A/N: Yaaaaay, i've been waiting for eleven chapters to do this. It's a sport I made up, which I'm pretty sure you'll all enjoy. It's called Vuko-bashing. Feel free to play any time you want. :D
Vukowhat
1832
Golden Gate Restaurant
Harm's POV
I sighed slightly, leaning back on my chair. I cast a questioning look at Bud that no doubt read 'Where the hell are they?' Not that I was anxious to see Mac or anything. Nothing of the sort. I mean, sure, the last time I saw her – half an hour ago – she looked incredible. But that's at par. Mac could make a brown paper bag look good if she had the mind to put one on. I shifted almost uncomfortably in my seat. Thinking of Mac like that always had me squirming.
"Are you okay, sir?" Bud looks at me with a flicker of concern notable upon his face.
I sigh heavily. "Fine, Bud." I balance Jimmy on one knee and Nikki on the other. Both are asleep. "It's just that, sometimes – you know – you have to wonder if . . ."
"Harmy!"
I'm cut off in mid-sentence by what I can only describe as an unearthly screech of an abbreviated form of my name which I wish to rot in hell. I turn around in my chair so swiftly, Jimmy almost falls off my knee. I catch him by the arm and push him up at the same time Jean strides through the restaurant, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Hey, honey!" she exclaims, bending down and kissing my cheek. Out of the corner of my eye, I note the fact that Bud's cheeks seem to be rather aflame and that pretty much everyone else in the restaurant is staring at us. "Oh my gosh, and you brought the babies."
She scoops Mitchell out of his carriage, promptly beginning to bounce the once sleeping baby boy up in the air.
"You shouldn't do that," AJ said rather matter-a-fact-ly from his seat at the corner of the table.
"Oh, don't be silly," Jean waves off the seven-year-old's warning airily. "He loves playing with his Aunt Jean."
AJ cocks up an eyebrow and I resist the urge to laugh. AJ Roberts is without a doubt his mother's son. Jean pulls Mitch up into the air, her hands resting under his arm pits and begins to coo. Yes, I mean it, COO. She sounds like a freaking bird. Now, if everyone in the restaurant wasn't staring already, they definitely are now.
"Jean, sweetie," I try to sound as nice as I possibly can as I contain the humiliation that begs to seep into my voice. "Why don't you put Mitchell down? He's not looking too playful at the moment."
And Mitch certainly wasn't. His cheeks were getting all flushed and his face screwed up. I'll be the first to admit that I know next to nothing about babies but when someone pulls that face at ANY age, it surely can't be good. He's a ticking time bomb. We've only got a few seconds left. "Jean, really, I don't think you should –"
"Oh, Harm, don't be silly," Jean retorts airily. "Babies love me."
Mitchell's cheeks turn tomato red. His chin quivers on the point of dropping.
"Jean, please don't –"
"Harm, I know what I'm –"
"Hey, you heard the man," Mac's voice comes out of nowhere as she and Harriet suddenly appear from the corner of the restaurant. And I suppose at some point in time a moderately intelligent word while travel across my brain but at the moment the only thing that's circulating is 'wowweeee'. Mac stands there in a knee-length black skirt and a form fitting black tank-top. It's nothing fancy but dammit I'm hooked. She's let her hair out of its usual military bun and has it done up at the top in clips and a pony tail. Her lips are lined with a very dark shade of lipstick that for some reason make her eyes stand out more than they usually do. Those beautiful almond shaped hues of brown . . .
"Leave the kid alone." My mind snaps back to the present as I watch Mac pull Mitchell out of Jean's grasp. At some point I must have stood up, my arm outstretched in front of me and my mouth open to issue a warning. But it's already too late.
KABOOM!
I can only watch as Mitchell's mouth flies open and this ungodly horrendous liquid spurts out of the opening. It soars through the air, everyone's head simultaneously turns upwards. And then . . . it falls . . .
Jean screeches. I bite my lower lip. AJ clamps his hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing. Jimmy hasn't nearly as much self-restraint as his older brother and erupts into a fit of silent giggles. Harriet's mouth hangs open in a horrified 'O'. I can only describe the scene as absolutely one hundred percent chaotic. Mac just stands there, holding a puke-soaked Mitchell, who follows his eruption by a small baby burp. And as for Mac, it's safe to say that the clothes and hair I was rather impolitely gaping over is covered in thick yellow almost booger-colored liquid that drips from the top of her head and all the way down. Time seems to hang in the air and then –
"Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry," Jean stretches, reaching for a paper towel and futilely trying to mop up the mess but only managing to spread the vomit all over Mac's once perfectly brown hair. Harriet gets up from the table and promptly removes Mitch from Mac's hands. Mac still just stands there as though frozen.
