"I'm a little surprised you asked me to join you here, Sturgis," I say by way of greeting. Mac and the admiral are already seated at the bar, sipping on their respective drinks. Sturgis, standing behind them, turns to face me.
"Things have been a little tense at the office."
"No, you think?" says the smart-ass who talked me into coming. I give her a look and she returns it with an innocent smile.
"Do us good to bury the legal hatchet here tonight," the admiral agrees.
"Here, here."
I stare at Mac, imagining us alone and away from the office, her eyes dancing as she makes some flip comment, her radiant smile teasing and inviting. She's exactly what I need after this day. However, it has started to look up since I talked with Petty Officer Massuco. Mac steals a glance at me, and we share a silent conversation in which I plead with her to leave and she admonishes me to be patient.
The arrival of Bobbi Latham and some blonde woman end the discussion, and I turn my thoughts away from my marine, and back to the subject at hand: introductions.
"Nice to meet you, Caroline," I say politely, shaking her hand. She gives Mac and the admiral a polite nod each when Bobbi introduces them, and I start thinking maybe I should order a good stiff drink. It looks like this may be a long night. Great, just when things were looking up. Suck it up, Commander.
"Would you ladies like something to drink?" I offer. I notice a weird look cross Mac's face. Something akin to "here we go." What the hell is that look for? I take Carolyn's drink order and she moves to stand beside me and I smile, trying not to get too distracted by Mac's behavior.
********
"So you're an attorney?" I hear her ask and I can't help but think how original. Harm, being Harm, gives her his full attention and smiles politely—he always thinks it's rude not to be the perfect gentleman and officer he so prides himself on.
Thinking about that statement I suppose it would be rude if he just ignored her, but I can't help wishing he would. That he would turn to me as though there was no one around us—no one he'd rather lavish his attention on to. In the past couple of weeks I've grown accustomed to having Harm's undivided attention; of being desirable to him, and it's not a position I'm willing to share or relinquish. There's nothing I can do about it, though, except continue on like nothing is different between us; like we are friends and nothing more. Bobbi and Sturgis move away to talk about something, leaving the admiral and I to exchange commiserating glances.
Now I wish I had went along with Harm's idea—ordered a pizza and spent some quality time, alone, with my grouchy sailor. I'm also a bit confused as to what we're all doing here.
I'm here because Sturgis asked me to join him, and Bobbi and the admiral for drinks. Harm is here because Sturgis asked me to ask him, since Harm and Sturgis—well, Harm has been acting like a spoiled little five year-old, and Sturgis was too chicken to ask Harm himself. Sturgis knows how I feel about Harm, so I can't understand why he would go along with an idea to hook Harm up with someone—or at the very least, why he would invite me to the spectacle. So why is Caroline here?
When Sturgis directs his next comment to the admiral, regarding Caroline's occupation as an architect, and the admiral's mild interest in the subject I get an inkling.
Obviously, Harm has no idea he's mucking up Sturgis and Bobbi's careful matchmaking plan, but then that's Harm. His 'charming' side tends to surface without provocation, and without regards to who may or may not appreciate it.
Harm makes some joke about the primitive plumbing in his building and we all laugh politely before Sturgis pulls him away. The admiral seems to be lost in his thoughts so I don't think he hears what's going on, but I can make out some of what they're saying.
I hear Harm proclaim, "Fine, next time let me do the picking," and I decide I'd better step in, because this is not a venture Harm needs to devote his energies to. He's liable to find himself serving his country in an igloo on Iceland. If I'm not careful, I may have the igloo next to him.
"You want to get into this?" Sturgis responds.
"Yeah, I have some ideas." Great. I know the kind of ideas Harm has.
I also know his taste in women (well, tastes prior to moi). I bet my best pair of combat boots that whatever woman he tries to saddle the admiral with will be some blonde. God help the admiral.
"You two are playing with fire," I warn, fixing the one sailor I may have some influence on with yet another warning look, which he ignores with his own look of patented innocence. Distantly, I hear a phone ring, and Caroline answers it.
"Mac, you've got to admit, the admiral's been a little cranky lately," says Mr. Pot about Mr. Kettle.
Of course he's been cranky. One of his best lawyers is being court-martialed. And then the attorney defending him is taking the injustice of this out on the prosecution and anyone who has the misfortune of crossing his path. And then Singer is dogging him every step of the way since she found out Bud was assigned to the Seahawk.
