I return from lunch with a brisk step, glancing stealthily at Mac's closed door—blinds drawn—with a smile.
One that she'd probably knock off my face if she saw it, but I just can't seem to help myself today.
I feel like whistling again, but I'm pretty sure that both Mac and the admiral would probably descend on me like hungry wolves. Best never to tempt fate with a SEAL and a marine already irked with you.
Well, I know how to win the marine over. I waltz into my office and shut the door behind me, reaching into my pants pocket. Yes, I know several ways to get on her good side. I pull out the ring I find there. I certainly have her number.
Ring size number, that is.
I grin again, marveling that everything I've always wanted is within my reach. Mac and I are seeing one another and, so far, we haven't self-destructed our entire friendship and relationship. In fact, things are just the opposite—everything's going well and I think the both of us are happier than we've been in a long time. I think she's…I think, if I asked her to marry me, I have a better than fifty chance she'd say yes.
But better than fifty is still not high enough. I just don't know for certain that she wants to walk down the aisle again, so soon after everything with Brumby. I just don't know if she wants to walk down the aisle with me.
The smile on my face fades and I take a seat in my chair and contemplate my future plans, rolling Sarah's Marine Corps ring around in my fingers.
Since she is still pretty annoyed with me, I decided to use the opportunity of lunching alone to finally figure out her ring size. A bit of stealth and luck yesterday contributed to her ring ending up in my possession. I feel kind of bad taking it, since I know she's been looking all over for it. She left messages on both my home and cell phone this morning, and even sent an email asking if I had seen it, none of which I replied to. And besides, I can't very well put off this opportunity for any longer than today or she's liable to catch the first plane to Nantucket to rip our hotel room apart searching for it.
Nope, this way I can just claim that, oops, I did have it—it must have got mixed up with my shaving kit and since I was in such a rush this morning I didn't realize it until…later.
And so, with ring in hand, I completed the mission I set out to do—figure out Sarah's ring size. Okay, maybe that wasn't the original, complete mission I set out to do, but I was pressed for time so I didn't get a chance to pick out a ring.
It's not that I didn't look, I did. I did look, unable to believe I was at a jeweler's for the sole purpose of sizing Sarah's ring so I would know the right fit for an engagement ring for her.
I was pressed for time—I drove to a jeweler about twenty minutes away from JAG, and barely made it back to JAG on time. And I wasn't sure which of the many beautiful rings on display was, well, The One for The One. None of them leapt out at me like everyone says it will and said, "Buy me. This one is Sarah". The ring…the ring has to be her.
It's just that it never seemed I would ever arrive at this point—ready to propose marriage to Sarah MacKenzie.
Of course I suppose I'm not ready; I still have to be properly equipped with a ring when I propose.
And I have to decide when that will be.
**********
I tentatively rap on Mac's door, knowing she can tell whom it is just by my knock, so I also know not to expect an enthusiastic welcome.
There's a pause, in which I'm sure she's heaving a sigh, before a curt, "Come in," is issued.
"Hey, Mac," I say, closing the door behind me.
"Was there something you needed in regards to a case, Commander Rabb?"
Oh, ouch. It's bad enough when she calls me by my rank with that icy, clipped tone, but when she includes my surname it's like she's trying to drive a stake through my hand. The blunt end of the stake.
"Actually, I got your message about your ring," I begin hesitantly. "Earlier, I mean, so I checked my stuff at lunch and I—"
"Did you find it?" She asks. I have her full attention now.
"Voila!" I produce her beloved Marine Corps ring with a flourish.
She jumps up from her chair to take it and slips it on her finger with a happy sigh. "Thank goodness," she breathes. "I thought I lost it. I looked everywhere for it."
"Must have gotten mixed up with my things in the rush this morning," I reply, patting myself on the back for having thought out such a plausible excuse. It's not technically lying. Is it?
"Anyway, you can thank me later…tonight…" I hint with a teasing smile, but she just frowns at me. Apparently finding her ring has not endeared me to her, not has it quelled the anger aimed at me since our little chat in the breakroom.
"You know, we never did finish our conversation from earlier," I continue, deciding to grab the bull by the horns and get this out, and hopefully over with.
"What conversation?"
"From the breakroom."
"Oh, when you mocked me for my, how did you put it? Paranoia?"