"Come on, ma'am," Harriet prods limply, taking Mac's arm (and grimacing as she did so). "Let's get you cleaned up." She turned to Bud and snapped authoritatively, "take care of your son."
And as Mac followed by her entourage which consisted of Harriet and Renee with their many MANY napkins trailed through the restaurant on their way to the bathroom, hundreds of pairs of eyes followed them, many people attempting to stifle laughs but not succeeding. As soon as they disappeared through the door marked 'Women's Room' Bud got up from his seat, lifting Mitch up with him. "I'm going to . . ." he just gestured towards the bathroom door. I nodded and he departed.
I heaved a sigh and looked at the three Roberts children, who glanced almost innocently back at me. Jimmy was still laughing and now that Mac was gone AJ had officially deemed it appropriate to join his little brother. I looked down at them almost sternly. "Alright, boys, you've had your laugh."
AJ and Jimmy grin very cutely at me and I roll my eyes, casting another long glance at the restroom door. I wonder what Mac's thinking right now . . .
Same time
Same Place
Mac's POV
Oh. My. Freaking. God. Each word I punctuate with a slap to my face to make sure this is real. I am in the ladies' bathroom, my beautiful new clothes and my took-an-hour-to-do hair covered in baby puke. Nope, it did not take a bullet to break me, or a bomb, or a murderous husband, it took one year old Mitchell Roberts. That's right. He can barely walk, has yet to require a vocabulary, and yet he can send a hard core marine (aka, me) running for the hills. Who is this spawn of Satan and where did he come from?
"Oh, ma'am, your shirt's a mess," Harriet practically whimpers, throwing out another wad of puke-soaked paper towels.
"That's not the only thing," Jean adds on, oblivious to the daggered stares Harriet and I keep shooting her way.
"Ugh!" I cry frustrated, peeling off a wad of paper towel that had been placed on my shoulder to absorb the pool of puke. "What am I going to do? I'm not coming out of here looking like this!"
I feel like a total girl. A helpless, pathetic, girl. One that's on the verge of tears because her hair is messed up and clothes dirtied. The idea totally revolted me and yet at the same time I took comfort in the fact from here on out, this evening could not possibly get any worse. Of course, needless to say I will eventually find out how very wrong I am, but just humor me, okay?
"Do you want me to run back to the hotel and bring you a change of clothes?" Harriet asked piteously as it became very obvious that we could not salvage the clothes that I was wearing. Not only was the black stained with random splotches of sickening yellow throw-up, but it was all beginning to smell.
"Oh, Harriet, I couldn't ask you to do that," I said sighing, leaning against the bathroom sink. "It'll be hell trying to find a cab at this time of night. And besides, it'll take you too long."
"But what are YOU going to wear then?" Harriet pointed out, trailing off rather desperately. And oh, she HAD taken a long time getting me ready. She'd done my hair, picked out my outfit, and we had taken forever. I mean that in every sense of the word. There had been blow-drying, curling, make-up, and priming, so much so that it had made my head spin.
"I have no clue," I whined, sliding down so I was sitting on the floor. And then it happened. One slip of the tongue, one moment where I was caught completely off guard by senses. A moment where I forgot Jean was in the room. "What's he gonna say?"
Instantly Jean's all over me with questions. "Ooh, who's HE?" What can I say? I'm stricken by my own stupidity. She clicked her tongue knowingly. "Dressed to impress, huh? Well, if I'd known this was a guy emergency I would have brought this out right away!"
"Brought what out right away?" I asked almost faintly as Jean dug into her large paper bag that she'd entered the restaurant with.
"Let's see, you and I are about the same size, right, Mac?" Jean asked, without looking at me. I suppressed the urge to snort in indignation.
"Yeah, about," I said in a round about sort of way. From behind Jean, Harriet raised her eybrow. I shrugged. Wearing ANYTHING was better than my clothes at the moment. However, as soon as she pulled out what she had intended out of her bag, I once again stand corrected.
"Isn't it just darling?" Jean asked me, pulling out this, though very pretty, very VERY small dress. It was a dark burgundy color, and indeed, really was very pretty. Jean's words played back in my mind like a never ending ticker tape. Dressed to impress. "Here, try it on!" Jean insisted, pushing the dress into my hands. "You're a little taller than me." I freaking dwarfed her. "So it might be a little short, but it's nice." She winked at me, "Especially if you want to impress a guy."
