The morning dawned clear and cloudless, and the sunlight filtering in
through the gap in the curtains gently roused Harm, who stretched on reflex
as his mind stumbled towards wakefulness.
As he stretched, he felt a twinge in his left arm as it resented being treated such. He sighed, the peaceful contentment he had felt ebbing away a little, and took a more conscious control of his body, careful not to over- extend his injured limb.
It was at this point that he became aware that Mac was not where she should have been, sprawled against his side blearily coming awake. He took a moment to listen for the sound of the shower, which echoed throughout the whole house when in use, but heard nothing. He did however catch the scent of bacon being fried, and instantly knew where his Marine was to be found.
"Good morning, Ladies."
"Morning, Harm." Mac spoke through a mouthful of crispy-fried bacon. In front of her sat a plate laden with bacon, eggs and fried tomatoes. "I think Grandma's trying to fatten me up."
"You told her it won't work, right?"
"She says she likes a challenge."
Harm smiled, and looked over at where his grandmother stood by the stove, chivvying bits of bacon. "Do I get anything?"
"You get bacon and eggs, the same as everybody else. And none of your talk of cholesterol. This is good food, and I won't hear a word against it. There's nothing wrong with my arteries, and I've been eating real food all my life."
"Yes Ma'am!" His grandmother presented him with a plate, then as he stood there proceeded to pile it high with food. As the pile grew, so did Harm's feeling of relief that his body had greater recuperative powers than it used to.
When she finally stopped shovelling food, Harm went to the table to sit next to Mac, who was working through the contents of her plate with remarkable speed.
"Hungry, are we?"
"Starving." She grinned at him again. "But you should have seen how much your dad ate."
"Where is he, anyway?"
"Grandma sent him out to milk the cows. Apparently before the last time he shipped out he promised he'd help out more next time he came to the farm, and your grandmother has a long memory."
"Don't I know it." He started to eat. "What do you want to do when you've finished eating?"
"I was thinking you could show me around. I didn't get a chance to see any of this place in the dark last night, I'd like to see some of the things Grandma mentioned in her stories last night. Something about a tyre swing next to a stream?"
Harm nearly choked at that. "She didn't."
"She did." Her grin was evil now. "I have to say, I'm impressed. I'd always figured you more for the jumping off a barn type. The tyre swing shows originality."
Harm drew himself up, a look of mock arrogance on his face. "I've always prided myself on originality when flying."
"You don't have to tell me that, Harm, I've seen you fly, remember?"
Their breakfast finished, they wandered down to the stream Harm's grandmother had mentioned to Mac, where the old tyre swing was still to be found, a little the worse for wear. Harm sat down, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree from which the tyre hung, staring down into the water. Mac sat down beside him. For several minutes neither spoke, simply enjoying the peacefulness of the place and listening to the bubbling of the stream.
It was Harm who broke the silence. "You ever tickled for trout, Mac?"
"Have I ever what?"
"Tickled trout. It's a sort of fishing. It's mostly only kids that do it."
"Harm, I grew up in Arizona. Fishing wasn't really a common pass-time."
"You want to learn?"
He seemed to be going somewhere with this, so she shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"
"Okay, roll up your sleeves." He did so himself, lying down on the bank and staring into the part of the water which lay in the shadow of the tree. "Now watch what I do."
She crouched down next to him to watch, fascinated by this side of him. Other than playing the guitar, she had never really seen him do anything that could easily be described as relaxing.
He lowered his arm into the water, softly waggling his fingers as he did so. He lay there in silence, a look of intense concentration on his face. Mac saw, after a wait of about ten minutes, a small fish emerge from the weeds nearby and swim lazily between Harm's fingers, which he continuted to waft about in constant motion until the fish was practically in the palm of his hand. Then, quick as a flash, his fingers closed on the fish and he flicked it out of the water onto the bank, where a quick blow to the head from a handy stone killed it. As its death throes came to and end, Harm looked up at Mac.
