light in his eyes. She'd seen that look before, but only fleetingly. Could his eyes be saying . . . ?
"I' faith, Sarah, my wooing is fit for thy understanding. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say 'I love you:' then if you urge me further than to say 'do you in faith?' I wear out my suit. Give me your answer, I' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?"
He put his hand out to her as if to shake on it, and Mac smiled but did not take his hand. The moment was a variation on their very first meeting. If memory served her correctly about this particular part of the play, she didn't have to say anything. He could continue without her answer; but would he?
Harm moved a step closer to her, and brought his outstretched hand down to slide around her waist, and his other hand did the same, until she was wrapped tightly in his arms. She brought her hands up, one clutching the rosebud, the palm of the other against his chest. She looked down for a moment, and then up again, into those eyes that looked right through her.
"A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop," he said the words in little more than a whisper, but she heard every syllable. "A black beard will turn white; a fair face will wither; but a good heart, Sarah, is the sun and the moon. Or rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps its course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a sailor; take a sailor, take a man," these words were a caress as he kissed her cheek softly and brought his mouth close to her ear to whisper even more softly. "And what sayest thou to my love?"
Mac's arms came up around Harm's neck as she hugged him to her for just a moment. She pulled back and put the rosebud in the button hole of his sport coat lapel. She looked into his eyes again, and saw not only his love for her, but her own love for him reflected there.
She stood on tiptoe to meet him as he brought his lips down to hers. Soft, gentle, warm. She remembered every kiss they had ever shared, but this one was like no other. There was no mistletoe, no one waiting for them in the next room, no question about who was kissing who. The kiss deepened as their tongues explored one another's mouth. They finally broke for air, Harm's forehead resting against hers.
"You have witchcraft in your lips, Sarah," he said breathlessly. "There is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of . . . than the tongues of . . . " he looked a little panicked having forgotten what would come next. He brought his head up, the nervous look he had when he arrived returning to his face.
Mac smiled. "It's ok, flyboy, I think you've said quite enough," and pulled him down for another kiss.
The end
Who Is He This Time? Conclusion Author: Another Tracy
Harm stood before her door, his hand poised to knock again. His left hand was behind his back, a red rosebud in between his thumb and index finger. He brought his hand down for a moment and brushed the sweaty palm against his denim-covered pant leg. He was more nervous than he had been before the crowd of students earlier in the week; more than he had ever been in a courtroom; or even on the receiving end of a tirade from the Admiral. He was about to lay it all on the line.
He had decided to use the knowledge he had gained over the last few months; to put it to work for him in finally making his move on one Sarah Mackenzie. He spent Thursday night in the library searching for something to go with the flowers that were delivered on Friday. He finally settled on a quote in "Othello" in which the lead character speaks of his love for Desdemona.
Friday night he discovered that the library closed early, so he went to the nearest bookstore and coughed up the cost of the Bard's collected works. They might as well have charged him by the pound! The volume was expensive, and it was massive. But it was worth it, as it would serve him as the 'how to snare Sarah Mackenzie' toolkit.
That night he wrote out in long hand the sonnet that he found to include with the cake. He figured if the sonnet didn't do it, the cake was a good fall-back. She might be able to resist him, but not Jann's chocolate cake. After his morning run and a quick shower, he ran out to the Sweet Shop to arrange the delivery of the cake he'd ordered the day before and to give them the letter to enclose.
He returned to his apartment to bury his nose in the book. He remembered something romantic from a video Mac had made him sit through a couple of years ago, and decided to start with that. He'd spent the rest of the morning 'learning his lines'. He wasn't sure he was quite ready, but he figured that he could stall all day, or seize the day. And so here he was: rosebud (check); lump in throat (check); sweaty palms (check); no real plan in the event that she tosses him out on his six (check, and double- check).
He raised his hand again to knock when the door flew open. Mac stood before him with a brilliant smile. "Hi, Harm!" she said. She grabbed his arm, still outstretched from his knocking, and pulled him into the apartment. "Come on in!" She closed the door behind him, then came back around to look at him, still smiling. "What's up?"
