Tidal
By Slippin' Mickeys
red_phile@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Other yada: In the first couple chapters.
Author's Notes: First off, I've stopped calling them chapters and taken to calling them parts. That said, I'm SO sorry that this part has taken so long to get out there. Real Life has descended on me, and I'm afraid it hasn't been terribly kind. In any event, I do hope you enjoy this and I hope there are still readers out there who even remember this story at all! Also, special thanks to usnavychic for putting herself up to being my beta! I bet you wish she got her hands on this chapter before you did. Rest assured she'll kick through the entire story before it's posted in it's entirety. Again, those of you still with me, I really appreciate it! All feedback is petted and loved and kept in a cotton-lined cigar box, complete with lettuce treats and a water dish.
PART THREE
The dust of autumn was blown away by the winter wind. It puffed in a cloud and then settled softly into the empty places once filled by regret.
Mac was glad for the change. This seasonal shift was a metaphor, sure, but the temperature dipped just as true. Her stomach did too when she saw him.
He'd carried her bags for her and touched her cheek. He wore stripes on his shoulder and his heart on his sleeve. He'd never done that before, really. He liked to think that he kept his emotions masked; a shrug of the shoulders, a tilt of the head, but she always knew what he was thinking. The world knew now. He wore his affection for her like a metal on his chest. She thought she caught him humming the Officer and a Gentleman theme as they were checking their luggage.
To hell with the rules, she thought carelessly, openly admiring the way his pants fit his hips. If everyone followed the rules, they'd both be out of a job.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
She drew the eye of nearly every man in the airport, and some of the women too. He was used to it, of course, but now something felt different. He fought off his initial flare of proprietary jealousy by telling himself that it was the uniform, but after he caught a Northwest copilot biting his fist, he took a step closer to her and started shooting looks.
She pulled up short when they were halfway to their gate and turned to him.
"Do you want me to just stop walking so you can pee in a circle around me?" She asked him.
He looked to the side sheepishly, knowing he'd been caught.
"Commander?" She said, not without humor, "I'm sure I can find an airport worker to put up a Wet Floor sign, and you can just growl if anyone gets too close."
He glared at her with a quiet glimmer in his eye.
"Harm," she said, her tone a little more gentle, "I'm not going anywhere."
"Everything just feels," he began, ". tenuous."
She regarded him for a moment and then reached up and kissed him right on the lips, there in the middle of the airport terminal.
"Cemented a little more there, sailor?" She stood there staring up at him, looking defiant and nonchalant. Her lips were glistening, it was driving him mad.
After a stunned moment he shook himself.
"You're hopeless, Rabb," she said, "every person in this airport can see right through you."
"Is that a bad thing?" He said after a moment.
"Right now? It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen." She smiled at him and he stood up a little straighter. "Come on, flyboy," she said, pivoting in the direction of their gate, "if you promise not to kill anyone between here and Washington, I promise not to run off with any flight attendants."
He grinned at her and offered her his arm. "I'm not making any promises."
She flitted away the comment.
"Thank you," she said, slipping her arm through his.
"My pleasure," he replied.
And it was.
____________________________________________________________________________ _________
He'd once heard love described as friendship caught on fire. And if Mac's flammable singularity had endeared her to his mind, it had most certainly lit the tinder of his heart.
They parted ways at the baggage claim in Dulles. He walked backward away from her, his steps sluggish and reluctant.
They'd agreed to talk to the Admiral tomorrow, though neither was really certain what they'd say. Harm didn't worry terribly much at what that might be, the JAG had to have seen this coming. He did worry though, about the other end of the conversation. The solution seemed hazy and pragmatic, but at least the problem was manifest.
If only the path ahead of him were just as so. For once in his life he was more interested in the journey than the destination.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
He was wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans and he looked strong and young and positively sexy. She indulged for a moment in the look of him from a purely female perspective. He was tall and thick through the shoulders, lean through the waist. He could pull off a uniform and just about anything else he wore, though if she were being honest with herself, she wanted little more than to see him in anything more than his shadow.
He turned to her then and a smile lit his face. In the second of seeing her, he was radiant and focused, glowing. He had the look of someone who had walked into serendipity and could keep it in his pocket.
"Hey," he said, surprised but pleased, "what are you doing here?"
He'd been organizing his desk drawers and trying to sort out his life. There were things he'd kept that he had no real need for but refused to part with because they'd been touched by her. A notebook she'd doodled in, a movie stub, a book full of lawyer jokes she'd gotten him as a gag. He recognized the pang of juvenile sentimentality for what it was, but shoved them back in the drawer just the same.
