"Hey, Mac," I call eagerly, screeching to a halt when I realize she's not alone in her office. "Hello, Harriet," I say, regulating my voice into something I hope is less suspicious.
"Good morning, sir," Harriet replies cheerfully, her eyes darting from Mac to me. Mac smiles at me politely. I nonchalantly place the file folder I was carrying behind my back, clutched securely in my clasped hands. It contains the printout receipt of our plane reservations, and a couple other pertinent details, which I'm thankful I had the foresight to disguise in a bland old manila file folder.
"Bud all settled?"
"Yes, sir, I think so."
"Good, good."
It's quiet for a moment while we all wait for the other to say something, and where two people, at least, wish to be left alone without being too obvious about it.
"Well, sir, ma'am, I need to get back to work."
"Ah, yes, I have a matter to discuss with the colonel."
"Thank you, Harriet," Mac says. Harriet smiles at the both of us and shuts the door behind her. The blinds are still open, however, and closing them now would not be prudent.
I turn my attention back to Mac. She gives me a welcome, secret smile. My smile. The smile I've only ever seen bestowed onto me. And I've seen it a lot these past few weeks.
"I've got our tickets, well, E-ticket confirmation," I hold up the manila folder. "We are booked for a 1630 flight. We should arrive in Nantucket by 2000 the latest." Her smile widens to almost giddy. It quickly disappears.
"We're going to have to leave work early," she notes. "It's going to draw attention if we're both checked out of here before quitting time."
"Nothing I can do about it, Mac. We can get a later flight out to Boston, but our puddle-jump to Nantucket wouldn't be until the next morning." And I want our weekend to start as soon as possible, I add silently. This explanation does not appease Mac, as her brow only sinks lower into the corner of her eye.
"I don't know if we can both get out of work that early. We've got traffic, security checkpoints—Harm, we'll probably have to leave JAG by no later than 1500 hours. How are we going to do that?" I start to shrug, unable to provide an answer beyond 'we'll figure something out.'
"You know what I'm thinking?" she continues without pausing for a response to either question, "I'm thinking we should go public with our relationship."
"Whoa, Mac. Let's not be hasty."
"Do you have a better solution? We need to be honest. Why are we hiding, anyway?"
"We're not hiding, Mac. We're just…ensuring that we have a chance for privacy. A chance for peace. A chance for us." The truth is I'm selfish. I suppose that's no real, big surprise, but now that we are pursuing something beyond friendship, I've gotten stingy with regards to Mac. I just feel that if everyone knows about us I'll never quite have Mac to myself. As it is, work occupies a lot of our time; investigations, court, the extensive traveling we both do in addition to various social obligations, related and unrelated to work, leaves us with seemingly little time to devote to each other. Not to mention the fact that we've—I've—wasted so much time already. I'm not sure that I can speak for Sarah, but now that I've got my head in gear, I basically just want to lock ourselves away somewhere, even though I know it's not physically possible, and, for a few months at least, I just want to explore and experience this thing together, quietly and privately. I just want the chance to love Sarah MacKenzie for who and what she is without distractions. If we come out, to borrow an expression, we immediately place ourselves under the scrutiny of coworkers and friends. And I know that we'll have to deal with it at some point, and I'm not scared of what they might say or think, or what decisions may have to be made as a result, but can you really blame a guy for wanting to stave off the inevitable?
"Does a chance at us really mean subterfuge?"
"It's not subterfuge, Mac. It's being discreet. And it's not really like we're sneaking around. We go out. And we just try to keep our relationship at the office professional." Okay, so our relationship at the office has never been strictly professional, but, still.
"Professional? Harm, you came in here to discuss our plans for our romantic weekend."
"Besides," I continue, ignoring her point, "if we come clean, are you ready to deal with all the consequences it might mean here at JAG?"
She doesn't respond. I figured as much. I'm not quite ready, either. It's something I'm going to have to consider when it gets down to crunch time with my commitment plans. Until then, I'd just as soon not think about it; I'm not ready to jeopardize our present relationship progression due to work concerns.
"We'll figure something out, Mac. You and I have always made a great team. We put our heads together I'm sure we'll think of something." This finally seems to calm her a little, and she holds out her hand for the folder. She fingers the printout receipt of our reservations, and stares intently at the information. Her expression seems to indicate more surprise and awe, than concentration and memorization.
