1145 ZULU (0645 EST)
HARM'S APT
NORTH OF UNION STATION
I get my wish. I'm snowed in with Harm at his place. All those accurate newscasters failed to predict an extra six inches, so instead of eight, we now have fourteen. The capitol is shut down. Power's out over most of the area, including JAG HQ and Harm's apartment. I'm perched on a barstool in Harm's USNA sweatshirt and sweatpants, rolled down at the waist, eating breakfast. Harm's still snoozing on the couch, his bed for the night at his insistence. Every once in a while, he emits a light snore. Every once in a while, I emit a not-so-light shiver. Why does his place always have to be so cold? (Nevermind, MacKenzie, that the 'no power' factor might be playing a large role.)
I debate returning to bed, but even with the extra blankets Harm threw on for me, it's not as warm as the prospect of snuggling up in Harm's arms. I can still feel the chill in the air, on my exposed face and hands, and I wonder how it doesn't bother Harm.
I also wonder what we're going to do today. Perhaps, later on, after the road crews salt and clear the streets, we might be able to get to my apartment, but how to keep busy during the interim is a little less clear. Well, I mean, yeah, I do have a few ideas floating around, but we really should not just leap into bed together.
Sigh.
What to do, what to do.
I've always enjoyed watching Harm sleep. He quite possibly looks in slumber right now the most at peace I've ever seen him, with exception to when we were in Russia that first time.
He also sleeps like the dead, judging by the amount of noise he's already slept through this morning.
My lips curl in a smile as I think of something that might rouse him from his slumber.
…Well, I've got nothing better to do right now…
**********
There's something warm and pleasant pressing lightly against my lips, and I feel my mouth stretch into a smile when I think what could be the source of that wonderful feeling. I dig my head a little deeper into my pillow and enjoy the dream I'm having. I've had this dream before, and it only gets better. The cool air surrounding me is telling me it's much too chilly to get up right now anyway. I stretch my legs and bump them into the arm of the couch.
The couch?
The pressure against my mouth has returned, firmer, more insistent. I let out a contented groan, and the pleasantness ceases. My eyelids peel open of their own volition as I come face to face with a grinning Mac.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," she teases. I smile sheepishly and close my eyes again. Maybe I can get back to that dream again.
"Come on," she shakes me. "You've got to help me decide what to do with our Winter Wonderland."
"Sleep in," I offer drowsily.
"Come on, Harm," she shakes me again. If she thinks I'm getting up at…at this hour, whatever hour it is, she's going to be one disappointed Marine.
"Sleep," I mutter, hoping she'll take the hint, and at least stop shaking me. I get my wish. I hear her sigh and move away from me. Ahh…peace. I shift onto my side, facing the back of the couch. It's warmer on this side anyway.
I'm just about asleep again, when Mac flops onto the couch…or more precisely my legs, which are on the couch, and thus covering her intended cushion. Really, she's like a kid. I fight a battle against returning the look I can feel her giving me. I fight and lose. One eye pops open and I stare at the leather that covers the couch before I allow my vision to seek out the reason for the slowed circulation in my feet and calves.
"What time is it?" I mutter darkly.
"Time to get up." She answers cheekily. I hate morning people. Something tugs at the neuron cord in the back of my mind as it occurs to me that when I marry Mac this cheery morning persona will no doubt be an everyday occurrence. I sigh in defeat.
"Come on, flyboy," she coaxes. She crawls over me to squeeze the upper half of her body between the couch and me. She touches her lips to my temple and works her way to my lips. What was I saying about morning people? I could grow to love this if this is how Mac intends on waking me every morning.
But we're not married, or living together, or even sleeping together, so the chances of this being an everyday occurrence are slim, until we meet at least one of those criteria.
"Vertical, squid, vertical." I mutter something incoherent even to me. If she wants me up, she's going to have to at least humor me a bit more. She does and our kiss gets a bit more involved, so much so that I wrap my arms around her and roll over.
…And roll Mac, and nearly myself, off the couch. I forgot we were still lying on it. Mac takes half my blankets with her, and I am accosted by the cold in my apartment.
Sheesh-a-my. Boxers don't offer the warmth they used to. Time to turn the heat up.
Mac attempts to disengage herself from the tangled heap of sheets and blankets while I spring off the couch and head to the thermostat to crank it up. I don't hear the heat kick on. I flip the switch back and forth a few times, before registering the fact that nothing—namely my fridge—is humming with electricity.