And it was then the guilt started to set in. Pants – I mean, Jean – was an idiot, by any means. She was a complete and utter ditz, but she was nice. And maybe that was what Harm saw in her. Thoughts swarmed through my head as I entered one of the stalls and slipped on the dress. And it was then I realized how much shorter I REALLY was than Jean.
"It doesn't fit," I said immediately, beginning to take off the dress but both Harriet and Jean began to hammer on the door.
"It's going to be a little small," Jean stretched, with what I can imagine was a roll of the eyes. "But I'm sure it'll be fine. Come on out, Mac. Remember, this IS my job."
I sighed reluctantly and pushed the door open. Harriet and Jean just stared at me. And stared. And stared. And stared.
"Ma'am, that's . . ." Harriet trails, looking at me almost impressively.
Horrible? Terrible? Ugly? Grotesque? Revolting? Never-should-be-worn-again-go-hide-your-face-in-a-closet kind of appalling? I walk forward very delicately and shift myself in front of the mirror. And what I see absolutely stuns me. I look good. No, not good – GOOD. The dress hugs my form perfectly and though I must admit, it is cut short – VERY short, it has that almost . . . sexy appeal to it. That kind of dress that you could walk down the street simply strutting, throwing back your hair like all those women on the shampoo commercials do.
"You'll knock 'em dead," Jean grins as she opens up the bathroom door and promptly exits.
I sigh, staring at myself in the mirror again. Jean WAS nice. Nicer than nice . . . perhaps it only was ignorance, she didn't consider me a threat so she gives me a sexy dress and allows me to flaunt myself in front of her boyfriend. Or maybe she KNOWS I'm no threat so therefore does not give a care. Or maybe she really is stupid enough to think it's NOT her boyfriend. But either way, Jean was being charitable, and how could I abuse that kind of kindness by going behind her back and stealing her boyfriend? Stealing Harm?
"You're not having second thoughts, are you, ma'am?" Harriet asks me sort of worriedly. She had done wonderful work repairing my hair after her youngest son had promptly blown her latest work to shambles.
I sighed reluctantly. There was no point in denying it. "Yes, I am . . . she's so nice, Harriet. Once we got to know her."
"I know," Harriet replied quietly. "It almost makes you feel bad."
"Almost?" I snapped back, my eyebrow raised. "That's easy enough for you to say, you're not the one who's trying to seduce her boyfriend."
"Mac, you've got to remained focused, here," Harriet snaps. "Forget about Jean. Can you imagine going back to San Diego and returning to life WITHOUT Harm? Believe it or not, Mac, you HAVE gotten used to having him around. I've seen you these past few days. You were all weird in San Diego because he wasn't there, and now that he is – it's like you've got your roll back. Forget about consequences for once, Mac. Do what's in your heart!"
And with that riling motivational speech, Harriet promptly threw me out of the bathroom.
Five Minutes Earlier
Same Place
Harm's POV
"How's Mac?" I asked the second Jean sat down in the chair.
"She's fine," Jean replied shortly, flashing her dazzling blue eyes up at me adoringly. "I had a spare dress in my bag so that's what she's wearing now. There's some guy that she likes that she's trying to impress so hopefully she'll get good use out of it," Jean grins, much to my horror, "if you know what I mean."
The deaf blind and dumb could know what she meant. Inside I feel myself boiling. Mac trying to impress another guy? Who the hell does she need to impress? Dammit, Sarah Mackenzie was impressive enough without needing to show herself in what is undoubtedly one of Jean's latest skimpy dresses. And who is this . . . guy? Could she have met someone THAT fast? I mean, does she just travel to some . . . country and go eenie meenie miney mo with the first bunch of guys she sees? Doesn't she know that there are dangerous people out there? I mean, she could pick some sort of . . . transvestite killer for all she knows! Who knows what's on his mind? Maybe all he wants to do is get her in bed, or what if he wants to harm her? Has she done DNA checks? Facial recognition scans? Entered his name in the FBI data base? And if she hasn't – I WILL!
"Hey, we're back," Harriet says softly, jogging me out of my murderous reverie. I snap my head in Harriet's direction and find myself almost instantly drowned by the vision of the goddess standing next to her. Out of all the dresses that Jean could have ever given Mac, that was the perfect one. Now, being a man, I know next to nothing about dresses, so the only semi-adequate description I can give you was that if I was turned into a dog right now, at this very moment, I would be slobbering.
