Heads or Tails

"Harm," she whispers as we exit the Admiral's office. I grin kind of wildly. God, did I have fun in there. And Mac knows it. I also know that Mac's as mad as hell at me for it. But that doesn't bother me. I know my Marine better than anyone and she'll get over it. My Marine's fiery, willful, and, as she just forcefully reminded me as she slams her fist into my arm, very painful.

"Ow . . . Jesus, Mac, what was that for?" I whisper fiercely as we enter the bullpen. I clasp my arm with my other hand in the pretense that it actually hurt. I screw up my face in mock pain and Mac just raises an eyebrow in response. She knows she could never hurt me. I know it too. At least, she can't physically.

"For being a smart ass," she replied and walks ahead of me, into her office. I look around but no one is even looking at us. They're all far too accustomed to us fighting. Even Mac and I have gotten used to it. We don't take it personally anymore. In fact, we sort of enjoy fighting.

I approach her office and lean myself against her door. I really like doing that. Especially against her door. It's just no fun doing it in front of your own, and besides, you don't have anyone to look at. And no one nearly as pretty as Mac.

Did I just think that? Snap out of it flyboy. Or she'll have a real reason to punch you next time.

"Hey, Mac," I say, the words still forming in my mind.

"Yes, Commander," she says, and she doesn't look up from her computer screen, her fingers suddenly zigzagging all over the keyboard. I know she's mad at me, and this time she won't even look up so I can grace her with my smile.

"Look, we're expected in Washington by no later than tomorrow afternoon, so . . . do you want to come over to my house for dinner?"

That gets her eyes unglued from the screen.

"I mean, so I can brief you and everything," I stammer in response to that never ending cocked eyebrow. "The Admiral said that I should brief you and with that mountain of paperwork, we'll never be able to do it at the office."

"It's just a debriefing, Harm," she stated. "It takes less than five minutes." And then she smiles that little devilish smile that goes so well on her face. "I think I can squeeze you in."

"Yeah . . ." I reply. I'm grasping at straws. "But it's better that you at least get a look at the files before we go there. And you've got to agree with me on this one, you've got more than enough files right here."

She exhales slowly and for some reason I'm nervous. I don't know why, it's Mac. I have nothing to be nervous about. But I am and I can only hope to God that it doesn't show.

"Yeah, okay," she replied looking at me. "What time?"

"Say seven," I replied and I unlatch myself from her door.

"Alright," she replies and she flashes me a smile. A smile that's so original it has to be Sarah Mackenzie's.

(Yesterday)

CIA Building

Langley, VA

Clayton Webb sat motionless, staring at the computer screen. The sun filtered in through his window, even though the blinds were closed. The window was fastened securely in place. It was cold outside, too cold for May. They suspected snow that night. But, of course, weather was never the thing on Clayton Webb's mind.

It couldn't be happening. Not again. It was in his past. It had to be. But it wasn't. Webb knew it the second he had set his eyes upon the computer screen. He was back. It was almost impossible, it was against all odds, but despite that, he really was back.

Slowly, he sat up a little in his revolving office chair and propped his feet on his desk, something that he had been doing a lot lately. I'm getting more and more like Rabb everyday. Webb paused and then shivered at the thought.

He calmly reached over and picked up the telephone and punched in the number of Falls Church's Judge Advocate General Corp. "Admiral Chegwidden? Clayton Webb. Listen, I need a favor . . ."

1859

Harm's Apartment

Virginia

"It's open!" Harm called in response to my knock. I push open the door to Harm's apartment to see Harm sprawled on his couch, a pencil tucked onto the top of his ear, and a notepad in one hand and a file in the other. He's wearing a very loose pair of jeans that look great on him and a brown shirt that hugs his form perfectly.

Is it just me or am I getting more into his looks everyday? I look over at Harm and shake my head as if trying to dislodge the thought. Snap out of it, Mackenzie.

"Hey," I pick up my briefcase and walk into the room. I look at him laying the full length of the couch with one leg folded almost femininely on top of the other. I stare at him "Comfortable?"

"Very," he replied and sat up, inching to the other side of the house. "Pizza will be here in fifteen minutes. Half cheese, half meat lovers."

"Sounds good," I reply, and I look at him all the way at the other end of the couch. Why does he have to sit so far away? My eyes pop as I realize what I just thought. Where the hell did that come from?!

"Okay, here's the update on the case," he says and he shuffle his files around in his hands and moves a little closer to me so I can see them.

Very good, Harm.

"Three months ago there was a murder in Kentucky. A Commander William Harrison was murdered just outside his apartment. He was coming home from a night of dancing with his girlfriend when he was stabbed twice and left to die near the dumpsters at the back of the building.

"NCIS was on it, but they failed to uncover any incriminating evidence pointing to any of their possible suspects. Then, three weeks later there was a murder in Detroit. Lieutenant Commander Lyndon Tang was murdered in the early hours of the morning, around one a.m. Two stabs, one in the stomach and one in the heart. Just like Commander Harrison—"

"So, wait a minute," I interjected. Harm looks at me mildly annoyed. He was really getting into the story. "We may have a possible serial killer on the loose?"

"Not may, Mac," he replies, running his hand through his thick black hair. "We do have a serial killer on the loose."

"How many victims?" I ask.

"Ray Baron was murdered just three days ago," Harm continued, leaning back against the couch with an exasperated sigh. "And he was the fifth victim."

"The fifth!" I exclaim, suddenly sitting up. "You mean NCIS can't catch this guy and he's already murdered five people? And what the hell are we doing on this case. This is an NCIS job, if not the FBI."