"Maaaac…"
"I really don't have anything else to say on the matter, Commander."
"Mac, come on. I'm listening. You have my full attention. Tell me what's bothering you." I take a seat in one of her chairs and cross my leg, resting my ankle on my knee, and look at her expectantly.
"What's bothering me?" she repeats, staring hard at me.
"Yeah. You said everyone was asking you…questions."
"About you!" she snaps, throwing down her pen and sitting back in her chair with a huff.
"What do they want to know about me?" I ask, puzzled.
"Why, for one, you're in such a good mood," she retorts. "They all think I have something to do with it!"
"You do," I say with a smile, thinking of this morning and last night and this whole entire weekend spent wrapped up in each other's arms, and the realizations I've come to since we've been together.
"Do you have to advertise it?" she exclaims, remembering at the last second to keep her voice down. "I thought you wanted to be discreet!"
"I do. I am," I reply, becoming more skeptical that my being in a good mood is the real issue here. "I can't help the fact you make me happy, Mac." That admission takes the wind out of her sails, and I see her expression soften as she locks eyes with me.
She smiles gently, and continues in a moderate tone, "Harm, you are being anything but discreet."
"How do you mean?"
"The whistling…the…smiling…the winks…the…the…"
"How is that advertising our relationship? I haven't told anyone that 'Boy, Mac sure made my weekend this weekend'. I haven't told anyone—or even hinted—that we're seeing each other. No one's asked me if there's anything going on between us—well, no one's asked beyond the usual questions, anyway, and it's been a couple weeks since then. Besides, what does it matter if our coworkers think there's something going on between us? I thought you didn't want to hide our relationship, anyway," I return, mostly for the hell of it, just to see how she will respond.
"I don't," she insists, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.
"So? What's the problem then, Mac?"
**********
I stare in disbelief at my ignorant partner. How can he be so dense? And I love this man. And not just love—this is the man I want to share my future with—the man I want to build my future with. We stare at each other for a long moment, Harm making it obvious he intends to wait out my silence until he receives a satisfactory answer.
Damn him.
"I just…I mean, I don't like…what I mean to say is…" I trail off, becoming more irritated with him and myself. "Why is it up to me to answer all the questions about us? We're a couple now, we should both be confronting these issues together. We should have a united front and a united approach on how to deal with questions about our relationship."
"Mac, we never agree on anything."
Grrrrr. God help me from stapling his head to my corkboard.
"We do, too, on occasion. Rare occasion."
"No, we don't."
"Yes we—look," I amend testily, not about to be pulled into some 'uh-huh/uh-uh' argument, "the point is that you and I should be working out a way to handle this."
"We did. Yesterday."
"What did we work out? That you want to keep our relationship secret and I don't."
"Well, not exactly. I said I want to keep our relationship quiet. But if doing so bothers you so much then we can come clean with everyone. You want to make one announcement to everyone or just inform Sturgis, Harriet, the admiral and the like when the opportunity presents itself?"
Wait a second. Mr. Covert-Op here just wants to inform everyone that we're…he and I are…tell our CO and everybody that…
"Well, I never meant to imply we had to do everything my way," I hasten to add. "All I'm saying is we should come to a compromise."
His face scrunches up in confusion. "I thought that's what we did yesterday," he says in a bewildered voice. "Seriously Mac, I can handle it if you want to let people know about us."
"And you're saying I can't handle it?" I state furiously.
He shrugs. "Well, what are you freaking out about?"
"I'm not freaking out about anything!" I explode.
"You're upset," he notes. I finger my stapler.
"Of course I am!"
"Why?"
"Argghh! Because…because everyone…I don't…arrghh!" I finally spit out.
"You know what I think is the real issue here?" he says, and I can see a smug smile threatening to surface but it's quickly hidden. "I think I know what this is really about."
Oh, Commander Observant has finally got a clue? This should be good.
"Oh, really? Enlighten me."
"You're freaking out about us."
"What?!"
"Yeah, I think that you're finding it difficult to deal with our intimate relationship with regards to our professional one. You always thought it would be me who would freak out and it's not," he says with an air of confidence that makes me wish I had at least grazed him with the stapler. Or the file cabinet.
