A/N: Sorry, guys, I had a hard time finding which computer I stored this chapter in. That's why it took so long.
Let 'em Look
Mac'n'cheese: Harriet, are you there?
mutheruv4: Mac, it's two in the morning – why are you online?
Mac'n'cheese: I can't sleep
mutheruv4: well boo for you, I'm tired.
Mac'n'cheese: Ah, Harriet, you know you can't sleep anyway. AJ snores too loudly.
mutheruv4: that doesn't stop everyone else from sleeping. Except for . . .
Mac'n'cheese: John Number 3, I know
mutheruv4: well, anyways, you don't have an insomniac husband and four snoring, sleep-talking/walking children. How come you're up?
Mac'n'cheese: I can't get him out of my mind, Harriet! Every time I shut my eyes I see him dancing with her and it just makes me want to hurl like your son did ever so charmingly on me at dinner.
mutheruv4: Him as in . . . Harm?
Mac'n'cheese: No, I mean Vukovic . . . of course Harm!
mutheruv4: Mac, how much does it take to learn that talking about Vukovic that way is not a joke?
Mac'n'cheese: I think I learned my lesson last night, thank you very much.
mutheruv4: It was sooooooo romantic how Harm hit him.
Mac'n'cheese: Oh yes, Vukovic with a bloody nose – that's the picture I want on my Valentine's Day card.
mutheruv4: Mac
Mac'n'cheese: Look, never mind, Harriet. I'm sorry I woke you up. Go back to bed – we've got to be up early tomorrow anyway.
mutheruv4: Remind me why again?
Mac'n'cheese: I told you about Pants!
mutheruv4: oh, so we're back to calling her that again, are we? What happened to 'Harriet, that's terrible of you. Do you know how much trouble we would be in if Harm found out? Her name is Jean, not Pants!'
Mac'n'cheese: well . . . things were different back then . . .
mutheruv4: how so?
Mac'n'cheese: I'd known the woman for less than an hour. It was common courtesy to be polite.
mutheruv4: and now?
Mac'n'cheese: she's going down.
mutheruv4: that's the spirit . . . oh, Mitchell's crying again and . . . he's waking Nikki up. Mac, do you mind doing me a tremendous favor?
Mac'n'cheese: sure, Harriet, no problem?
mutheruv4: Could I run Mitchell over? He can't sleep with AJ in the same room and he's waking up Nikki. Would you mind terribly? I'll come get him in the morning and if he starts acting up I'll come get him. It's just . . . none of us can get any sleep. And he'll be quieter where there's no snoring.
Mac'n'cheese: oh no, it's not a problem. Bring him over.
mutheruv4: Thanks, you're the best. I'll see you . . . tomorrow morning?
Mac'n'cheese: Yup, we gotta discuss tactics.
mutheruv4: okay, see you in a few seconds, your number's 204, right?
Mac'n'cheese: Yup
mutheruv4: Okay, and remember if he's any trouble . . .
Mac'n'cheese: I know, I know, call you.
mutheruv4 has logged off
Mac'n'cheese has logged off
0214
Mac's Room
Mac's POV
"Hmm, okay, which is worse . . ." I trailed, flipping through a magazine while balancing Mitchell Roberts beside me on the bed. "A) Getting your tongue stuck on a pole or B) getting your head stuck in a bucket?"
I pause, the question stumping me for a minute. On one hand, if my tongue was stuck to a pole, then most likely it was because of the cold, and therefore I would be standing out in the cold with my tongue frozen to a pole. Now, with my head stuck in a bucket, the weather at least would not be against me, though I wouldn't be able to see . . . "What do you think, Mitch?" I asked, as though it was perfectly sensible to be consulting a one-and-a-half year-old.
Mitchell gurgled happily at me, rubbing his eyes with his tiny hands. He snuggled in closer to me on the bed and I wrapped one arm around him as I circled A. Tongue stuck on a pole was definitely worse. That would be actual physical pain.
"Which is worse, being in a dark scary room alone, or being in a well-lit room with Michael Jackson?" The question horrifies me to the core. "Well-lit room with Michael Jackson, well-lit room with Michael Jackson," I repeated very quickly, circling B.
"Which is worse, having your boyfriend tell you he's cheating on you with your sister, or having your best friend tell you that your boyfriend's been cheating on you with her?" I looked down at Mitchell, who stared up at me in return with big shining blue eyes. "Well, I know what you want me to pick," I muttered, ruffling the kid's head. "And seeing as I don't have a sister, I'll have to go with B."