"Sorry about keeping you all waiting," Mac apologizes, sitting down across from me giving me a chance to let my eyes wander very innocently over her body. I mean, after all, she WAS sitting right in front of me. Nothing wrong in staring forward.
"So, Mac," Jean piped up, not letting the table rest for a second of silence. "Who's the lucky guy?"
From the corner of my eye, I can see Mac's cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink as I feel something boil within me, my internal green eyed monster rearing its ugly head once more.
"Oh, it's . . ." Mac seems to be stuttering a little, catching Harriet's eye an awful lot. "It's no one you'd know, Jean."
"Nonsense," Jean waved off airily, seemingly missing the message of topic reluctance that Mac was trying to convey. "If he's in London, I know him."
"Well," Mac tries again, fumbling with her words, "he's not really . . . you know, IN London, he's just . . ." she's gesturing a lot with her hands "in London?" she suggested weekly.
"Name," Jean barks demandingly, her eyes shining in excitement. "I know everyone in London."
"But he's not really IN London," Mac persists. "He's . . . well, he travels a lot!" This seems to be a burst of inspiration. "Yeah, he travels A LOT."
"Is he in the NAVY?" Jean asks innocently, as if ever many that travels for his job must be a sailor.
Mac's on a roll here. "Yeah, yeah he's in the Navy. He's just here for a little while . . . yup, he's been all over."
"But what's his name?" Jean persists once more. "You never know, maybe Harm knows him."
Mac spits out the water that she was drinking. "Oh, well, I don't know about that. Harm may know him by name, maybe but . . . well, you can never really –"
"What's his name?" I half-asked/half-shouted, conveniently taking over the role of my girlfriend. My eyes read into Mac's, desperately searching for some clue as to what she's trying to hide.
"He's . . . uh . . ." Mac trails off uncertainly, her eyes flying across the room. And then she lights up, "He's Vukovic!"
HE'S VUKOWHAT! I choke on the water I was attempting to drink, slapping myself forcefully on the back. No, not Vukovic. She's freaking kidding me. I flash her an alarmed look but her eyes are trained on the corner of the restaurant where I see none other than Mr. Mac's-all-over-me striding towards us in a rather stiff formal suit.
"Colonel, Captain, Commander, Lieutenant," Vukovic greets each with the nod of his head. I can only stare at him murderously. THIS is the subject of Mac's affection? This . . . THING? "I trust you're having a pleasant evening."
Pleasant? PLEASANT! Pleasant until you were here. Pleasant until you existed. Pleasant until you condemned this earth with your sliminess and female-attracting Brad Pitt-y hair. PLEASANT MY ASS. "It's fine," I replied stiffly.
Vukovic nods respectfully (read: mockingly of our superior command) and then turns to Mac. "Colonel, you're certainly dressed up for this evening." I see his eyes roam undetectably up and Mac's body. Undetectable to anyone but me. I am the MASTER of checking Mac out without anyone realizing. I RULE that domain, buddy! You can't just . . . come on in because Mac has a little crush on you. Nope, you have to make it through ME first.
I open my mouth to say something but Vukovic beats me to the punch. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you, Ms . . .?" Vukovic trails, extending a hand to Jean who very girlishly colored at his question.
"Harris," Jean answered, flashing a brilliantly flirtatious smile towards the Lieutenant. "Jean Harris. And you must be . . ." Her face screws up in thought. "Vuckovick?"
Vukovic clears his throat politely, though his face flashes with obvious annoyance. "Vukovic."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jean says smiling at him. "But are you here alone?"
"Um, at the present, yes," Vukovic replied formally, now speaking just to Jean. "But I was hoping perhaps to join some table or the other."
Well, newsflash, buddy. THIS IS NOT A BAR! This is a respectable restaurant where snotty nosed little boys do not run around trying to sidle up to random women at tables! In case your tiny mind was unable to comprehend vocabulary of such high caliber, translation: GO AWAY.
"Well, come sit with us!" Jean invites with a welcoming throw of her hand. And out of the corner of my eye I can see Mac wince, though however faintly. Is it even remotely possible that she feels a tiny fraction of the absolute vulgarity that is my feelings towards Vukovic? But how could she? She LIKES the man!
Vukovic moves to sit between Bud and I over at the men's side of the table but Jean practically drags him away and shoves him into a chair beside. Oh no, not happening, pal . . . I squeeze a chair in between Vukovic and Mac, literally shoving everyone else at the table one seat over. Somewhere Mitchell squeals because of the movement but who cares? The kid's caused enough trouble for one day. Let HIM be on the receiving side.