***********
It's very quiet after I make that declaration. At first she looks like she'd like to take that stapler in her hand and throw it at me, but the expression deflates along with the sentiment and instead she sighs and leans back in her chair. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"Sarah, tell me what's really bothering you," I implore and her eyes flicker up to meet mine, large and brown and teeming with a mix of emotions before she glances down at her lap and bites her lower lip.
She takes another deep breath as though to steel herself, and looks up at me and then at the door, a detached expression replacing the vulnerable look on her face. She gestures to something behind me and I turn and see Sturgis twisting the knob open and standing in the doorway, looking apologetic and mildly curious.
"Sorry to disturb you, colonel, but I need to borrow the commander for a moment, unless…?" he trails off, looking from Mac to me as though either of us will just jump at the chance to inform him that, as a matter of fact, we were in the middle of discussing something of the utmost importance—our romantic relationship in regards to our professional one, and golly, we could sure use a third opinion.
Mac nods as I say, "Yeah, I'll be with you in a minute, Sturg." He nods in reply and takes his leave, closing the door carefully behind him. I turn back to Mac who stares at me with the same blank look as the one she fixed on Sturgis.
Great.
So much for continuing our conversation. I know that look. Sarah MacKenzie has closed the doors for the question and answer session. Anything further will be handled by a representative of the firm. Please direct all questions and comments accordingly.
"We'll finish talking at my place tonight, over dinner," I say, getting to my feet and doing my best to ignore the bones cracking in my spine. Damn office chairs.
I wait for a reply, but the neutral expression never leaves her face. For a moment I think she's going to refuse, but she gives a slight nod instead and says, "Sturgis is waiting."
**********
Before I even reach the door, I detect the faint smells of something heavenly cooking. It immediately sets my mouth watering and my stomach growling, reminding me I worked through lunch.
It also annoys me to no end. Harm obviously is trying to appease my irritation with him by appealing to my voracious appetite.
And dammit, it's working.
I debate about turning around right now and going home (after a quick stop at Beltway Burgers) but ultimately decide it's childish, wouldn't solve anything, and if I didn't show up anyway, Harm would just go looking for me.
Instead I square my shoulders, take a deep breath and rap lightly on the door.
"C'mon in, Mac," I hear him call, his voice sounding muffled by more than the closed door.
Slowly I twist the knob open and step in, taking note of a new set of roses, these a mixture of pink, white and red, a taper candle set on either side before my eyes flicker to Harm who has his head buried in a cookbook.
He looks up when I lay my purse on an uncluttered edge of the counter. "Hey." He leans over the counter to kiss me but I take a seat on the barstool out of reach.
I'm still mad at him. For not taking me seriously, for acting like a jerk all day.
For being right.
That one irritates me the most and even though I know it's not rational or fair, I still blame him.
"What's all this?" I say, indicating dinner and its arrangements.
"Nothing," he replies, hiding his disappointment behind a slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he sighs.
"It doesn't look like nothing."
"Just a little dinner," he insists, returning his attention to the stove.
"Need any help?"
"No, I've got everything under control."
I'll bet you have, I mutter silently, but I leave it at that, knowing that if I say those words this evening will rapidly deteriorate into something we may not be able to recover from.
Silence builds until it feels like it's covering everything with a thick, grimy film. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, I ask, "So what did you want to talk about?"
He glances up at me as he reaches for the pepper grinder and shakes his head. "I guess what's bothering you." He peeks at me from under his lashes and waits for a response.
For a while none is forthcoming. I just watch his long, tan, muscled arm work the grinder, his faded blue jeans acting as his dishtowel as he dusts the fine particles of pepper off his hands onto them.
"You honestly can't guess?" I ask, already knowing he can be as dense as a lead pipe, especially in matters of the heart.
He sighs in exasperation and breathes out a clipped, "No."
"It obviously has something to do with us—our relationship—but I don't know what exactly about that has you so up in arms. It can't all be my whistling, Mac."
I give a short nod of agreement and look down at my clasped hands, tensely arranged in a posture of calm on the glossy countertop. Staring so long at them, I realize I can see just the faintest silhouette of my bowed head in the reflection.
"So you aren't bothered by all the attention at work."
"No, Mac, I'm used to it." He gives me a charming grin. I roll my eyes. "But I take it you're bothered by it."
"Well, yes…a little."
"Hm. Judging by your reaction this afternoon, it seems like it bothers you more than a little."
Astute observation, Commander. "Perhaps."