"Which is worse, having a guy tell you he loves you and not mean it, or having a guy tell you he loves you and then take it back?" My voice dampens to a quiet. Mitchell squirms beside me, accustomed to my voice now. In the back of my mind pictures of Harm flash through my mind, the night on the ferry in Sydney Harbor, the night on the dock at the death of Diane's murderer, that night on the Admiral's porch, the night in Paraguay, and finally the night that year ago where he proposed. And my rejection fell hollow within my ears.
"Oh, who needs that question?" I replied, running my pen through the question as a 'non-answer'. "I mean, it's just stupid. No one needs to answer to that. There's no right answer, Mitch. No right answer." I looked down at the infant who squirmed beneath the bed sheets. "See, you're going to be confronted with a lot of questions in your life that won't be solved. That can't be solved. And it just won't due for you to waste your life away on something that'll only bring you pain." My voice draws to an almost deadening halt. "Even if the prize is so exotic that half the time it keeps you from seeing risk."
I suck in a long breath, "Anyways, next question. Which is worse . . ." and then I stop, as my eyes meet the words printed in front of them, "breaking someone's heart, or having your heart broken?"
My fingers run over the magazine page, as the question replays in my mind over and over and over again. Did these damn journalists know what thoughts and feelings they were provoking by asking these kinds of questions? Of course they didn't. They couldn't. Otherwise they would never have printed the damn thing.
Breaking someone's heart . . .
'Don't think about Harm,' I silently willed. 'Do NOT think about Harm. He has nothing to do with this. No . . . don't think about him.' And suddenly that look in his eyes when we were in Paraguay, that moment when I told him we could never be together loomed before me, resulting in my heart panging painfully within my chest.
Having your heart broken . . .
I thought about that night that Mic left me, the emotional wreck I was, and how desperately I was yearning for comfort, for someone to hold me, for someone to tell me it was alright. And then Harm . . . he was a relief, a savior, and that moment when he closed the door, he shut out everything that would have been, that could have been. And as I sat there on the bed, the young Roberts kid drowning in the sheets beside me, I could have sworn I felt the rain on my face – the liquid bullets that shot down from the sky as I stood out there on the pavement watching Harm embrace Renee, watching her get everything that I so wanted. The comfort, the end to the pain . . .
Don't think about Harm! I mentally screamed, flipping shut the useless magazine and throwing into the arm chair across the room. Great load of laughs that was. Beside me, Mitchell stretches his arm up and touches his hand to my face, smiling at the same time. I grin back at him, scooping him up into my arms as I walk out onto the little balcony.
"See, Mitch, I've made a lot of mistakes in my life," I said slowly, holding the little boy closely as we stared out into the vast darkness of night, studded by the bright London Lights. "A lot of really stupid mistakes. I've pushed people away when I wanted to bring them closer. And I brought people closer whom it would have been better to push away."
I smiled sadly at him, lifting him up a little higher to hold. "And years from now you're not going to remember standing out here with me, looking at the lights and the city." I ruffled his angel blonde hair knowingly. "You probably won't even remember being in London at all. But I want you to know," I said, tapping him lightly on the nose, "that I'll always remember talking to you like this." I grinned at him. "Partially because you don't know how to talk yet, and you can't spill the beans on me like you brother."
Setting him down, I steered Mitchell off the porch, shutting the door firmly behind me before I tossed him into bed, him shrieking with laughter as I did so. And I grinned at him as I caught one last sight of his face before I turned out the lights – his eyes already shut from his lost battle with slumber, and his angelic features already at peace with the world.
"I love you kid," I whispered and then promptly fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
To: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Harmon Rabb (harmon(dot)rabb(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Subject: Mac
Where is she? Wasn't she supposed to have met us down here five minutes ago?
Harm
To: Harmon Rabb (harmon(dot)rabb(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Re: Mac
Harriet said Mac didn't get much sleep last night. Mitch slept in her room last night. Anyways, Harm – could you meet me for lunch today? There's um, something I need to tell you. Or talk to you about. Actually, two things really, but I can't say them over . . . never mind, meet me for lunch, okay?
Bud
To: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Harmon Rabb (harmon(dot)rabb(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Re: Mac
Sure, buddy. But look, I'm gonna head up to Mac's room and maybe help out with the kid. Maybe Mitch is holding her up or something. Then we can all head to breakfast. Room 205, right?
Harm
To: Harmon Rabb (harmon(dot)rabb(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Re: Mac
Yeah, I think so – but remember on lunch, okay? And let's um . . . can we not bring the women with us? I kind of need to talk to you . . . man to man.