"Harm, what are you doing?" Jean whispered fervently, as Vukovic turned around to call the waiter for more drinks. "Let him and Mac sit together."
"Jean, honey, I just want to get to know the lieutenant first," I said, smiling sickeningly sweet. Beside me I feel Mac bristle as she cocks her eyebrow up. I ignore her unspoken question. This is for the better. I don't want to have some . . . lieutenant, getting close to my Marine, not if I haven't checked him out first. Besides, she's his Commanding Officer! This is WRONG. Why can't she see it this way? Why can't ANYONE see it this way? Harriet hasn't said boo about it! Harriet! That can only mean one thing. SHE KNOWS. She's known before Mac slipped it at the table and if she hasn't argued, that means she supports her. And why hasn't Bud said anything? At least tried to talk Harriet out of agreeing with Mac about it! WHY AM I SO ALONE!
"So, Lieutenant . . ." I trail, as another round of drinks are passed to our table and we finish ordering our meals. "Tell me, what are your ambitions in life?"
From somewhere beside me I feel Mac roll her eyes. I don't need to SEE her do it; I know Mac's body language too well for that. Well, roll your eyes all you want, Marine. I'm doing this for your sake. We'll see who has the last laugh if he DOES turn out to be that transvestite killer that the London police have been talking about.
"Well, I do plan on staying with the JAG Corps," Vukovic said rather dully. I mean, of course he did. He WAS in the JAG Corps. I mean, what kind of idiot would switch careers when walking upon a promising path? Well, sure, there was . . . me. But Vukovic's nothing like me! In no aspect on this PLANET is Vukovic ANYTHING like ME! "I plan on becoming, you know, the JAG in a few years."
Somewhere inside me a deep chuckle emerges. "The JAG, huh?"
Vukovic shifts a little in his seat, almost uncomfortably. Yes, squirm, Slime Boy, squirm. "Yes, sir. That's correct."
"Well, it'll take more than a few years," I ploughed on, ignoring the stares of 'drop the conversation' that I was getting from people all around the table. "It'll take many years, lots of determination, hard work, and unflawed talent." I look Vukovic square in the eye. "And you think you've got what it takes?"
Vukovic reflects my gaze coolly. "No, sir." I blink. "I know I have what it takes."
Cocky arrogant little son of a . . . my thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of our food. I spend all dinner time brooding while others engage in typical supper-time conversation. Gossip over celebrities, the informal but semi-boring discussion over today's conference, a little bit of entertainment from the Roberts children as they add tidbits into the conversation, but all the while I just sit there staring at Vukovic – the man that crashed threw my life and blew it to pieces. Is that why Mac rejected my marriage proposal? DID SHE HAVE FEELINGS FOR VUKOVIC? The though sickens me right to the core.
"Well, that was a good meal," Bud said warmly, having not said much in the conversation. He balances Nikki on his lap as she slowly but steadily begins to drift off to sleep. My eyes linger on her for a little while. How small and adorable she is. Her bright blue eyes and straw blonde hair. She looks a lot like Harriet but yet retains detectable Bud-like features. She's almost identical to Mitchell, who favors his mother just a little more. I hope I have some like that. Kids, I mean. Sure, they're mischievous, and tiring, and cause general mayhem, but at the end of the day when you turn out the lights – they're good to have around.
Somewhere in the background, music starts playing as the tables are all cleared away and the floor opens up for dancing. They do this every Friday night. It's kind of nice to watch, sometimes. It's nothing fancy or anything. Just a bunch of people having a little good old fashioned fun. I brought Jean here on our first date. We danced, laughed, had good fun. But Jean's the farthest thing from my mind at the moment.
"Care to dance, Colonel?" Vukovic's eyes flash with ulterior-motivated emotion. I move forward to intervene but I catch a stern glare from Jean sitting three seats away and I hesitate slightly at the same time Mac says,
"Um, maybe some other time, Lieutenant. I'm not really in a dancing mood."
To say I'm relieved is an understatement.
"Hey, Harm, why don't we dance?" I look over at Jean who grins up at me innocently, batting those baby blues of hers. "Yes, this is good music. Let's dance."
And without a word of consent on my part she drags me onto the dance floor. Wrapping one arm around my shoulder and the other ties into my hand we sway almost effortlessly into the motion. I glance down at Jean but she's not even LOOKING at me, she's staring off at the table where Mac and Vukovic are talking as well as Harriet and Bud.
