1217 ZULU
Harm's Apartment
North of Union Station
"It's a beautiful morning,'" the Rascals playing on the radio and I sing together. Actually, the sky is rather overcast, and the weather report I just heard claims the D.C. area will be blanketed with 6-8 inches of snow by Thursday afternoon. However, none of that really matters as I concentrate on getting ready for work. Mac and I came to several agreements last night—those of which are responsible for my good mood this otherwise particularly average day.
The first, and most significant, is we agreed to give "us" a chance. The second is we also decided to keep that fact quiet in case--in what wasn't mentioned, but I think was pretty clear nonetheless—"us" doesn't work out as we hoped. We'd really like the peace and quiet of getting to know one another in a romantic way for as long as humanly possible, rather than having the entire office scrutinize our every word, behavior, and fight. They do that already, and they think we're just friends. Mac and I both really don't want to send the scuttlebutt flying just yet—or at least confirm any scuttlebutt just yet. Not too mention, there are still some other details to work out with us being in the same chain of command, etc.
The third thing, and also of importance, is we agreed not to rush things.
The fourth, which I think is equal in rank to the first, is to be honest and communicate with one another, and not assume the other knows what we're talking about. Maybe we'll get that right this time around. Something to aspire to at least.
I pick up my bottle of aftershave and chuckle. It's about ¾ full, but I bought another one, just in case I run out unexpectedly, or misplace the other bottle. I don't know what Mac's thing is about it, but I'm not about to switch to another brand. Not if she likes it. And judging by the reaction I get any time she detects it, she really likes it.
As I look into the mirror I realize I'm grinning like a fool. I've seen that smile a lot these last couple of weeks. I hope it never goes away.
Better tone it down, though, before someone—namely Sturgis or Harriet, who both are a little too damned perceptive for my taste—notices.
*********
1311 ZULU
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
"Good morning Sturgis!" I say cheerily, snatching a mug off the rack and flipping it in the air before catching it right-side up in my palm. I whisk the carafe off the burner and splash some coffee into my mug.
"Are you sure you need that?" Sturgis asks, eyeing me warily.
"Nothing like a good cup of coffee in the morning," I return brightly. I take a sip and gag. Yech. I know who made the coffee.
"Mac made that pot, I think," Sturgis tells me, confirming it. Marines. I notice Sturgis has a tea bag in his hand. Smart man. He reaches behind him and shakes the box at me. I take one.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. So, you want to tell me why yesterday you looked like something from The Evil Dead and today somebody from The Love Boat?"
"I don't know what you mean, Sturgis. I met up with some old flight school buddies of mine Sunday night. We had quite a little get-together. In fact, I just arrived in D.C. a few hours before work, so pardon me if I wasn't dancing a jig yesterday."
He raises an eyebrow. "Okay. I just wondered if you and Mac worked something out."
I splutter into my tea. "What makes you say that?" Sheesh, is Mac's psychic sense rubbing off onto him?
"I don't know…you two were the last ones here when I left, just thought that maybe, I don't know…you two have been pretty…chummy…the past couple of weeks."
"We're friends, Sturgis. Chummy is what we do."
He sighs tiredly.
Mac steps into the break room. She's heard my comment. I hope she remembers our agreement to keep things quiet, and doesn't misconstrue my remark. I turn my back to Sturgis and face her. She pours a cup of her coffee and looks questioningly at Sturgis and I. I wink at her. She uses her cup to hide her smile.
"Morning, Colonel," I say, not too enthusiastic, not too cool.
"Commander. You're looking much better than yesterday." She grins, knowing quite well the reason for my freshened appearance.
"I had a good night's sleep. Was all I needed."
"Mm-hmm." She replies, once again disguising her amusement behind her mug. Then she notices our teabags.
"What's the matter, Harm? Don't like my coffee? I made it especially for you. I know how you squids can use that extra kick in the morning." She grins wickedly.
"Kick is one thing. Brain-numbing jolt is another."
"Flying off carriers I should think that would be nothing new to you."
"That would certainly kickstart my heart." I flash a grin at her. "Your coffee is more likely to kill it—and me."
"Live dangerously, Hammer."
"I do. I work with you."
She playfully punches me on the arm.
"See, physical abuse? Only one of the many crosses I must bear with you as a partner."
"Oh? And just what are some of the others?" She's blocking my retreat, but I fully intend on answering her question.
"Your shameless addiction to Beltway Burgers and all things unhealthy—which puts my health at risk even thinking about it, much less being around it—"she shakes her head—"and let's not forget your stubborn streak and that Irish temper of yours."
This time she snorts and stares impudently at me.
"My stubborn streak? My temper?" She gives me a look full of meaning. I ignore it.
"Yeah, exciting either of those is like going into a dogfight unarmed. I'm just lucky I'm a good pilot."
She scoffs loudly. "Well, like many an ego-driven jet-jock, you often go looking for a fight. You get what you deserve." She takes a defiant step towards me.
I take a step forward also. "Maybe I just enjoy a good battle with a worthy opponent."
She tries to hold her glare, but I can see her lips twitch and finally she gives in and breaks into an inviting smile.
"And, like many a-good pilot, you know how to charm your way out of a disagreement."
"Yes ma'am." I grin triumphantly.
She leans in close to me and whispers conspiratorially, "You've got a long way to go before you charm me, Commander." She smirks. "You still owe me on those Superbowl seats."
Ha. I don't think I have that far to charm her at all. I think history has proven that Sarah MacKenzie isn't immune to the Rabb charm. However, I do believe there will be some retribution for leading her on…I hope there will be. It'll give me a chance to prove the effectiveness of said charms. Hell, the opportunity to try should be enjoyable enough.
Success in the endeavor would just be icing on the cake.
"Well, I look forward to the challenge, marine." We're standing nearly nose-to-nose now, and I think one of us might even close that distance if the sound of someone clearing his throat hadn't interrupted us.
We both look for the source. Sturgis is leaning against the counter, watching us carefully. "Sorry. Can I just get to the sugar?"
"Sure."
"Yeah, here," Mac hands him a couple of sugar packets and takes her leave. "Later, commanders."
"Yeah." I answer. Sturgis raises his mug in reply. He casts a critical glance at me.
"So, was that just the two of you being 'chummy'?"