OK, this wasn't part of the plan. Why was she so happy? 'The cake, you moron, and the verse!' Oh, right. He had set the stage to make sure she was in a good mood, and completely forgotten that it WAS part of the plan!
He was silent for just a moment, thrown off his game. Mac couldn't help but think he had that same "deer in the headlights" look he got every time they tried to have a serious discussion. 'Uh-oh. What's up now?' she wondered, her smile fading a little as worry began to settle in her chest.
Harm saw her face fall, and decided it was now or never.
"Fair Sarah, and most fair, will you vouchsafe to teach a sailor terms such as will enter at a lady's ear, and plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?" he said softly, sliding his arm down so that he took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it. As he raised his head, he brought his left hand around in front of him and handed her the small red rosebud.
To say that Mac was stunned would be putting it mildly. Struck dumb, she took the rosebud. Her eyes wide and round, she looked up at him, her lips parted just slightly. Harm was transfixed by the sight of those soft, luscious lips. He cleared his throat and fought the blush that started to rise from where his thoughts were headed. He started again, "O fair Sarah, if you will love me soundly with your Marine heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it. Do you like me Sarah?"
Mac still had not spoken, but she recognized the dialogue from the last scene of Henry V. 'Sailor? Marine heart, huh? Nice touch, squid.' She had made Harm sit through the movie with her one night. He had done so begrudgingly, but he changed his mind after hearing Henry's speech to the troops before the battle of Agincourt. Unfortunately, she couldn't remember this scene well enough to know what she might say. After all, the character in the play is French, and doesn't actually understand him. That's it! She purred back to Harm, "Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell what is 'like me'."
Harm smiled, "An angel is like you, Sarah, and you are like an angel."
Mac was again unable to speak, partly because she couldn't remember what the rest of the lines were, but also by the expression on Harm's face, the light in his eyes. She'd seen that look before, but only fleetingly. Could his eyes be saying . . . ?
"I' faith, Sarah, my wooing is fit for thy understanding. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say 'I love you:' then if you urge me further than to say 'do you in faith?' I wear out my suit. Give me your answer, I' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?"
He put his hand out to her as if to shake on it, and Mac smiled but did not take his hand. The moment was a variation on their very first meeting. If memory served her correctly about this particular part of the play, she didn't have to say anything. He could continue without her answer; but would he?
Harm moved a step closer to her, and brought his outstretched hand down to slide around her waist, and his other hand did the same, until she was wrapped tightly in his arms. She brought her hands up, one clutching the rosebud, the palm of the other against his chest. She looked down for a moment, and then up again, into those eyes that looked right through her.
"A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop," he said the words in little more than a whisper, but she heard every syllable. "A black beard will turn white; a fair face will wither; but a good heart, Sarah, is the sun and the moon. Or rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps its course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a sailor; take a sailor, take a man," these words were a caress as he kissed her cheek softly and brought his mouth close to her ear to whisper even more softly. "And what sayest thou to my love?"
Mac's arms came up around Harm's neck as she hugged him to her for just a moment. She pulled back and put the rosebud in the button hole of his sport coat lapel. She looked into his eyes again, and saw not only his love for her, but her own love for him reflected there.
She stood on tiptoe to meet him as he brought his lips down to hers. Soft, gentle, warm. She remembered every kiss they had ever shared, but this one was like no other. There was no mistletoe, no one waiting for them in the next room, no question about who was kissing who. The kiss deepened as their tongues explored one another's mouth. They finally broke for air, Harm's forehead resting against hers.
"You have witchcraft in your lips, Sarah," he said breathlessly. "There is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of . . . than the tongues of . . . " he looked a little panicked having forgotten what would come next. He brought his head up, the nervous look he had when he arrived returning to his face.
Mac smiled. "It's ok, flyboy, I think you've said quite enough," and pulled him down for another kiss.
The end