"And that, Marine, is how you tickle trout."
He fixed his gaze back on the fish. "You make your hand act like a weed, constantly in motion, moved by the flowing water. It lulls the fish into a false sense of security. It thinks you're just another weed, and swims right into your hand. You have to keep the pretense going right up until the moment you make your move, otherwise it realises something is wrong and it's out of there in a flash, and you're left literally empty-handed.
"You're not just talking about the fish, are you?"
"No."
"Harm?"
"With everything that happened yesterday, something got pushed out of our minds. Somone."
"Sergei?"
"Yeah."
"What does Sergei have to do with your analogy?"
"Either he's doing what I was doing, or I have to do it to him to find out the truth."
"You mean he could be deliberately maintaining the pretense of being your brother so that you keep trusting him right up until he makes a move against you?"
"Yeah. Or he could know absolutely nothing, and I have to keep him trusting me in order to find out the truth. I think Sergei's somehow connected to the dreams I was having when I was trying to sort out my blood, but I'm not sure how. And I'm not sure how to find out. Damnit, Mac, everything I've found out in the last few days has just created a bunch of new questions I need answers to."
"Harm, don't worry about it. Everything seems to have been happening without your forcing the issue. Just lay back and let it happen. Tickle trout, it looks relaxing. And," she had spied a lump of green fur moving towards them at speed, "providing more fish would probably keep our friend happy."
Harm lifted his eyes to look at the approaching creature, and smiled. "Well, at least we don't have to worry about him developing a false sense of security. Did you see how he reacted to the General when he interrupted us? I used to think my Annie was over-protective, but she's got nothing on this little guy."
"See? You have nothing to worry about. So tell me, how did you learn to tickle trout in the first place?"
"You ever read the Swallows and Amazons books.?"
A/N: Thanks for all the positive feedback for the story so far! It was really nice to read, and I'm glad to know there are people who are enjoying this, and especially people who think Stargate/JAG crossover well. Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou!
A/N2: I'm English, so I have no idea what time of year one might find trout in a stream in Pennsylvania. I just needed it for the metaphor.
As he stretched, he felt a twinge in his left arm as it resented being treated such. He sighed, the peaceful contentment he had felt ebbing away a little, and took a more conscious control of his body, careful not to over- extend his injured limb.
It was at this point that he became aware that Mac was not where she should have been, sprawled against his side blearily coming awake. He took a moment to listen for the sound of the shower, which echoed throughout the whole house when in use, but heard nothing. He did however catch the scent of bacon being fried, and instantly knew where his Marine was to be found.
"Good morning, Ladies."
"Morning, Harm." Mac spoke through a mouthful of crispy-fried bacon. In front of her sat a plate laden with bacon, eggs and fried tomatoes. "I think Grandma's trying to fatten me up."
"You told her it won't work, right?"
"She says she likes a challenge."
Harm smiled, and looked over at where his grandmother stood by the stove, chivvying bits of bacon. "Do I get anything?"
"You get bacon and eggs, the same as everybody else. And none of your talk of cholesterol. This is good food, and I won't hear a word against it. There's nothing wrong with my arteries, and I've been eating real food all my life."
"Yes Ma'am!" His grandmother presented him with a plate, then as he stood there proceeded to pile it high with food. As the pile grew, so did Harm's feeling of relief that his body had greater recuperative powers than it used to.
When she finally stopped shovelling food, Harm went to the table to sit next to Mac, who was working through the contents of her plate with remarkable speed.
"Hungry, are we?"
"Starving." She grinned at him again. "But you should have seen how much your dad ate."
"Where is he, anyway?"
"Grandma sent him out to milk the cows. Apparently before the last time he shipped out he promised he'd help out more next time he came to the farm, and your grandmother has a long memory."
"Don't I know it." He started to eat. "What do you want to do when you've finished eating?"
"I was thinking you could show me around. I didn't get a chance to see any of this place in the dark last night, I'd like to see some of the things Grandma mentioned in her stories last night. Something about a tyre swing next to a stream?"