"Jean, why are we –" I begin but Jean cuts me off with a 'shh!'
"Look, if we're dancing then maybe Vukovic and Mac will too," Jean's whisper is insistent. For a split second I'm hurt that we're not dancing because she actually wants to dance with me, but almost immediately that emotion is replaced by one of strong intervention. Over my dead body, will Mac and Vukovic amount to anything. It's not that, you know . . . like I'm jealous or something preposterous like that. No . . . I'm just looking out for . . . my friend.
Same Time
Same Place
Mac's POV
Look at him standing there, dancing with her. God, he looks good. I mean, come on – why did god put me on this earth? Was it only to taunt me? To throw me around just for his own amusement? All the men that are interested in me turn out to be murderous jerks, and all the ones – ahem, one – that I'm interested in happens to be the greatest, nicest, hottest guy ever – and of course he has a girlfriend. I mean, it's gotten to the point where irony is non-existent. Nope, somewhere up there someone's having a lot of fun playing with my life. And when I meet him when I'm old and wrinkled and my trip to the heavens has been long past it's due date, I'll punch him right between the eyes.
"They look like they're having fun," Vukovic said bluntly, taking a long sip of his drink. My gaze flickers back to Vukovic for a split second before returning to Harm. I hadn't realized I'd been so blatantly staring.
"Yeah, I guess," I replied shortly. Harm was a topic that I definitely did NOT want to get into with Vukovic.
"You've known the Captain for a long time?" Vukovic asked as I reluctantly pulled my stare away from Harm. Harriet and Bud had just gotten up to dance leaving Vukovic alone with the Roberts children, three of which were already asleep.
"Uh, yeah, a while," I said with an attempted non-commentarial voice but of course, Vukovic could not pick up at such subliminal hints. He cocks his eyebrow up. "Ten years," I elaborated.
Vukovic whistles low under his breath. "Wow, I had no idea you were that ol –"
My head snaps in his direction, my glare as hot and pointed as a laser beam. Vukovic falters. My head turns back to the dance floor, as Jean pulls Harm into an exceptionally close embrace while dancing. Somewhere down at the pit of my stomach, I'm internally heaving.
"Ma'am, I know you don't want to dance but . . ." Vukovic trails, extending me a hand, "would you do me the pleasure of just one?"
For once in his short little lifetime, he actually sounds sincere. My mouth opens to decline but just at that particular moment I see Jean shift to her tippy-toes and kiss Harm on the lips. And something inside me – that little twig built of all my ethics – just snaps.
"Sure," I said with such force I surprised myself. Clearly I surprised Vukovic too. I guess he's just used to shooting for women that are clearly out of his league. I grab his arm and in a breech of every moral rule that I stand by, I DANCE with Vukovic. Yes, Lieutenant Greg Vukovic, the one that I sit all day on my ass complaining about to anyone who will listen. THAT Vukovic. I look over at Harm and am suddenly pleased to find that he and Jean are no longer dancing. In fact, Jean's no where in sight and Harm's sitting back at the table with AJ, Jimmy, and the twins. Maybe I'll go join him . . .
"Well, it's been nice, Lieutenant," I said, as the song ended, pulling away from him but suddenly he grabs me closer, pulling my arms to his.
"Oh, come on, ma'am. One more song." His voice is suddenly both low and husky, his dark eyes falling upon me almost dangerously. And suddenly I feel something shoot through my body. A pang of . . . fear?
"No, thank you, Lieutenant," I said, my voice suddenly hard. I pulled away from him but he just grabbed onto my wrist, twisting me to face him. "Lieutenant," I snapped.
"One more dance," he whispered. His voice wasd now thick, urgent, and with both arms he pulled me to him with surprising strength. "Then I'll let you go."
"Lieutenant!" I felt my left arm suddenly soar up, myopen hand flyingout to hit him with all my Marine brute force but someone beats me to the punch. Quite literally.
Vukovic falters as he stumbles backwards, Harm's fist having connected heavily with his jaw. But the only thing I see is Harm standing there, his hair slightly out of place, and his blue eyes shining with an animalistic ferocity. One arm snakes around my waist as he pulls me closer, glaring at Vukovic whose cheeks are steadily turning pink.
"Harm," I whispered incessantly, staring at him though our eyes would not connect. "Harm, just leave him alone. He's learned his lesson." Harm's glare would not be removed. "Come on, Harm. Just leave him." By this time I'm literally dragging him to follow me. "Harm, he's an idiot, just leave it be."