She was more than a match for him, which he hadn't dared hope to find, and certainly not in one as bewitching as she. He'd never been able to pull anything over on her. She was leggy and secure and sharp as a trephine. Every little look from her shook him up inside.
"Couldn't sleep," she said on a contradictory yawn, slipping off her shoes like she owned the place.
She moved around his luggage that was still sitting by the door and to the couch. She flopped down, slouching out of her jacket. He walked up to her and took it without a word, hanging it on a coat rack.
"Why not?"
She had her legs tucked under her in the corner of his couch, curled up like a cat.
"I don't want to be in the office tomorrow," she said, "tiptoeing around each other like there's nothing between us."
Harm had been hoping it was something a little more sinister than guilt and apprehension. He sighed and sat down on the other end of the couch.
"In all of our time working together," he said, "have we ever pretended there wasn't?"
Mac's head dropped back against the sofa, conceding the point.
"I keep oscillating," she said, rolling her head to look at him, "between contempt and apathy for the Navy rules concerning fraternization, and the complete and abject fear over breaking them."
"I know what you mean," he said. "Of course, I've always been kind of good at breaking the rules."
He could think of a few he wanted to break right now.
"You are quite adept," she said, agreeing, laughing.
He laughed with her.
"Is it rubbing off yet?" He asked, flashing a grin and leaning toward her.
He caught a pillow to the head.
She finally sighed out a last bit of laughter and caught his eyes, sobering.
"I shouldn't have come over."
He was unexpectedly hurt, but she made no move to get up from the couch. They weren't even touching and he didn't want her to go. He was on his best behavior.
"Why did you come over?" He asked.
"I guess I'm looking for reassurance," she looked at the ceiling, "that this is going to work out. That we're not about to jeopardize our careers and our lives as they are for something as impulsive and un-military as."
"Love?" He finished for her. She turned to look at him again, one eye slightly obscured by a lock of hair. "I can't give you that kind of assurance, Mac."
"No one can," she said, a smile turning up the corners of her lips, "that doesn't stop me from wanting it anyway."
They sat in a comfortable silence, contemplating the deep water they found themselves treading.
"You know that song by REO Speedwagon?" he said, suddenly.
"Oh God," Mac replied, her eyes flitting to his guitar and back, "please don't."
He shot her a smile and got up, the couch creaking underneath him.
"Do you want some tea?" He asked.
"I'd love some," she said.
He banged around in the kitchen and Mac closed her eyes at the domesticity of the moment. She imagined that this was her life, here with him. It dawned on her suddenly that it was. The screaming of the teapot made her jump.
He finally handed her a steaming mug and settled back down, turning to her in full.
"We've been standing on an edge," he said, "and it cuts."
She merely looked at him a moment without answering. It was as if he'd been speaking antiquated words and it was taking her a moment to figure out exactly what he'd been trying to say.
"That it does, Commander," she replied, taking a sip of the brew, "tomorrow'll be one for the books."
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
Saying the words to their commanding officer had actually been easier than she thought it would be.
They were in front of him now, electing to stay standing as if the weight of their situation might not ever allow them to get back up were they to sit. Chegwidden remained impassive throughout their oratory, a finger pressed to his temple. They'd finished what seemed several minutes ago and the silence from the admiral was ostensibly a punishment in and of itself. Mac fought the urge to fidget. AJ took a breath.
"Commander," he said, and Harm snapped-to.
"Sir?"
"I'll see you Monday morning, I'd like to talk to the Colonel."
"Sir?"
"Dismissed, Commander."
"Aye aye, Sir."
Harm nodded and caught Mac's eyes as he turned to leave. He gave her the briefest nod and a shot of courage passed between them. A look that could only be shared by those who had been in and were about to go into battle again.
She stood a bit straighter as the office door closed.
"You love him." It wasn't a question.
He'd chased her, killed for her, saved her from gunslingers and superiors and he'd saved her from herself. He trusted her and pined for her and paid her the respect she was due. How could she not love him? How could she possibly be expected to resist?
"Yes."
The admiral nodded, confirming his suspicion.
"If I have to reassign one of you?"
Their eyes held one another's though Mac wouldn't answer.
The admiral nodded at this, too.