"So, what, specifically, bothers you?"
I take a deep breath and ponder how to answer this. The truth is I'm not sure really. I mean, there are a few aspects of it the situation that irk me, but the exact reasons why remain difficult to…accept.
The real, honest-to-God-truth is that Harm hit right on the mark when he claimed I couldn't handle our personal relationship together with our professional one.
To admit that, though, takes a bigger marine than I think I can be.
And besides, I think "handle" is an inappropriate way of describing the matter. More like, "take issue".
"Mac?"
"Hm? Oh, yes, well, I guess you can say that I find…that I think our…I take issue," I amend, "with our personal relationship interfering with our professional one." I pat myself mentally on the back. I look defiantly at Harm who has the barest hint of a smirk on his face. I immediately feel a scowl slip across mine.
"So I was right? You can't handle us and work."
I wrestle fiercely with the desire to rip that cookbook out of his hands and slam his face into it and am gratified when I see the self-satisfied look disappear from his face after another glance at me.
"I can handle it just FINE!" I grind out.
He gives me a disbelieving look.
"Wasn't that why you were all up in the air about my whistling? You were afraid that somebody at work would hear me whistling and realize we had slept together."
"So what if I don't want to advertise it! You're right. I don't want anyone to know about us yet. I'm not sure how to handle, okay? Okay? You're right, Harm! You're right. Happy?"
**********
Well, admitting the problem is the first step.
"No, it's not like I've won anything, Mac. I just want to get to the root of what's bothering you so we can do something about it before it messes up everything we have right now." Hmm, damn, that sounded pretty good, Rabb. Why is it I'm suddenly getting better at this relationship thing?
And why isn't it Mac, as it usually is? Did our finally getting together upset the delicate balance of the universe? I'm sure there are many who would argue that case. (I might testify at the trial.)
"I know. I don't know why it's bothering me so much. It just seems like everything is suddenly right there, in your face. Two months ago we weren't even dating. We weren't even contemplating dating. We were still riding along that "just friends" road that we were terrified of turning off from. Now, we spend the night together and work together. That's a huge transition."
"So you think it's moving too fast?"
"Yes…no…I don't know. That's why this is so confusing! In some respects, it doesn't seem like it's too fast. It feels like…finally! But then again, in others, it feels like we're careening down the track, barely able to hold."
Something tells me not to rush on buying that engagement ring. But what's surprising is the disappointment I feel upon that realization. Perhaps I've been driving us too hard too forward too fast. Once I realize something I want, I go after it, and I don't stop for anything until I get it. It's no secret about me.
It's one thing when I'm the only one involved when I apply the Rabb determination, however it's an entirely different story when someone else—and especially Mac—is involved.
Which is not to say I'm gonna quit my objective, just charter a slower, steadier course to the goal.
"We can slow down, take things one day at a time," I say, staring intently into her warm brown eyes. She gives me a crooked smile, which fades after a moment.
"See, I'm not sure if I want to slow down, though." She glances up at me and then down at her hands. "There's this part of me that feels that even if we let up for a second everything we have will be gone." I open my mouth to object but she quickly hurries on, "And then there's this other part of me that knows no matter what happens this time it's going to work for us. We'll be together—we've been through everything together and we're still here, you and I."
A part of me feels that last part may be true, too, but why risk irreparable damage to what often is a very fragile existence together but doing something stupid. Personally, despite my act-first-think-later tendencies, I'd rather not make a hasty move that may come back to haunt me—and our relationship. We make a fine pair, Mac and I—one generally dragging his feet into commitment and the other jumping headlong into one. Somewhere along the line we ought to even out into an acceptable pace.
"Let's just take things one day at a time, one thing at a time, Mac. First up is dinner."
**********
Well, that went…well, I'd say it went as I expected, but I'm not exactly sure what I expected.
Did I expect Harm to be so agreeable and understanding?
Did I want him to be?
What's scary is I don't know.
I'm not quite sure what I want. I mean, I think I do. I'm pretty sure I do.
Christ, it's right here in front of me. I think if I just let things progress how they are, I'd be Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr. by this time next year, but yet suddenly I'm unsure.
I know I want to be Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr. I know I love this man. I know I want to build a family with this man. I know I want to grow old with him.
So why am I hemming and hawing when everything appears to be pointing me that way?
***********