"How could you let him hold you like that?" Harm suddenly snaps as soon as we exited the room and into the bathroom hallway. "Does Okinawa mean nothing to you?"
It takes me a moment to realize what's he's talking about and by then anger has seeped into my voice. "Harm, nothing was going to happen between me and Vukovic! Nothing ever WILL happen between the two of us. He's a jerk!"
"Then how come you like him?" Harm hollers back, scaring off some poor old lady who was about to enter the bathroom but suddenly thought better of it. "How come you're all . . ." he waves with his hands at the dress, "you know. No man on this EARTH could resist you, Mac. Why Vukovic!"
My jaw just simply drops. No man on this earth could resist you . . . does that mean what I think it means? Please, GOD, let it mean what I think it means. What I hope it means. He has a girlfriend, that nasty little voice at the back of my mind says. He just doesn't want you with Vukovic. But why? Because Vukovic's scum. Valid point.
"Look, Mac, you could easily have anyone you want," Harm said, his sky blue eyes falling compassionately upon my chocolate ones. "I just don't see why you'd want to waste those kinds of feelings on . . ." He can't even says his name. "Ugh!"
"Harm," I said softly, trying to shut him up. "I'm not in love with Vukovic."
"I mean, come on, Mac," Harm says, as though deaf to what I just said. "He's junior to you. If you had to find an officer, couldn't you find one the same rank as you at least? Or . . ." He stops in mid-sentence. "Did you say you're not in love with Vukovic?"
"Yes," I said quickly, wishing desperately for him to finish the other sentence. "Or what?" I prod, my heart suddenly frozen in mid-beat.
"You're not?" Harm asked, deaf to my question.
"No," I said, rolling my eyes. "Or what?"
Harm ignores my last comment. "Then why were you dancing with him?"
"Ugh, I don't know, Harm," I pressed, lying quickly. "Can we just forget about that for a moment?"
"But –"
"Harm."
Harm sighs reluctantly, grinning at me slightly. "But you don't love Vukovic."
"No, I don't," I replied confidently, staring once more into his eyes. We become quiet for a moment, and then –
"Hey, Mac, do you want to dance?"
It's possibly the simplest purest question he could have asked right then and there. I just grinned in response as we exited the bathroom hallway and walked onto the dance floor again. I put one hand on his shoulder as he places his on my waist, and we swayed almost effortlessly to the faint background music. You and Me by Lifehouse starts to play.
"So, I've been meaning to ask you," Harm said quietly as we danced quietly, the background music suddenly paling in comparison to the strength of his voice. "What do you think of Jean?"
I hesitate, my voice getting caught up in my throat. Dimly at the back of my mind, that nasty little voice says 'this is your chance. This is your one shot. Don't screw it up.' But instead, the next words tumbling out of my mouth are, "I think she's nice, Harm."
"Really?" Harm's voice has never seemed so innocent of well-intentioned before. I'm suddenly overpoweringly struck by how soft his voice is and how bright his eyes are. Oh god, why does this have to happen to me now?
"Yeah, I replied softly, not meeting his eyes. "She's good for you."
The music's carrying us away. Harm exhales deeply, resting his head on my forehead. "What are we doing here, Mac?" he whispered softly.
"What do you mean?" I asked, looking up at him suddenly.
"I mean, we're not getting any younger," Harm said, his voice suddenly deep. "And, well, when you look at Harriet and Bud and their family and . . . it just suddenly hits you how much you're missing."
"I know," I whispered in return, turning to take a look at Bud and Harriet who had their oldest sons sleeping on their laps. I smiled sadly and turned back to Harm. "Hey, you'll have that one day."
"Maybe," Harm whispered faintly, his blue eyes taking on a rather foreign emotion. "Hopefully."
"Definitely," I rebutted. "Harm, you're going to be a wonderful father some day. And when that day comes, you'll never have another shadow of doubt."
Harm grinned. "Have I told you yet how glad I am to have you here?"he whispered, flashing me the infamous flyboy grin.
"I think you might have mentioned it once or twice," I smiled back, the world around us melting away.
The lyrics of the song hover in the air. They're deep
"Well, I really am," Harm whispered softly. "I'm so glad you came."
I feel tears stinging the back of my eyes but I don't let them through. He's off limits. He's got a girlfriend. From here on out he's JUST your friend. "Well, I'm really glad I came."