"Dismissed, Colonel," he said, "you two have a good weekend." She caught the flicker of a soft smile as she turned, but she couldn't quite make out it's tenor.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
When Harm parked his car at home, he sat for a moment with the engine shut off. It had dawned on him that somewhere in the surrounding few days, be they ahead or behind him, the course of his life had reached a dividing point. It would now consist of two halves. Before he'd given his heart to Mac, and after.
The enormity of that thought left him a bit shaken. He left his wallet, briefcase and coat in the car and went for a walk.
Thunder rumbled in the distance; a storm was brewing.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
There was an old black man sitting on a blue milk carton outside a barbershop, selling flowers. Harm was a half a step past when he checked himself and turned around. He eyed a small bouquet of daisies, and then patted his pockets, realizing he'd left his wallet in his car. "How much?" He asked, nodding in their direction.
The old man was humming James Taylor and rocking softly to his own beat. He paused when Harm spoke.
"How much you got in your pocket?"
Harm dug deep.
"Seventeen cents," he held out in front of himself self-consciously. He shook the small heap of change, hoping to eek out more.
The man nodded once and leaned forward, peering into Harm's cupped palm. He reached forward slowly and took some change.
"Sixteen," he said, handing Harm the best looking bunch. "Never leave a man without a copper in his pocket, at least."
The transaction was complete, and the old man hummed his song. Harm turned back towards home, an officer with an armful of daisies.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
He wasn't surprised at the knock on his door. He was in the process of changing out of uniform and opened it in a t-shirt and dress pants, his feet bare.
The displaced air lifted up the edges of Mac's hair in a quick puff and then was gone.
"I got fired," she said, her face serious.
"What?!" He asked, incredulous.
She held her expression for a moment more and then released it. The grin she wore was more sly than he was used to.
"You're a cruel woman, Sarah Mackenzie, I shouldn't let you in," he said, even as he opened the door wide to admit her. She passed under his arm, still grinning.
"So," he said, closing it behind her, "what did the Admiral say?"
"Wouldn't you just like to know," she replied, flicking an eyebrow up coquettishly.
It couldn't have been that bad, Harm thought, she was openly flirting with him. He hoped.
She stood there in the middle of his apartment, her eyes holding his.
"He said to have a good weekend," she finally said.
"Did he?" Harm replied, taking a step closer to her.
"He did."
"Those were his exact words?" He asked, standing right in front of her.
"His exact words were 'you two have a good weekend,'" she said, having to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
He took a moment to digest that and squinted at her.
"Now I don't know about you," he said, "but I take that to imply that he'd like us to spend the entire weekend together."
"Is there some Naval handbook that I never got on decoding the pleasantries of superior officers?" She said, tilting her head in that way she had of engaging in banter with him.
"You don't want to spend the weekend with me?"
"I'm just trying to understand how a simple 'have a good weekend' not only condones 48 hours of fraternization, but also suggests it."
He was gradually getting closer and closer to her, she could smell his aftershave.
"We told the Admiral," he said, his face only inches from her own, "it's out of our hands now, Mac. The way I see it, we've been absolved of any misconduct by the anticipatory informing of our commanding officer." He leaned even closer. "It's not our fault he can't do anything until Monday." She nodded her head at this, fractionally. It was a tenuous conclusion he'd drawn, but she was having trouble arguing with it-she was distracted by his proximity. And his smell. "And you're evading my question, counselor."
"Your question?" It came out as a whisper.
"Do you want," his lips nipped at hers with a gossamer touch, "to spend the weekend with me?"
Her eyes were heavy-lidded and she didn't answer for a moment.
"What the hell," she finally said, and his mouth descended on hers in a torrent.
The storm outside broke as well.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
The night would pass by without serious incident, but not without it's moments.
For now few lights burned in the apartment and the bouquet of daisies sat forgotten on the counter.
Mac straddled her partner on the edge of the bed that she'd been wanting to test for years. She tasted him for a moment and then pulled back, her mouth hovering over his. She didn't move, though her eyes flicked around the room.
"What is it?" He whispered, so only she could hear.
She smiled down at him. "Just. Savoring this," she said, though really she was waiting for something to happen. For a knock at the door or the phone to ring, for him to change his mind.
Nothing came. Rain patted down on the glass, beading on his windows. Sounds from outside were muffled, as if the universe had seen fit to cocoon them tonight, leaning over a bit of writing so no one else could see.
Fate's sopher certainly had a sense of humor, she thought. His fingers traveled up her arms, light as a feather, a whisper of wings along her skin. She finally felt the draw of flight.
So this is what he feels, she thought, so this is what he loves.
