A/N: Yes, people, they had to part. I didn't want them to – I doubted any of you did either – but they had to. If it's any consolation to you – I mentally kicked myself for separating them.
Special thanks to my reviewers: Bite Beccy, Bail's Other Daughter, Steelo, Starryeyes10, Kitty X, martini1988, QueenOfAces, froggy0319, alix33, mjag, moonlight, nursejay80, AnMaDeRoNi, snugglebug, jaggurl, Anne, ficchic, dansingwolf, Radiorox, cbw, wishwaters, Rocket Rain, sgcgirl52, tlk29, JJScottishGirl, Blueangel, aj, French-navy girl, Marge, Jane, Tina Frank, highplainswoman, mac AND harm fan, Ali Baba, super ducky, tumblebuttons, AB, Abigiale, macandharmlover, jazzy, vhosek malacath, your fan (or is it my fan?), Britainy, MartiniMac, HighHeel Shoe Lover, Sirus 745, Fan, Pissed off Poet 1, southernqt, BrittanyLS, sugar230, K, Ilovemyselftoday, eggy weg, xobabygurlxo, Reni-Maniac, Cille, ForensicsFreak1988, HMtogether4ever, and MaritzaCarmichael!
Note: This chapter starts of in Clayton Webb's point of view.
A Worthy Opponent
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
My eyes scanned the room nervously, jumping at every moving shadow.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Vera's to blame for this, I thought to myself ruefully. Her and her enticing smile, her quick of wit, and her ability to make me feel like I'm constantly being watched. Forever followed.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Did she rig this clock to tick loudly? Yes, that's exactly the kind of thing Vera would do. Naïve, simple, but with the enormous capability of driving me absolutely insane. Keeping me awake all night . . . thinking about her. Damn, she's good.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Alright, I can't stand this noise! It's driving me mad – I won't make it through the night. She knows it, she enjoys this. She gets some sort of sick twisted pleasure out of my discomfort. There's only one thing I can do to defend myself. Strike back. I need a plan. I need ammunition. But more importantly – I need to see that little spark of fear enter her eyes when she goes into one on one combat with me. I need to see that dawn of comprehension on her face when she realizes I'm more than a worth opponent – I'm the best damn opponent she'll ever come across.
I get up from my bed soundlessly. Who knows, she's a spook – she has access to bugs. So do I, as a matter of fact . . . hmm, I'm gonna have to do something about that tomorrow.
I walk into my bathroom and turn on a light, blinking a little as I'm blinded for a minute. Turning on the sink (and making sure the water is actually water) I wash my face, splashing the cool liquid on my eyes to refresh myself. It's two am and I feel alive and thriving. I begin my early morning tradition – I take in a mouthful of mouthwash – and then . . .
"OH, MOTHER OF F . . .!" I commence a colossal spitting exercise that envelopes me for several minutes. I'm coughing and blue in the face by the time I've drank half the sink water and am finally drying my mouth. My chest is huffing and I'm practically panting. I twist open the lid of mouthwash and sniff it. It's bright blue – how come I didn't notice that? There's only one liquid I have in the bathroom that's bright blue and that's . . . the toilet bowl cleaner.
I open up the lower cupboard and pull out the bottle of toilet cleaner and stare at the small tube. It's filled with a whitish sort of glue. I sniff it. It smells almost like . . . oh no. I seize my tube of tooth paste lying on the counter and squeeze. Out comes a thick transparent liquid. Had I actually been brushing my teeth, I probably wouldn't have noticed. I touch it and sniff. It's my hair gel. Damn right unbelievable.
I throw down the tube of paste and am about to go march into Azhad's room and tell her what I think of her not-so-practical jokes when I decide – I can get her back. I creep back into my bathroom and grab the tube of "toothpaste". We'll see who'll be smiling in the morning.
I creep down the hall, past the closed door where I can still hear Harm's heavy breathing. He has to be dreaming of Mac. He only breathes like that when he thinks of her. I used to be like that once – but Harm's been like that forever.
I cinch my way down the hall. Is Vera awake – watching me, listening to me? It's official, Clay, that little voice in the back of my mind that always sounds like Mac says, you've gone crazy. My hand freezes on the doorknob. I wouldn't be surprised if Vera had hung a bucket of flour over it to catch me. My breath catches. And slowly, very slowly, I ease the door open. I pause – no bucket of flour, no pail of water – I'm clean and dry.
Feeling a tad more self-confident, I open the door fully and walk in. Moonlight shafts through the slightly open window accompanied by a warm and gentle breeze. You can smell the fragrance of the flowers hanging from the tree outside her window. It's almost soothing.