"Mark your calendar, Mac. A week from Friday…" I pause, wanting to say 'you'll be mine,' but it sounds far too possessive, "…we'll be touching down in Nantucket."
She nods after a moment, and I wonder if the sound of my words weren't delayed just a little by the weight they seem to carry. She leafs through a couple printouts on the local dining options before replacing them with the ticket confirmation back into the file, a pensive statement on her face. I take the file from her and prepare to depart, knowing the blinds are still open and that this entire play is probably being viewed by most of the office—and surely the surreptitious eyes of Harriet and Sturgis. With Bud gone, I have a feeling the collective comings and goings of Mac and I, and any subsequent interactions will be closely documented by a bored, lonely and romantic LT Sims. Sturgis's only excuse is his dangerous curiosity and his troublesome penchant for meddling.
"Anyway, I've got to get back to work. I just wanted to let you know we're all set on transportation. So my end is taken care of." I pause to see if she'll jump in with any information on lodging, but so far she's been kind of hush-hush about it, although I assume we'll stay in the large bed-and-breakfast she's been ogling.
I glance through the blinds and notice a blond head duck away. I can only imagine what it must look like in here to observers. Certainly to such romantic diehards as Harriet—and apparently Sturgis—our conversations and interactions must rival the best scenes from Shakespearean plays. I have to admit there have been several instances where I think we've played the fated lovers. For better or worse.
The sound of Mac gasping suddenly jerks me out of my thoughts and I spin around, away from the door, to face her, momentarily forgetting our uniformed audience.
"A week from Friday? A week from this Friday?" I nod in response, my heart thudding loudly against my chest. Please God; don't let her back out of this. I want this; I really, really want this. If she gets cold feet about our weekend, I'm not sure if we can fully recover. We seem to be at a juncture of sorts where our relationship has only two paths to blaze—all or nothing.
"That's not enough time," she mutters. My throat immediately tightens, but I manage to push a question past.
"Time for what?" I ask, not sure if I really want to know.
"Harm—I barely have a week left to shop! Do you know how much stuff I have to get yet!"
Oh, thank God. Is that all? The furious pounding lessens and my heart rate and breathing return slowly to normal.
"Well, you're a marine. I'm sure this is not beyond your gung-ho capabilities."
She flashes me a dirty look. I smirk in response.
"And besides, Mac, we're only going to be gone for a few days. How much stuff could you possibly have to buy?"
She bites her lip and looks away. Then the corners of her mouth turn up in that devastating seductive smile and she looks at me contemplatively with those dark, dark, black, eyes. My heart suddenly changes gears again and begins to pound furiously away.
"Well," she remarks after a thoughtful sigh, "I'm sure you have work to do so I won't keep you any longer."
Right. As if I could think about work now.
***********
1346 ZULU (0846 EST)
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
Six hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds until lift-off. Touchdown. D-Day. Whatever.
Six hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-one seconds until I jet off with the most important person in my life for an intimate weekend away.
Six hours, fourteen minutes, and forty-three seconds. I grin with anticipation.
Actually, I'm not sure about the seconds part. Mac would probably know the exact time, but hey, what's a few seconds?
A lifetime. Minutes are eons, and I'm not sure what increment of time could accurately describe the hours I have to go until I can bust out of here.
Jesus, there's no hope of me getting any work done today. I've actually managed, through the discipline that comes from twenty years of wearing a Navy uniform, the control of a seasoned naval aviator, and the stubborn persistence inherent in a Rabb, to get a few things accomplished this past week at work.
Unfortunately, there's nothing left in reserves to carry that accomplishment through today.
At this point, my best hope and plan is to try and make it through today without drawing the attention of Sturgis, Harriet, and the Admiral.
Lofty ambition, I know, especially considering the aforementioned depleted reserves. However, I wouldn't be me, as Mac would likely point out, if I were anything less than ambitious.
I wonder how Mac can stand this. Speaking of Mac, where is she? It's almost nine and I still haven't caught sight of her. Maybe that's for the best. I really think if I laid eyes on her I'd give everything away. I keep having to force myself not to smile so widely and so much or everyone Iwill/I notice.