END OF PART THREE
Rating: PG-13
Other yada: In the first couple chapters.
Author's Notes: First off, I've stopped calling them chapters and taken to calling them parts. That said, I'm SO sorry that this part has taken so long to get out there. Real Life has descended on me, and I'm afraid it hasn't been terribly kind. In any event, I do hope you enjoy this and I hope there are still readers out there who even remember this story at all! Also, special thanks to usnavychic for putting herself up to being my beta! I bet you wish she got her hands on this chapter before you did. Rest assured she'll kick through the entire story before it's posted in it's entirety. Again, those of you still with me, I really appreciate it! All feedback is petted and loved and kept in a cotton-lined cigar box, complete with lettuce treats and a water dish.
PART THREE
The dust of autumn was blown away by the winter wind. It puffed in a cloud and then settled softly into the empty places once filled by regret.
Mac was glad for the change. This seasonal shift was a metaphor, sure, but the temperature dipped just as true. Her stomach did too when she saw him.
He'd carried her bags for her and touched her cheek. He wore stripes on his shoulder and his heart on his sleeve. He'd never done that before, really. He liked to think that he kept his emotions masked; a shrug of the shoulders, a tilt of the head, but she always knew what he was thinking. The world knew now. He wore his affection for her like a metal on his chest. She thought she caught him humming the Officer and a Gentleman theme as they were checking their luggage.
To hell with the rules, she thought carelessly, openly admiring the way his pants fit his hips. If everyone followed the rules, they'd both be out of a job.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
She drew the eye of nearly every man in the airport, and some of the women too. He was used to it, of course, but now something felt different. He fought off his initial flare of proprietary jealousy by telling himself that it was the uniform, but after he caught a Northwest copilot biting his fist, he took a step closer to her and started shooting looks.
She pulled up short when they were halfway to their gate and turned to him.
"Do you want me to just stop walking so you can pee in a circle around me?" She asked him.
He looked to the side sheepishly, knowing he'd been caught.
"Commander?" She said, not without humor, "I'm sure I can find an airport worker to put up a Wet Floor sign, and you can just growl if anyone gets too close."
He glared at her with a quiet glimmer in his eye.
"Harm," she said, her tone a little more gentle, "I'm not going anywhere."
"Everything just feels," he began, ". tenuous."
She regarded him for a moment and then reached up and kissed him right on the lips, there in the middle of the airport terminal.
"Cemented a little more there, sailor?" She stood there staring up at him, looking defiant and nonchalant. Her lips were glistening, it was driving him mad.
After a stunned moment he shook himself.
"You're hopeless, Rabb," she said, "every person in this airport can see right through you."
"Is that a bad thing?" He said after a moment.
"Right now? It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen." She smiled at him and he stood up a little straighter. "Come on, flyboy," she said, pivoting in the direction of their gate, "if you promise not to kill anyone between here and Washington, I promise not to run off with any flight attendants."
He grinned at her and offered her his arm. "I'm not making any promises."
She flitted away the comment.
"Thank you," she said, slipping her arm through his.
"My pleasure," he replied.
And it was.
____________________________________________________________________________ _________
He'd once heard love described as friendship caught on fire. And if Mac's flammable singularity had endeared her to his mind, it had most certainly lit the tinder of his heart.
They parted ways at the baggage claim in Dulles. He walked backward away from her, his steps sluggish and reluctant.
They'd agreed to talk to the Admiral tomorrow, though neither was really certain what they'd say. Harm didn't worry terribly much at what that might be, the JAG had to have seen this coming. He did worry though, about the other end of the conversation. The solution seemed hazy and pragmatic, but at least the problem was manifest.
If only the path ahead of him were just as so. For once in his life he was more interested in the journey than the destination.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
He was wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans and he looked strong and young and positively sexy. She indulged for a moment in the look of him from a purely female perspective. He was tall and thick through the shoulders, lean through the waist. He could pull off a uniform and just about anything else he wore, though if she were being honest with herself, she wanted little more than to see him in anything more than his shadow.
He turned to her then and a smile lit his face. In the second of seeing her, he was radiant and focused, glowing. He had the look of someone who had walked into serendipity and could keep it in his pocket.
"Hey," he said, surprised but pleased, "what are you doing here?"
He'd been organizing his desk drawers and trying to sort out his life. There were things he'd kept that he had no real need for but refused to part with because they'd been touched by her. A notebook she'd doodled in, a movie stub, a book full of lawyer jokes she'd gotten him as a gag. He recognized the pang of juvenile sentimentality for what it was, but shoved them back in the drawer just the same.