I take a few steps towards her bed, only a touch bigger than mine, and there is her small body – practically lost in the mess of blankets. I see her auburn hair aflame against the pallor of the pillow and her face buried in the sheets. The moonlight plays against her soft skin and I feel an unexpected emotion come over me. One I can't really place. It couldn't be . . . affection? Her face is relaxed, calm – I never see her this way during the day. And something vibrates in my heart – not hard enough for me to pay any attention to it, but not light enough that I didn't notice it. Sympathy. A little twinge of attracting towards Vera coaxes sympathy out from my heart and to her.
And then I taste it, the thick and rather disturbing taste of toilet bowl cleaner in my mouth and I remember the pain and discomfort she put me through. My right hand grips the tube of gel and I see her beautiful precious locks shining very gently in the shaft of light from her window. But all that comes to my mind is: what a beautiful target.
I walk slowly and quietly to her bed. Vera's breathing, which had been soft and silent, suddenly grows heavy. She gasps slightly and rolls over, burying herself even farther into the quilts. I stop in mid-step, rather confused. She can't know I'm here. And then she rolls over again, her face pressed up against one of her pillows.
She's just not an easy sleeper, I tell myself and I begin to walk again, very slowly and very quietly. I lean over her bed, one hand on the edge of her bed to keep me from falling, and the other holding the tube inches away from the edge of her hair. My hand tips slightly but not enough to coax out the gel.
I stare at Vera. She begins to turn again, she's breathing heavy. And then I hear her, "No, no . . . madre . . . padre!" she's crying. Her voice is small, frantic, nothing like I've ever heard Vera Azhad's tone to be. She rolls over again, fitfully flailing her arms against the pillows. "Mama!" her voice is pleading. "So hot . . . papa!"
My hand leans in a little more. The tube tilts. But I can't will myself to squeeze. This is not the same Vera Azhad that filled my mouthwash bottle with toilet cleaner and my toilet cleaner with toothpaste, and coated my shower towel with green ink. This is . . . an entirely different person.
Vera rolls over again, her body dangerously nearing mine. Her hand flails out and slaps another pillow. She looks like she's going into cardiac arrest. And suddenly I'm really very scared. She's sweating, her face is flushed. "Madre!" she cries suddenly and then I see the smallest slowest little tear run down her face and my heart just goes out to her.
I set the tube down. I draw my hand near her face and slowly I brush away the tear off her cheek. Her breathing is still heavy and irregular, she continues to roll. One of my arms winds itself around her waist, stopping her jerky movement. And almost gently, I ease myself into her bed, drawing her body close with mine.
"Shh," I whispered, stroking the back of her head and laying her head to my chest. And almost surprisingly, her breathing regulated. She burrowed her face into the crook of my neck, laying one hand across my shoulder before falling into a deep sleep. I lay there, surprised by the reaction. I think about the inked towel, and the mouthwash, and the toothpaste, and find myself actually smiling – because sometimes you have to go through hell to reach heaven.
0922
JAG Headquarters
Col. Sarah Mackenzie's Office
"So how was your vacation, ma'am?"
Harriet is bright and chipper this morning. It's killing me.
"Just dandy, Harriet," I reply wearily, resting my head in my hands for a brief moment. "It took me forever to find the right road to Venice, then I only stayed there for a few days before I had to leave and when I left it was raining and then I got sick on the train and . . . oh, my stomach just hasn't been right ever since." I lay a gentle hand to my stomach which promptly shakes beneath my palm. I shudder.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Harriet's genuinely sympathetic. "Well, if it's any consolation to you – Bud and I took the boys to the wading pool at the YMCA – you know, the one for tots. I sat in one of the chairs off to the side with Hallie and Harm, and Jimmy was hollering so Bud bent over to see what the matter was when AJ thought it would be funny to run into him full course. Both he and Bud fell into the deep end of the adult pool. Luckily both of them are good swimmers and they made it out okay. AJ sat with his little feet in the water off to the side shrieking with laughter," Harriet sighed. "I had to wrestle him and the twins over to the chairs so none of them would fall in like Bud and AJ."
"Are they okay?" the apprehension's clear on my face.
Harriet nods. "Thank, god. But they've both come down with pretty bad colds – which is why I'm at the office today. Bud's home with AJ, and I just came by to drop off Bud's finished paperwork." Harriet looks tired and hassled. "Which reminds me, Jen's got the twins . . ."
"Here," I say soothingly, "I'll help you." I watch her drop off a tall stack of files on Tiner's desk while I pick the twins up from Jen. It hasn't been a long time since I saw them last – but it feels like forever.