Harm nearly choked at that. "She didn't."
"She did." Her grin was evil now. "I have to say, I'm impressed. I'd always figured you more for the jumping off a barn type. The tyre swing shows originality."
Harm drew himself up, a look of mock arrogance on his face. "I've always prided myself on originality when flying."
"You don't have to tell me that, Harm, I've seen you fly, remember?"
Their breakfast finished, they wandered down to the stream Harm's grandmother had mentioned to Mac, where the old tyre swing was still to be found, a little the worse for wear. Harm sat down, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree from which the tyre hung, staring down into the water. Mac sat down beside him. For several minutes neither spoke, simply enjoying the peacefulness of the place and listening to the bubbling of the stream.
It was Harm who broke the silence. "You ever tickled for trout, Mac?"
"Have I ever what?"
"Tickled trout. It's a sort of fishing. It's mostly only kids that do it."
"Harm, I grew up in Arizona. Fishing wasn't really a common pass-time."
"You want to learn?"
He seemed to be going somewhere with this, so she shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"
"Okay, roll up your sleeves." He did so himself, lying down on the bank and staring into the part of the water which lay in the shadow of the tree. "Now watch what I do."
She crouched down next to him to watch, fascinated by this side of him. Other than playing the guitar, she had never really seen him do anything that could easily be described as relaxing.
He lowered his arm into the water, softly waggling his fingers as he did so. He lay there in silence, a look of intense concentration on his face. Mac saw, after a wait of about ten minutes, a small fish emerge from the weeds nearby and swim lazily between Harm's fingers, which he continuted to waft about in constant motion until the fish was practically in the palm of his hand. Then, quick as a flash, his fingers closed on the fish and he flicked it out of the water onto the bank, where a quick blow to the head from a handy stone killed it. As its death throes came to and end, Harm looked up at Mac.
"And that, Marine, is how you tickle trout."
He fixed his gaze back on the fish. "You make your hand act like a weed, constantly in motion, moved by the flowing water. It lulls the fish into a false sense of security. It thinks you're just another weed, and swims right into your hand. You have to keep the pretense going right up until the moment you make your move, otherwise it realises something is wrong and it's out of there in a flash, and you're left literally empty-handed.
"You're not just talking about the fish, are you?"
"No."
"Harm?"
"With everything that happened yesterday, something got pushed out of our minds. Somone."
"Sergei?"
"Yeah."
"What does Sergei have to do with your analogy?"
"Either he's doing what I was doing, or I have to do it to him to find out the truth."
"You mean he could be deliberately maintaining the pretense of being your brother so that you keep trusting him right up until he makes a move against you?"
"Yeah. Or he could know absolutely nothing, and I have to keep him trusting me in order to find out the truth. I think Sergei's somehow connected to the dreams I was having when I was trying to sort out my blood, but I'm not sure how. And I'm not sure how to find out. Damnit, Mac, everything I've found out in the last few days has just created a bunch of new questions I need answers to."
"Harm, don't worry about it. Everything seems to have been happening without your forcing the issue. Just lay back and let it happen. Tickle trout, it looks relaxing. And," she had spied a lump of green fur moving towards them at speed, "providing more fish would probably keep our friend happy."
Harm lifted his eyes to look at the approaching creature, and smiled. "Well, at least we don't have to worry about him developing a false sense of security. Did you see how he reacted to the General when he interrupted us? I used to think my Annie was over-protective, but she's got nothing on this little guy."
"See? You have nothing to worry about. So tell me, how did you learn to tickle trout in the first place?"
"You ever read the Swallows and Amazons books.?"
A/N: Thanks for all the positive feedback for the story so far! It was really nice to read, and I'm glad to know there are people who are enjoying this, and especially people who think Stargate/JAG crossover well. Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou!
A/N2: I'm English, so I have no idea what time of year one might find trout in a stream in Pennsylvania. I just needed it for the metaphor.