She was more than a match for him, which he hadn't dared hope to find, and certainly not in one as bewitching as she. He'd never been able to pull anything over on her. She was leggy and secure and sharp as a trephine. Every little look from her shook him up inside.
"Couldn't sleep," she said on a contradictory yawn, slipping off her shoes like she owned the place.
She moved around his luggage that was still sitting by the door and to the couch. She flopped down, slouching out of her jacket. He walked up to her and took it without a word, hanging it on a coat rack.
"Why not?"
She had her legs tucked under her in the corner of his couch, curled up like a cat.
"I don't want to be in the office tomorrow," she said, "tiptoeing around each other like there's nothing between us."
Harm had been hoping it was something a little more sinister than guilt and apprehension. He sighed and sat down on the other end of the couch.
"In all of our time working together," he said, "have we ever pretended there wasn't?"
Mac's head dropped back against the sofa, conceding the point.
"I keep oscillating," she said, rolling her head to look at him, "between contempt and apathy for the Navy rules concerning fraternization, and the complete and abject fear over breaking them."
"I know what you mean," he said. "Of course, I've always been kind of good at breaking the rules."
He could think of a few he wanted to break right now.
"You are quite adept," she said, agreeing, laughing.
He laughed with her.
"Is it rubbing off yet?" He asked, flashing a grin and leaning toward her.
He caught a pillow to the head.
She finally sighed out a last bit of laughter and caught his eyes, sobering.
"I shouldn't have come over."
He was unexpectedly hurt, but she made no move to get up from the couch. They weren't even touching and he didn't want her to go. He was on his best behavior.
"Why did you come over?" He asked.
"I guess I'm looking for reassurance," she looked at the ceiling, "that this is going to work out. That we're not about to jeopardize our careers and our lives as they are for something as impulsive and un-military as."
"Love?" He finished for her. She turned to look at him again, one eye slightly obscured by a lock of hair. "I can't give you that kind of assurance, Mac."
"No one can," she said, a smile turning up the corners of her lips, "that doesn't stop me from wanting it anyway."
They sat in a comfortable silence, contemplating the deep water they found themselves treading.
"You know that song by REO Speedwagon?" he said, suddenly.
"Oh God," Mac replied, her eyes flitting to his guitar and back, "please don't."
He shot her a smile and got up, the couch creaking underneath him.
"Do you want some tea?" He asked.
"I'd love some," she said.
He banged around in the kitchen and Mac closed her eyes at the domesticity of the moment. She imagined that this was her life, here with him. It dawned on her suddenly that it was. The screaming of the teapot made her jump.
He finally handed her a steaming mug and settled back down, turning to her in full.
"We've been standing on an edge," he said, "and it cuts."
She merely looked at him a moment without answering. It was as if he'd been speaking antiquated words and it was taking her a moment to figure out exactly what he'd been trying to say.
"That it does, Commander," she replied, taking a sip of the brew, "tomorrow'll be one for the books."
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
Saying the words to their commanding officer had actually been easier than she thought it would be.
They were in front of him now, electing to stay standing as if the weight of their situation might not ever allow them to get back up were they to sit. Chegwidden remained impassive throughout their oratory, a finger pressed to his temple. They'd finished what seemed several minutes ago and the silence from the admiral was ostensibly a punishment in and of itself. Mac fought the urge to fidget. AJ took a breath.
"Commander," he said, and Harm snapped-to.
"Sir?"
"I'll see you Monday morning, I'd like to talk to the Colonel."
"Sir?"
"Dismissed, Commander."
"Aye aye, Sir."
Harm nodded and caught Mac's eyes as he turned to leave. He gave her the briefest nod and a shot of courage passed between them. A look that could only be shared by those who had been in and were about to go into battle again.
She stood a bit straighter as the office door closed.
"You love him." It wasn't a question.
He'd chased her, killed for her, saved her from gunslingers and superiors and he'd saved her from herself. He trusted her and pined for her and paid her the respect she was due. How could she not love him? How could she possibly be expected to resist?
"Yes."
The admiral nodded, confirming his suspicion.
"If I have to reassign one of you?"
Their eyes held one another's though Mac wouldn't answer.
The admiral nodded at this, too.