Same Time
Same Place
The Admiral leaned over at the counter, crossing his arms authoritatively over his chest. "We did pretty good with them, didn't we?" he asked, his nod motioning to Harm and Mac dancing in the center of the floor.
"Not too shabby," General Cresswell agreed, taking a long swig of beer. "You know, for a couple of old geezers like us."
The Admiral laughed heartily. "You know, I'm appreciative for the time I spent with them. But," he grinned, "I think I'm more appreciative of the fact that you've got the hard times to come."
The General's eyebrow rose, "the hard times?"
The Admiral nodded, motioning at Jean who stood silently in the corner, her dark blue eyes focused on Harm and Mac in their dance-related proximity, with an expression of shrewdness that only a distressed woman could posses. "Hard times."
Five minutes later
Women's Bathroom
Mac's POV
I turn off the tap and pull out a paper towel from the bin on the wall just as Jean walks in. "Hey," I greeted rather warmly. "Thanks so much for the dress. Honestly, you're a life saver. Um, I'll just head back to the hotel now and if we can meet up tomorrow then I'll give you back your dress."
I move to open the door but suddenly a very small angry blonde is blocking the doorway. Jean crosses her arms over her chest and juts out her hip. "I know what you're doing." Her eyes meet mine squarely. "And I'm not going to let you do it."
"Please, I have no idea what you're talking about," I said briskly, trying to push past her but inside I'm panicking. Suddenly this isn't the Jean that I thought I knew, the stupid ditzy pushover. No, it's like as if some monster has been unleashed with in her. She's . . . shrewder.
"That "man" you were trying to impress," Jean sneered sarcastically, using her fingers as quotations, "wouldn't happen to be my boyfriend, would it?"
"Jean, don't be silly," I stressed, turning away suddenly. Come on, you can do this. You've lied before . . . hell, you used to make a career out of it. This is NO BIG DEAL. "I told you, it's Vukovic."
"You mean Greg?" Jean asks, her eyebrow shooting up. Suddenly her voice that usually ranged between the high and the shrill was now low and . . . well, creepy. "Yeah, see – while you were dancing with Harm, me and Greg got to talking, and he thought it was very funny that you should be attracted to him considering the fact that you spend most of your days thoroughly despising each other." Jean's voice is cold and her eyes are narrow. "Or so the story goes."
"You told Vukovic I was attracted to him!" my voice is desperate and panicked.
"Oh, no," Jean drawls. "Now, that would be mean. Almost as mean as stealing someone's boyfriend." She glares coldly at me. "No, he just told me about the office, and about you." Her voice is suddenly chilling. "So take this as a warning. Lay off Harm," she pointed her finger at me, "and you won't get hurt."
"And I'm warning you," I replied, my temper rising, "don't mess with a marine."
Jean laughs shrilly. "Do you honestly think you can compete with me? Newsflash," she said coldly, her dark eyes boring into me like lasers, "men don't look at you twice. I mean, why would they?" she gestures at my body with her hands, "you can't even fill out a dress."
That very feminine part of my mind, the one that craves Godiva chocolates and luxurious bubble baths says, 'Oh, no, you didn't.' "Excuse me?"
Jean gestures at my body. "You don't have an ass."
To say I'm thrown is an understatement. "At least I don't have a fat ass."
Weak comeback, I know, but you have to understand – I was fighting with Pants. She'll rebut anything I say. But then again, that nasty little voice reminded me. You thought she was a complete ditz too . . .
Jean walks up to me and I'm left to look into her cool dark eyes. "Try all you want, Mackenzie. Harm's mine."
And never have I heard more challenging or stimulating words.
To: Harriet Sims (ih8barney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
From: Sarah Mackenzie (sarah(dot)mackenzie(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Subject: so you say you snagged bud
Harriet, we are taking this full throttle. I don't care how much it costs, how painful it is, but Pants is going soooo down. She'll be dirty laundry by the time we're through with her. The kind that you sell for a nickel on the streets. You snagged Bud, you have experience. Meet me in my room at 0630.
We need a strategy.
Mac
A/N: Jeezus, I'm running out of polls to come up with for you guys. Mwahahahahah (apparently the laugh's becoming some kind of signature for me, so now I feel obligated to include it in every chapter). Okay, here we go (keep in mind i'm suffering from lack of inspiration at the moment). While Harm and Mac were dancing I had 'You and Me' by Lifehouse playing. What song would you guys rather have play? Please Vote (AND if you like You and Me, vote for that. Makes me feel good. :D) . . . Whoa, lotta brackets.