"Power's out." I announce. Mac rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. "What? I'm up."
She throws my pillow at me. I light the gas heater in the living area, and escape to my dark shower, laughing all the way.
**********
That man can be so brilliant sometimes, and others…well, I guess that little personality quirk is what makes Harm Harm. Or maybe what makes Harm a typical guy.
I throw his bedding back onto the couch, keeping one particularly soft, heavy blanket to throw around my shoulders. The small breeze from the action upsets some papers on Harm's coffee table, and I go about rounding them up, listening absently to the running water of the shower (and trying not to succumb to the temptation to see just how good is the view through those glass room dividers and those clear, but distorted, glass blocks that form his shower). My hands struggle to reach for the smaller slips of paper while trying to maintain my cocoon of warmth around my body. Finally, after some rather precarious balancing on my right knee, I grasp the final piece of paper, and recognize the painstakingly printed handwriting of one Harmon Rabb, Jr.
It's one of his clues from the 'game' we were playing the other day—Valentine's Day—before work came up, and ended our fun. I smile, thinking of our much-abbreviated romantic evening. If I solve this little puzzle, I earn my redemption from the roses I sent him at the office. But I never had the opportunity (or the inclination, really, once we started making out) to finish the riddle that night, and as I am not about to let a game created by Harmon Rabb defeat me, I set about solving it now.
Hmm…there are seven clues so far—twelve in all. The most I have been able to weasel out of Harm is that the clues are song lyrics, and the title of each song (which I have to figure out from the lyrics) meshes together to form one big message. I quickly lay my seven slips of paper along the edge of the coffee table and study each one.
I didn't realize that Harm had such a vast library of music—or, perhaps, that I have such a vast deficit of music—in his brain. A few of the clues are pretty simple, but the degree of difficulty has steadily increased with the more clues gained.
Dammit. I will solve this mystery. Come on, MacKenzie. You used to be one hell of an investigator.
Wait a minute. What am I saying? I still am one hell of an investigator.
Okay. Focus, marine. First clue.
You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss…
Easy one. "As Time Goes By" by Frank Sinatra. There will be no pulling Casablanca over me.
Next.
I feel it in my fingers. I feel it in my toes.
Again, not too hard, thanks to that Gap commercial, and my own knowledge of some sixties music. "Love is all Around" by the Troggs.
So. So far, I have "As Time Goes by love is all around…" hmm…Is my flyboy waxing poetic? Hard to tell because I get stumped on the third clue.
Take your high class show and tell. Don't need no modern day Jezebel. All I want, ain't no lie. Check it out, Leroy, that means 'bye'."
I have no idea what song this is from. I sigh, and move on to the next clue, hoping I can reason it out from there.
That's a dead end, because the lyrics listed there--First love, heartbreak, tough luck, big mistake, what else can we do? I'll say anything you want to hear. I'll see everything through. I'll do anything I have to do, just to win the love of…
Hmmm…
Well, I know the fifth clue for sure. Wait a minute, baby. Stay with me awhile… I don't even have to read the rest. "Sara." I know my Fleetwood Mac, too.
It's also the point in this little game where I become REALLY interested in figuring out the rest of this puzzle. The use of my given name in this greater message could mean something. Perhaps my flyboy isn't just waxing poetic, but prophetic, as well. Or maybe I'm just a little too frenetic about the whole thing.
Something swiftly darts down to my side, and I realize with a jolt Harm has finished his shower. He plants a kiss on my cheek, and straightens. "Morning, beautiful."
He smells incredible.
Brut. Damn, I missed him shaving.
I glance up and take in his appearance, noting the boring U.S. NAVY sweats and the wet, glossy, black hair sticking up in all directions. Noticing my amused scrutiny, Harm quickly runs a hand over his head, flattening, momentarily, a few of the tufts before they drift out again.
"Hey, handsome," I reply easily.
I'm rewarded with a flash of that perfect smile of white teeth.
"Are you warm enough in that?" He points to my attire, which I borrowed from him for the night. He doesn't know it yet, but I've staked my claim on his USNA sweatshirt. The second I can sneak it back home with me…besides, I never see him wear it.
"Yeah. It's not too bad. Just my hands—"
He grabs one and, before I can finish my sentence, begins to rub it gently between his, generating a few welcome sparks of heat in it.