"Dismissed, Colonel," he said, "you two have a good weekend." She caught the flicker of a soft smile as she turned, but she couldn't quite make out it's tenor.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
When Harm parked his car at home, he sat for a moment with the engine shut off. It had dawned on him that somewhere in the surrounding few days, be they ahead or behind him, the course of his life had reached a dividing point. It would now consist of two halves. Before he'd given his heart to Mac, and after.
The enormity of that thought left him a bit shaken. He left his wallet, briefcase and coat in the car and went for a walk.
Thunder rumbled in the distance; a storm was brewing.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
There was an old black man sitting on a blue milk carton outside a barbershop, selling flowers. Harm was a half a step past when he checked himself and turned around. He eyed a small bouquet of daisies, and then patted his pockets, realizing he'd left his wallet in his car. "How much?" He asked, nodding in their direction.
The old man was humming James Taylor and rocking softly to his own beat. He paused when Harm spoke.
"How much you got in your pocket?"
Harm dug deep.
"Seventeen cents," he held out in front of himself self-consciously. He shook the small heap of change, hoping to eek out more.
The man nodded once and leaned forward, peering into Harm's cupped palm. He reached forward slowly and took some change.
"Sixteen," he said, handing Harm the best looking bunch. "Never leave a man without a copper in his pocket, at least."
The transaction was complete, and the old man hummed his song. Harm turned back towards home, an officer with an armful of daisies.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
He wasn't surprised at the knock on his door. He was in the process of changing out of uniform and opened it in a t-shirt and dress pants, his feet bare.
The displaced air lifted up the edges of Mac's hair in a quick puff and then was gone.
"I got fired," she said, her face serious.
"What?!" He asked, incredulous.
She held her expression for a moment more and then released it. The grin she wore was more sly than he was used to.
"You're a cruel woman, Sarah Mackenzie, I shouldn't let you in," he said, even as he opened the door wide to admit her. She passed under his arm, still grinning.
"So," he said, closing it behind her, "what did the Admiral say?"
"Wouldn't you just like to know," she replied, flicking an eyebrow up coquettishly.
It couldn't have been that bad, Harm thought, she was openly flirting with him. He hoped.
She stood there in the middle of his apartment, her eyes holding his.
"He said to have a good weekend," she finally said.
"Did he?" Harm replied, taking a step closer to her.
"He did."
"Those were his exact words?" He asked, standing right in front of her.
"His exact words were 'you two have a good weekend,'" she said, having to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
He took a moment to digest that and squinted at her.
"Now I don't know about you," he said, "but I take that to imply that he'd like us to spend the entire weekend together."
"Is there some Naval handbook that I never got on decoding the pleasantries of superior officers?" She said, tilting her head in that way she had of engaging in banter with him.
"You don't want to spend the weekend with me?"
"I'm just trying to understand how a simple 'have a good weekend' not only condones 48 hours of fraternization, but also suggests it."
He was gradually getting closer and closer to her, she could smell his aftershave.
"We told the Admiral," he said, his face only inches from her own, "it's out of our hands now, Mac. The way I see it, we've been absolved of any misconduct by the anticipatory informing of our commanding officer." He leaned even closer. "It's not our fault he can't do anything until Monday." She nodded her head at this, fractionally. It was a tenuous conclusion he'd drawn, but she was having trouble arguing with it-she was distracted by his proximity. And his smell. "And you're evading my question, counselor."
"Your question?" It came out as a whisper.
"Do you want," his lips nipped at hers with a gossamer touch, "to spend the weekend with me?"
Her eyes were heavy-lidded and she didn't answer for a moment.
"What the hell," she finally said, and his mouth descended on hers in a torrent.
The storm outside broke as well.
____________________________________________________________________________ __________
The night would pass by without serious incident, but not without it's moments.
For now few lights burned in the apartment and the bouquet of daisies sat forgotten on the counter.
Mac straddled her partner on the edge of the bed that she'd been wanting to test for years. She tasted him for a moment and then pulled back, her mouth hovering over his. She didn't move, though her eyes flicked around the room.
"What is it?" He whispered, so only she could hear.
She smiled down at him. "Just. Savoring this," she said, though really she was waiting for something to happen. For a knock at the door or the phone to ring, for him to change his mind.
Nothing came. Rain patted down on the glass, beading on his windows. Sounds from outside were muffled, as if the universe had seen fit to cocoon them tonight, leaning over a bit of writing so no one else could see.
Fate's sopher certainly had a sense of humor, she thought. His fingers traveled up her arms, light as a feather, a whisper of wings along her skin. She finally felt the draw of flight.
So this is what he feels, she thought, so this is what he loves.
END OF PART THREE