"NCIS are on the job, as well as a few agents from the FBI. But NCIS requested a few JAGs to help them out, seeing as they're obviously not doing a very good job, as you were so quick to point out," Harm quipped.

"Okay," I replied, my eyes boring holes into the files. "So what are you doing?" I nod towards the note book.

"I was trying to establish a connection between the victims. You know, why the murderer would want to kill them. There has to be some pattern," Harm commented.

"What do you have so far?" I ask and I squirm a little closer so I can see what's written on his notepad.

"They all went to the Naval Academy."

I just stare at him.

"And they were all in the same year. In fact, they all share the same classes."

"Okay, now that is weird," I replied staring at the files again. I look at the description of their years spent at the Naval Academy and I realize Harm's right. "So, that's the pattern. Shouldn't we warn all the others in their year?"

"Yeah, I thought about that," Harm replied. "But some things didn't quite fit. First, there were many people in their year and division, I thought is was highly unlikely that whoever this guy is would try and murder them all—"

"But he's a serial killer," I interrupted once again. "These guys do crazy things."

"For god's sake will you stop interrupting me?" he exclaimed.

"Right, whatever," I reply.

"Anyways," Harm continued. "There was also one person that didn't fit. Petty Officer Jason Young. He was in the same year as the others in the Naval Academy but was in a different division. He was the only exception to the pattern."

"Didn't NCIS figure this all out?"

"They did," he replied casually. "I was just going over it again."

"Well good for you," I said smiling just as the doorbell rang.

Harm got up to answer it, giving me a few precious moments alone with the files. Harm was right. Everything fit . . . except for Petty Officer Young. That was unnerving.

"Maybe he was a mistake," I suggested as Harm sat back down on the couch, placing the pizza box between us. Damn.

"Who was a mistake?"

"Petty Officer Young," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Maybe he was a mistake. No one's immune to mistakes, not even a serial killer."

Harm just shook his head, his mouth full of pizza. "No, Mac. Serial killers are smart. They're smarter than your average person. They plan their moves for weeks, months ahead of their scheduled murder date. They don't just pick the wrong guy. Besides, our serial killer hasn't been caught. You don't just get away with things when you do careless things like kill the wrong guy."

"I know," I replied. "But he could have just killed Petty Officer Young to throw us off his track."

"Look, Mac. You spend weeks, no, months planning your next murder. Do you really go through all that trouble to murder a guy you don't even want to kill?"

I shrug my shoulders. How the hell am I supposed to know how a serial killer thinks?

We talk for a little while longer, we mostly read. I eat my half of the pizza and a little of Harm's. He doesn't mind. I can tell. We're smiling a lot at each other, for no reason in particular.

"Well," I yawn at what my internal clock tells me is ten thirty. "I guess I should probably get going."

Aw, do I have to? my slightly more wild side asks me. And my logical half says yes.

"Right," Harm said and he jumped up to escort me to the door. Such a gentleman.

We open up the door and then, right out the window, we can see snow falling, great truck loads of it, just coming down in one endless curtain of white. We both just stand there and we don't say anything. But we both know what each other is thinking.

"Look, Mac," Harm began, breaking what was becoming uncomfortable silence. "It really isn't safe to drive. You should stay here tonight."

"But Harm," I protest, much too readily in my opinion. "Tomorrow we're leaving and I don't have any of my stuff packed."

"Just bye some stuff in Washington," Harm replied breezily. He's let me in his apartment now. We both realize that this situation isn't going to be resolved quickly. "We both know how much you love to shop."

"That's easy for you to say," I replied with a small smile creeping onto my lips. "You're not on my budget."

"Well, budget or not, you cannot drive on those roads tonight," he replied with way too much finality in his voice.

"Fine," I say with an exasperated sigh but inside I'm doing cartwheels.

"Okay," he nodded. "Here, I'll get you a shirt for you to change into."

"Thanks," I reply as he turns around to go into his room. "And if I could have a blanket for the couch . . ."

He doesn't let me finish. He turns around. "You are not sleeping on the couch."

"Well," I replied skeptically. "It's either you or me and we both know that your couch isn't built for the 6'4 frame."

"Yeah, well, they're not exactly built for overnight comfort," he replied looking straight at me. And what's that in his eyes? Could it possibly be care?

"Point taken," I replied. "But that's neutral." And then I have an idea. "Look, Harm, we could stay here and bicker all night and then neither one of us would use the bed and though that would make it even, we really could find a better solution."

"And I suppose you have one?" He questions, raising his eyebrow.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," I reply and flash a pleased smile. "Let's flip for it."

He opens his mouth to protest but I close it with a glare. "Look, Harm, it's perfectly even this way. A fifty-fifty chance."

For one minute I think he's going to protest anyway but then he shrugs his shoulders and dig a coin out of my pocket.

"Okay, what are you?" I ask as I position it on top of my thumb.

"I'll be tails," he replied.

"Okay, then," I nod and I close my eyes and flip. And the oddest of things happens.

The coin flips up in the air and it lands in perfect vertical position on the floor and it rolls. It rolls and it doesn't stop until it hits one of Harm's dressers and it gets wedged in the space below the legs. It's wedged perfectly straight. Not even a fraction of a millimeter in either direction.

Harm and I just stare at the coin for a moment. He looks at me and then says, "So, what does this mean?"

I look at him and smile. "I think this is God's way of saying that no one's sleeping on the couch tonight."