I didn't get a chance to see her last night, either. She said she had some last minute shopping to take care of, gave me a secret smile, an open-mouthed kiss in the elevator and practically bounced down the steps to her car. When I called later on, she was all vague and mysterious, and said she would see me tomorrow at work, and hoped I would get a good night's sleep, because I would need my strength and plenty of energy once we touched down in Nantucket.
And of course, do you think I was able to sleep after that?!
Hmm. Maybe it's best not to dwell on Mac right now, either. I mean, I already know that a long attention span is out of the question today, but do I have to tempt fate? Focus on something else, Rabb. Have you got everything packed? Because once we get the hell out of here, we're not turning back for anything.
A nice suit. Check. Some nice pants and a dress shirt. Check. New boxers. Check. A couple of T-shirts. Check. A pair of jeans. Check. Shaving kit. Check. Shoes, dress and casual. Check. Wallet, forms of ID, E-ticket receipts, money, car keys. Check, check, check, check, check.
Okay. Everything sounds in order. That took all of, what? Five minutes? So…six hours and nine minutes and whatever seconds until we depart for Dulles. I glance at my watch. 0901. Even better. Five hours and fifty-nine minutes and whatever seconds until Dulles.
Oh, crap. I'd better think of how we're both going to escape JAG—I've been putting that off. Right now, I'm all for the two of us leaving at 1500 and just facing the admiral's wrath when we get back.
However, I'd better have a better answer than that in case Mac asks. There is no way we're not going.
So, how to work this…is there anything that we could go investigate under the pretense of interviewing a witness and then do that (or not, depending) and depart? Unfortunately we're not working a joint case right now, so I'd have to come up with an explanation why the one of us had to accompany the other. Maybe Mac or I could leave the office under the pretense of one needing to take their car into the shop and the other has to pick whichever one of us up. Hmm…not bad. Doable. May need a little fine-tuning. I can work that out later.
Well, now that that's out of the way…
Ahh, there's my marine. I watch as she and Sturgis heatedly discuss something—a case, no doubt. I can tell by Sturgis's gestures he's hoping to reason with her. Fat chance, bubblehead. Once Mac sets her mind on something there's no pleading with her. I would have figured you'd know that by now, Sturgis.
I turn my attention to the feisty woman in front of him, and though I can only see her profile, I know those chocolaty brown eyes are nearly black and flashing. Her cheeks are a bit pinker than usual, as they usually darken when her mouth is moving at a frantic pace. My viewpoint from my office also affords me the opportunity to notice things about her I'd either never dare to focus my attention on in an office setting or am too incensed when I'm arguing with her to pay attention to.
Like her heavenly figure. From here I can really appreciate the way her uniform fits over her body. Yes, she's an officer and a damn fine one at that, but she's also a woman, and while I may be a fellow officer I'm still a man, and I can fully appreciate the affect a woman like Mac has on an article of clothing—even a military uniform. Especially a military uniform.
I almost wish that our first time together would involve stripping her of those marine greens, but we've both brought a change of clothing for the flight so as to be less conspicuous, and less confined, as wearing a uniform means one must follow protocol regarding it.
Although, there have been several times where we've completely ignored that protocol to satisfy our mutual whim. In fact, the very instance that started this whole new phase in our relationship is an excellent example. Mac kissed me in the break room. Nothing scandalous, well nothing too scandalous UCMJ wise, but definitely not a platonic peck on the cheek. Of course, since then it's steadily progressed into something that certainly would be scandalous if our luck ever ran out and we were caught.
At any rate, two officers canoodling on a plane is liable to take notice, especially when one officer bears the uniform of the Navy and the other of the Marine Corps. For some reason, a couple comprised of one squid and one jarhead seems to attract a lot of attention.
Okay, okay. So I'd be staring, too, especially if said jarhead was as beautiful as my marine.
Better cool that manly pride, Rabb, before it gets you in deep with your marine.
*********
Here we are at ground zero. I swear if I can't get my mind off Mac we might as well make a banner and hang it up here in the break room. Rabb and MacKenzie off for a weekend special in three hours and forty-eight minutes. I open the refrigerator and scope around for something appetizing. And crunchy. I feel like crunching on something. I doubt I'll find it in the refrigerator though. Unless I decide to be brave and tackle Mac's macaroni salad that's been here for two weeks.
"Well, isn't this just a sight to behold."