He's going to be even more thrilled if he finds out half the office is trying to set him up. Based on my limited experience with the admiral's personal life—and particularly, significant others—it is a rather touchy subject he'd rather as few of his subordinates as possible linger on. I don't want to be anywhere near this.
"For the record, I want nothing to do with it." One side of Harm's mouth curls up in a smile and he raises an eyebrow at my declaration. His posture seems to indicate it's my loss, but I'm sure I'll hear plenty tonight about how I should get in on this (with him), and how the admiral will thank us letter, as will half the staff once we hook him up with the woman of his dreams.
I swear, Harm, sometimes I think you're a bigger dreamer than I am. Certainly, a bigger—
"I'm sorry," Caroline cuts in, and we all turn to face her, but her eyes seem to be only locked on Harm's. That's right, just never mind the Marine standing next to him. It's not like she could ever possibly mean something to such a good-looking Navy commander. I mean, he's got the gold wings, he's a pilot and she's just a boring Marine.
I can't decide which is more unbelievable to my eyes, Caroline handing Harm her card, or Harm taking it, not only with a handsome smile, but pocketing it as well. Thankfully, she leaves.
Harm looks at Sturgis and I staring disbelievingly at him. "Hey, don't blame me."
"There'll be plenty of time for that later," I tell Sturgis.
"She was all wrong for him, anyway. I know what the admiral needs." Please, for the first twenty or so years of your dating life you had no clue what you needed, Harm. I'm still not sure if you know what you need, especially if you're still taking business cards from dippy blondes who just want to drool over your gold wings.
"Right. You've done so well for yourself," I comment sweetly. He just gives me a look that says smartass.
*********
Mac's upset with me, I can tell. I followed her from McMurphy's to her place, watching as she exited her vehicle without a word. Opened the door to her building, without a word. Marched into the elevator, without a word; ascended to her floor, without a word; and marched down to her door and opened it, without a word.
Mac has always wielded silence like an earth-shattering scream. It can get so deafening that I just wish she really would yell at me, or rip my arm off and beat me with it, if it will just dissipate that smothering quiet.
Sometimes if I provoke her, I can get some results, but generally she retreats further back into her protective shell and I'm forced to just wait out the storm, and hope it will pass quickly (and not leave any permanent damage).
But after the day I've had, some little voice nags my conscience and reminds me that I've flown in hurricane-type weather and that this is nothing I can't handle. For some reason only known to god, I listen to it.
"All right, Mac, what's up?"
She turns and stares at me coolly.
"Why the silent treatment?"
"Why?" she echoes. That voice is now telling me to shut up, but it's too late. I'm on autopilot now.
"Yeah. What did I do?"
"What did you do?" she repeats incredulously. Then all her fire seems to go out, and she replies bitterly, "Nothing, Harm. You did nothing. Except be yourself."
"Is that the problem?"
"I don't—no. Never mind. I'm just overreacting. Would you like something to drink? I have water, tea—"
"Mac. Talk to me. Something's bothering you, and I want to know what it is."
She stops mid-stride, just a few feet from the doorway to her kitchen. "Why did you take her card?"
"Who? Christine's?"
"Caroline. And, yes, who else?"
"Well, what did you expect me to do? I can't just rip it up there right in front of her face. I have to be polite, Mac."
"I know. I know. It's stupid. I'm sorry I brought it up," she says, and resumes her trek to the kitchen.
"Maaaac," I say, following.
"No. Just forget, Harm. I don't know why I'm so upset over it."
"Do you think I'm not serious about you? About developing this relationship?" Somehow those words slip past my lips without the effort I would have normally associated with such statements. We are knee-deep in serious conversation, something that I, as Mac well knows, avoid at all costs.
She hesitates, which gives me my answer, and it feels like a slap in the face. What am I doing? What are we doing? Apparently wasting each other's time.
"I think you do know what you want," she finally utters softly. "I think, maybe, you kind of want…me," she whispers hopefully, and it's one more twist of the knife in my side.
"Of course I want you," I say, unable to keep the censure from my voice. "You think whatever-her-name-is can hold a candle to my marine?"
"Your marine?"
"Yes. My marine," I state defiantly, knowing I could end up on the kitchen floor if I'm not careful how I back out of here. This is Mac we're talking about, who doesn't particularly care to be someone's property, as the debacle with Brumby (and, I suppose, me) proved.
"If I'm your marine, does that make you my sailor?" she asks with the barest hint of a smile.
"Yes, I suppose it does, if we're going by that reckoning."
"Hmm. And you don't have a problem being property of the U.S. Marine Corps?" I reach into my inside breast pocket and pull out the architect's card. I look at it for a moment then rip it up.