"Hey, Hallie," I whisper to the only Roberts girl, who gurgles happily within my arms. She's small, but bigger than her twin brother, and today wears a bright pink jumper that only Harriet could have picked out. And suddenly, she starts dissolving into tears. "Oh, okay, you want to be with your mommy?"
Tiner looks at me strangely – not many people have seen the maternal side of me. I bounce Hallie up and down very lightly but no cigar. She keeps wailing her head off. And unfortunately, I'm now beginning to attract attention. Here I am, a colonel in the Marine Corp who can't even hush one crying baby. "Alright," I whisper, bouncing the kid up and down again while rubbing her back. "You can be quiet any time now." Harm looks up at me from his little baby seat.
"Colonel!"
Oh, of course this could only get worse . . .
"Admiral!" I whispered, rocking Hallie back and forth but to no avail. The kid's got a set of lungs on her; she's just proved it to the entire office. I stare at the admiral apologetically. He stands in the middle of the bullpen, his arms folded across his chest and glaring at me. Everyone around him is exchanging nervous glances.
He sighs heavily, "Colonel, you don't hold a screaming baby that way."
"Sir?"
He strode over to me and very gently withdrew Hallie from my arms and held her slanted across his chest, one arm supporting her back while the other was drawn across her middle. He began to tickle her causing Hallie to give off a childish laugh while squirming under the admiral's fingers. It was indeed a very cute sight to see.
He stopped tickling Hallie and then put her gently back into her baby seat next to Harm. I stood rather awkwardly by the side, the pink of embarrassment just beginning to dawn upon my face. "Don't worry, Colonel," he said loudly as he walked back into his office. "You'll learn."
He shut the door behind him with a snap, and almost instantly the office was back to normal again – hectic, chatty, and taking next to no notice of me, though the twins were attracting some attention. I knelt down on the floor and scooped Harm up from his seat. Though I had been meticulously comforted through my time of mourning over Harmon Rabb, this kid – Harm Roberts – had done something no one else could possibly understand. He eased my pain in ways I thought weren't possible. I knew how important the family name was to Harm, how important children were to him – and the mere fact that there was a little boy baring his name made me feel that Harm would live on. How many days had I sat in the Roberts nursery holding little Harmon? I couldn't count.
But there was an uncanny resemblance between Harm Roberts and my flyboy. Little Harm was small for his age – something I doubted stickboy had ever been. But beneath the angel blonde hair that enveloped Harm's head and the undeniable Roberts features that were etched in his face, when I looked inside those bright blue eyes I saw a shadow of someone else. Someone I was all too familiar with.
"Oh, Colonel, thanks for watching them," Harriet appears by my side, scooping little Harm out of my hands and kissing him on the forehead. "I've really got to get going – I left Bud at home with AJ and Jimmy. They've probably tied him up in a closet somewhere."
I smile at her comment and walk her out of the building, waving good-bye to Hallie and Harm as they drove away. And I stand there with a feeling of deep loss growing within me. I'm never going to be able to do that. I'm never going to have children, have a family, the white-picket fenced house. Whatever time I had to make that dream come true, I'd lost. And I'd paid a terrible price for it. Happiness.
I reentered JAG and went back to my office, staring in a rather depressed manner at the large pile of paperwork that awaited me on my desk. And then I ran out, throwing myself into the bathroom and flinging my head over the toilet bowl before I promptly spewed out my breakfast and probably last night's dinner by the magnitude of it all. The taste still lingers in my mouth even after the many cups of water and coffee I'd drank to get rid of it. There's only one thing to do . . . and boy, was I going to regret it later.
Slowly I drag myself up to the admiral's door. Tiner sends me in and before I know it, I'm standing in front of the all-mighty himself. I try not to think of my various habit of performing the sacred ceremony of the Technicolor yawn before and after breakfast as the admiral's eyes just grill me.
"All right, Colonel," he sighs. "Out with it."
My eyes reflect an apologetic glance. "I think I caught something in Italy, sir . . . I'm just not feeling too good." Even as I say that, my stomach does another flip. "I've just not been . . . my best. If I could take the day off to recover, I'd very much appreciate it."
"You're taking a lot of time off, Colonel."
A point very well made. I stare at him almost pleadingly. "I'll make up for all my missed work tomorrow, sir. I really will. I just . . ." my stomach turns within me and I resist the urge to heave again, "I just really can't do it today."
The admiral sighs heavily. "Alright, colonel, I want you to come back when you're feeling better – but I want you to get yourself checked out by a doctor. Now, I don't need to make that an order, do I?" his eyes gaze at me beseechingly.
"No, sir," I replied slowly. "If this gets bad I'll get checked out by a doctor."