I glance behind me to find Mac with her arms crossed, leaning against the counter.
"What?" So I'm rifling through the refrigerator. Big deal. Then it hits me that Mac really wasn't looking at my face when she said that. I straighten up and turn around.
"Very funny, Mac," I give her a warning look. I'm not sure why. I'm about two steps away from compromising my partner. Maybe three. I've got long legs though; I could do it in two.
She smiles sweetly, oblivious to my thoughts.
"Looking for something in particular?" she asks as I peruse each cabinet, pulling down a box of graham crackers from one before deciding I'm not in the honey grahams mood.
"Not really." I close the cupboard door and sigh.
"Ahh, no rice cakes?" she coos in sympathy. I flash her another look before turning my attention to something other than her. She's only about one step away now and I can feel my muscles twitching in anticipation.
I pick up a lone equal packet and flap it against my hand as I wrestle with my hormones once again. They're becoming more demanding as Nantucket looms nearer. I remind myself Nantucket and this weekend are all part of a larger picture I'm moving towards. One that I hope Mac wants to move towards as well. Time, and perhaps this weekend, will tell.
Still.
One quick little kiss can't hurt.
**********
Damn Sturgis.
The man has impeccable timing as usual.
I didn't even get the pleasure of brushing my mouth along her cheek, much less her lips, before he came bumbling in, trying to plea bargain with Mac. Give it up already!
I think Mac agreed to consider his offer just to get him off her case—and to distract him from our guilty behavior. I slunk out of the break room shortly after that.
The good news is I think we separated quickly enough before he could suspect something.
**********
The bad news is it's now seventeen past departure time. I'm in my office talking with a potential expert witness that I've been trying for over a week to get a hold of. I think he'll be perfect for my case and if he'd only shut up for a minute I'd tell him so. I glance at my watch and look up with a helpless shrug when Mac knocks softly on my door. I'm just glad we already dropped her car off at her place under our predetermined excuse that she was getting some work done on it. By both our calculations we were supposed to be on the road to Dulles at 1500. Still, if we manage to escape work by 1530 it should be okay.
**********
It's 1529, yes, I'm sure the condition of the aircraft in such a case would merit a closer look at the inspection methods the techs employ. Come on, come on.
**********
1536. All right, deep breath. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 1536 is not bad. You could still make your flight. Just tell this guy you've got a pressing matter to attend to and that you hope to get a hold of him Monday.
He won't be in Monday. Great. Fine. Whatever. Tuesday, then.
Yes, I look forward to hearing from you, too.
Yes, I have your business card.
I email Mac to meet me downstairs and be ready to leave come hell or high water in two minutes.
Yes, I'll leave a message with your secretary if I can't get a hold of you.
Finally! I hang up the phone, shut down my computer, grab my briefcase and cover, keys, flip off the light and tell Harriet I'm taking Mac to pick up her car and I'm not sure when I'll be back, and then the elevator doors close and I'm almost free.
**********
1541. We can still make it. Fortunately I know a few shortcuts.
"Where the hell are you going?"
"Shortcut."
"Harm, we've got 48 minutes and 27 seconds to get through security and make our flight. You'd better know where you're going."
"I know where I'm going, Mac," I reply, sailing through a yellow light.
She takes a firm hold of the oh-shit handle and falls silent.
"You've got our room confirmation number?"
"Yeah. You got the plane ticket confirmation?"
"Yeah, in my breast pocket."
We both fall silent for the rest of the trip.
**********
"Told you we'd make it," I state triumphantly as Mac twists around in her seat to fish out her seatbelt. She flashes me a pretty smile.
"Yes, we had exactly 38 seconds to spare before final boarding call."
"Still, we made it." I can no longer contain my excitement as I feel my mouth stretch wide in a smile. Mac returns the sentiment full force, her own happiness bordering on giddy.
"Yes, we did."
We gaze at one another intently, and I wish we weren't in uniform so I could kiss her, but there are already a few spectators taking note of us, and instead I turn my attention to the stewardess and the safety instructions I've heard a hundred times before. I sneak another glance at Mac. She looks at me and my stomach flutters and twists and it's just like I'm flying at mach two except the nervous excitement and anticipation is all due to the woman sitting next to me.
Another three hours, Rabb, and you'll be where you've always wanted to be. In the arms of your marine.