"Nope." Mac's eyebrows are arched in surprise. "So long as I'm just property of a certain marine lieutenant colonel, and not, say, a gunny or something.
"No one else in the Corps would want you."
"Well, gee, thanks, Mac. How do you, as a vaulted member of the Marine Corps, explain your attachment to me?"
"Charity case." I hold a hand to my heart in mock pain, and toss the pieces of what's-her-name's business card on the counter.
"Is that so?" She nods, her dark chocolaty eyes swimming. "Are we okay?" I ask, taking a step closer. I wrap my arms around her gently and she returns the gesture with a much tighter embrace.
"Yeah. I just wish you weren't so damn nice and gentlemanly."
"Sorry. I'll try to work on that."
She lets out a small laugh. "Please don't stop being you. I know what I said, but the charming, flirty, cocky flyboy is part of the Harmon Rabb I fell—" she stops suddenly, as does my breath, as I wait for her to finish her sentence, "—for."
Damn. She does admit falling for me, though. And really, when one says they fall for someone, doesn't that mean they fall in love with that person? She rests her cheek against my chest, and I rest my chin on the top of her head as I ponder this.
"Just, sometimes, I don't think you realize how…appealing you are to the opposite sex with all that charm and arrogance and gold wings and that smile and those looks. You just kind of go on autopilot, and it can be a little…unnerving I guess for other people."
"Just how appealing am I?"
"Harm," she warns.
"Sorry." Cool the hormones, Rabb. This is a serious conversation we're trying to have. "I never really paid attention to it, Mac. It's just…how I act. It's not really flirting, not to me anyway. I didn't really realize how it might come across to you. I'm sorry, Mac."
"I know. I know you don't do it on purpose, Harm. It's just…you."
Obviously not a better part of me.
"I'll try to work on it," I promise, which is apparently the right thing to say in this situation (not that I didn't mean it) because Mac pulls away slightly and fixes me with another small but genuine smile and a nice peck on the lips.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"No, I don't want something to drink," I reply, glad to resolve this matter.
"Do you want something to eat?"
"No, I don't want something to eat."
"Well, is there anything you do want?" she asks with a grin.
You, I think. I want you. I stare into her eyes intensely, trying to will the appropriate response from their black abyss. Somehow, she's suddenly flush against me, with my arms clasped tightly around her waist, and one of her arms locked around my shoulder and neck, while her other hand rubs gently at my cheek.
"Why don't you spend the night, Harm?" I want to. God, how I want to. Even if it was only to fall asleep next to her and wake up in her arms.
"Can't," I answer miserably. "Bud's trial. I have some documents at home I need to look at, and I'll need to get up early."
"Okay," she answers, obviously disappointed. "Some other time. We still have our weekend to reschedule," she adds in an attempt to brighten our moods.
"Hey," I say, inspiration striking (about time), "how 'bout you come home with me and stay the night. I won't be much for entertainment—I really do need to look over some things for Bud's trial, but—"
"What about Jingo? I shouldn't leave him. He's still not doing really well."
"He's invited, too."
"Really?"
"Yeah, come on, Marine," I lean down and plant a kiss on her mouth, and whisper huskily, "spend the night with me."
*********
Jingo and I watch Harm move around his apartment from the warm comfort of his bedroom. Both of us are curled up in our respective beds, me under the soft, cool sheets and warm blankets of Harm's large bed, and Jingo from his fuzzy, fur-infested dog bed which Harm let me bring over.
Harm pops his head up the stairs. "You guys comfy?"
I nod and Jingo thumps his tail twice.
"Okay. Here, I better give you a kiss goodnight, marine." He leans down and captures my mouth, and I grab hold of his tie. He's still completely dressed in his uniform, right down to his shoes and uniform jacket, even at 2300 hours.
"You're not…?" I ask worriedly, wondering if he's going to camp out on the couch again.
"It's probably going to be a while before I come to bed." He kisses me again, and removes my hand from his tie. "But I plan to eventually, so pick a side, marine." He moves to the corner of his room, near the shower wall, and squats down to pat Jingo on his head, before straightening again. He hits a switch on his way out and the apartment is blanketed in darkness. After a moment, the light on his desk lamp switches on, and I see him remove his tie and shrug out of his jacket.
My fingers ache to assist. To slowly pop each button from its hole, all the way down his shirt, to the button of his pants. And then the zipper…I heave a big sigh of disappointment.
"Suck it up, Marine," a voice answers wryly.