"Colonel, you don't want to wait for things to get bad," the Admiral stresses. "You just want them to go the hell away. And I suggest you find out what the problem is immediately."
"Yes, sir," I reply almost robotically.
For a minute I am attacked brutally by the Admiral's piercing gaze before, "Dismissed."
When I get home I change into my favorite pair of pajamas – yes, I still have the cowboy ones – and curl up on my sofa with a light blanket around me, a small bottle of liquid medicine to relieve my upset stomach, and a large bowl by the foot of the couch just incase I don't make it to the bathroom in time (it always pays to make sure).
And very slowly I find myself drifting off into sleep somewhere in between the fourth Bewitched rerun and the second I Dream of Jeanie. When I awoke I wouldn't remember turning off the TV or walking myself to my bed or putting my big just-in-case puking bowl away. But behind that would be a very logical reason: I hadn't done any of those things. Someone else had.
A/N: Yes, I know what you're all thinking – this chapter wasn't the longest either. Oh well, I'm steadily getting better . . . very very steadily. lol. Yes, read, review, be merry! I mean it – the more reviews that I get, the faster and longer chapters you do. Simple concept, pretty sure it's not original. (And by the way – the website tells me how many hits I get per chapter – so I know how many people don't review) lol.
Snugglebug: Yeah, I can't wait till they get back together either (already forming that chapter in my mind . . . lol). But it won't be for a long time, I'm afraid.
Eggyweg: aren't the pranks just hilarious? If you have any suggestions for pranks – let me know, okay? The more creative they are, the better.
Bail's Other Daughter: Reunion! That was the word. Reunition . . . hey, at least I'm creative, right? Boy, I hope my English teacher isn't reading this . . . lol, if you look close enough – you'll probably find some other words I've made up in this story. Word-creating is an all time favorite past time of mine. My favorite made up word: ironicacy. Now, I know you're about to point out that the word would be technically 'irony' but that sounds too painful. It doesn't fit. Ironicacy sounds exactly like it is, just plain ironic.Okay, I'm officially rambling. Thanks for reviewing.
Southernqt: Wow, your coach sounds wise . . . does he/you have any other prank suggestions? I'm open to all kinds – as long as they have the key ingredient: originality. lol, yeah, Vera and Clay when put together are rather like college kids, aren't they?
AB: Ah yes, the Vera and Clay battle . . . a personal favorite of mine. If you have any suggestions for the pranks they pull, feel free to write it in a review or send me an email (address in my profile).
Martini1988: Hey, no problem on the reviewing thing – final exams coming up or something? I had mine – believe me, they put a lot on my mind too. Actually – you could help me in some way. If you have any suggestions for different pranks that Vera and Clay could pull on each other I would be eternally grateful.
Rocket Rain: yes that had to split up – but I'll make them have a nice reunion.
Abigaile: I promise wholeheartedly that there will still be HM romance even though this chapter you didn't really see it. And you'll be surprised but probably happy when you find out where Harm and the crew are moving. (wink)
Starryeyes10: thanks, - do you have any suggestions for Clay/Vera pranks? If so – could you include them in a review or email me (address in profile)? Thanks for reviewing.
Radiorox: I know – I hate splitting Harm and Mac up. And I promise – next time Jake needs drying – I'll send him over to you! Lol, got any ideas for pranks between Vera and Clay? If so – could you include them in a review or email me (address in profile)? Thanx for reviewing, and I can't wait for your new story!
MartizaCarmichael: thanks – if you have any suggestions for Clay/Vera pranks – could you include them in a review or email me (address in profile)? Thanks for reviewing.
Bite Beccy: Oh, wouldn't we all just love if Harm and Mac went off together? – I know I would. Yeah – but they run the risk then of being nailed by an assassin. Such a pity, eh? Oh well, it'll get better for them. I swear on HM shipperiness.
Dansingwolf: ah, well, I was gonna include Mac's endometriosis in it but then never really got around to it so . . . no, not really. But yeah, you're correct. I'm surprised more people didn't guess that she was . . . you know. Oh, and I just love the season 5 finale! I mean, I love some finales more – but still, total chemistry in that episode. And I'm glad you caught the whole 'goodbyes' script I included in the last chap, I don't think many people did!
Angie: ah, Harm'll be alright for now. Hope you like this new chap.
Jaggurl: ah, yes, you're right . . . I'm surprised more people didn't catch onto that. It isn't just wishful thinking on your part . . . (actually it's probably wishful thinking on all our parts . . .) lol
Steelo: hey, you caught up! I'll make the next few chapters really dramatic for you now . . . lol