"—are cold. Thanks, Harm." Another flash of the famous flyboy grin. Damn. I'm not sure if my heart needs to be pumping this fast this early in the morning. I've only had two cups of coffee yet.
After about thirty-four seconds (but who's counting?), he reaches for the other hand. Forty-two seconds after that, he relinquishes contact, and takes a seat on the couch, patting his hair down once again. This time, however, it bounces back into disarray almost immediately. Unable to keep my hands to myself, I reach for his head, and begin to smooth down, as best I can, the derelict strands of hair.
"I don't think there's much you can do," Harm says after a moment, and I'm sure that, despite his usual protests regarding mothering—and I'm sure on most days, this is what it falls into--he's enjoying all the attention immensely.
"No," I agree after a pause, a few more seconds of running his hair through my fingers greedily taken. "Maybe if you have some gel or mousse, or something."
"I've got some," he answers, "I'll put it on in a moment. What have you got here?" He indicates the clues.
"Your little puzzle," I reply, shifting away, knowing instinctively that Harmon Rabb is going to get all cocky and self-assured, and looking forward to the flirting opportunity that will undoubtedly arise as a result.
"Ahh, still haven't figured it out," he says smugly.
"I didn't really get the opportunity," I shoot back, "as someone just couldn't keep his hands off me."
"I don't recall it being that way at all, marine."
"Oh really?"
"I seem to recall a certain sassy marine got it in her head to take advantage of me."
I let out an unladylike snort. "That's not how I remember it."
"Well, obviously, your memory's off, Mac."
"Ha, Ha. Can you even remember what prompted this advantageous behavior?" I turn to look at him.
"You found me utterly irresistible?" He flashes me another handsome grin. Wow. Three in not even a half-hour.
"Hardly." I bite back a smile at his crestfallen expression. "It was the other way around. You claimed you could grow a spine in the face of my 'persuasions,'" I taunt. "Unfortunately, you once again underestimated your opponent…and overestimated your own pathetic defenses."
"'Pathetic'?" The green eyes harden at the unspoken challenge.
I turn back to my notes, nodding.
"Really, Harm, is that the best that the Navy can do?"
"May I remind you that it was you who jumped my bones on our date."
I let out a squawk of protest.
"What?"
"Yeah, on our first date." He sees me smile in remembrance and shakes his head vigorously. "Uh-huh. See."
"I am a marine, Harm. We are take-charge, storm-the-beach kind of people."
"Riiiight. Must have just been more of your Mata Hari instincts shining through," he offers with a wicked smile. I smack him on the arm.
"Keep that up, and my 'Mata Hari instincts' will be extinct."
"We wouldn't want that."
"I didn't think so. Now, do you mind? I'm trying to concentrate here." I indicate my clues.
"Well, by all means, don't let me bother you." He lies back on his side, with a triumphant grin, and props his head up on his elbow. "So," he begins quite innocently, "what have you figured out so far?"
Not a whole hell of a lot. "I've managed to figure out several of the clues."
"Mm-hmm. Need help?"
Yes. "No."
"Okay…well, let me know if you get stuck. A couple of those are kind of hard." No kidding. "I'm not sure if you would know them. I tried to keep to the more mainstream songs throughout the years. I can be persuaded to give you some clues…if the price is right." He brushes his lips over my ear and I shiver in delight.
"How many years are we talking?"
He thinks for a while. "Well, 'As Time Goes By' is what…the forties? There's one from the fifties, I think. One from the sixties. Several from the seventies. Several from the eighties, too. I think that's it."
"Sooo…nothing recent?"
"Nope."
Damn.
"Stuff I grew up on and that I remember from my flying days."
Great.
"Harm," I begin very sweetly, turning to focus my entire attention on his handsome face, even with the supercilious grin, "can you give me a hint on this one?" I point to the I'll say anything you want to hear clue. He grins even wider.
"Well…"
"Please?"
"I'll think about it, Mac."
He stands up and places a quick kiss on my head. I wait until he clears the coffee table before I nail him. His legs go out from under him (do to the fact I have hold of his ankles) and he crashes to the floor with a loud thud. I hold my breath, hoping I haven't got too carried away and inadvertently injured him. After a moment, he turns his head to me with a look of incredulity, which only increases when he sees that my hands are still about his feet.
I flash him my most becoming smile.
"Could you think a little faster, sailor?"
TBC