Bud
To: Harriet Sims (ih8barney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
From: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Subject: Mac
Hey Honey,
Harm just left to go check in on Mitch and Mac. Say, how come you didn't go over to Mac's room this morning like you said you would last night?
Bud
To: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Harriet Sims (ih8barney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
Re: Mac
Well, I was going to go over but I just wanted to call first to make sure that Mitch was doing alright and she was out like a light. And I know she didn't sleep much last night so I thought it was best that we talk in the morning. I mean, we'll have tons of time. The General's giving a lecture this morning, isn't he?
Harriet
To: Harriet Sims (ih8barney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
From: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Re: Mac
Hate to break it to you, Harriet, but the seminar the General's giving is on filing. Don't you think you should pay attention? And why IS our son sleeping in Mac's room anyway?
Bud
To: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Harriet Sims (ih8barney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
Re: Mac
He couldn't get through your and AJ's snoring and he was waking Nikki so I asked Mac if she could keep him the night and she didn't mind. And I WILL be listening to the seminar, thank you very much. But being a member of the feminine species, I come with the wonderful ability of multitasking, thank you very much.
Harriet
To: Harriet Sims (ih8barney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
From: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Re: Mac
Were we really snoring that loudly?
To: Bud Roberts (bud(dot)roberts(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Harriet Sims (ih8barney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
Re: Mac
You were a buzz saw, Dear.
0823
Hotel Corridor
Harm's POV
I won't deny the fact that I've now become a tad worried. Not that there's any REASON to be worried. I mean, Mac's running eight minutes late. So what? The world isn't over. Nope, I'm at ease with the world. Mac doesn't love Vukovic. In fact, she doesn't even seem to like him. This is just another lesson for us males that if you really are a terrible dancer, women can drop you like flies. Thank the lord I'm domesticated.
I approach Room 205 feeling a little groggy from last night. No, I didn't get much sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess. I lay my hand on the door knob and just as I'm about to turn it, I hear noises. At first, I'm sort of puzzled. I pause in the middle of my attempt to open the door. I listen again and sure enough, the noise resounds once more. And let's just put it this way, it was a REALLY content kind of noise.
I withdraw my hand in absolute disgust. No, it can't be . . . THOSE kinds of noises. Who would Mac be making . . . THOSE kinds of noises with? No, I must have the wrong room. 205 . . . but Bud confirmed it! But no, this couldn't be Mac . . . it couldn't be! Then Bud's words resound in my ears 'Mac didn't get much sleep last night . . .' No, it couldn't be Mac in there. For one, she has no one to make THOSE noises with except for . . .
NO! I scream both mentally and emotionally, my hand once again clamped against the doorknob. But I can't go in there . . . I can't . . . even if it's to save her career? Sure, there's a great excuse. Mac won't buy it though . . . my godson! Mitchell Roberts is in there! How CAN Mac do those . . . things, with our godson in the same room? He may only be a baby but he will be scarred FOR LIFE.
And so in that paralyzing moment, I made a split second decision. Backing up, I charged forward, throwing open the door and running full speed ahead into a completely wrong room. For had my eyes traveled off the door knob, and about thirty inches north, they would have read the 'SAUNA STEAM ROOM' sign.
Same Time
Room 204
Mac's POV
I'm running late. The incredulity of that statement strikes me very harshly. I'm actually late. And if this world will turn on me (like it usually does) and become unfathomably cruel (like always) then Harm's probably on time (for once).
"And look at you," I said to Mitch, as I touched up my make up in front of the mirror, straightening my uniform at the same time. "You're still in your pajamas."
Mitchell stared up at me with his big blue eyes in non-communicative response.
"Well, at least one of us has the energy to keep their eyes open, neither one of us got much sleep last night," I muttered, picking up Mitch in an attempt to brush his rather long blonde hair.
Same Time
Room 205
Harm's POV
White . . . smoke . . . unbearable heat . . . what the hell?
I stumble through the room, my hands flying out ahead of me to keep me from hitting something. It's impossible to see. This can't be Mac's room . . . I've got the wrong number . . . I hit one of the benches and nearly trip over it. I fall down onto the seat, grabbing the wooden edge to keep myself from overbalancing.
Wow, it's hot in here.
I stand up very suddenly, feeling my way through the room, my eyes filling with smoky steam and then . . . a voice resounds through the fogginess.
"And look at you . . . you're still in your pajamas."
I halt in mid-step. That voice . . . I would know that voice anywhere. But Mac . . . she couldn't be in here? No, she would be in the room next door . . .
And then the noises start. Content groans, whimpers, the sounds fill my ears and disgust me to my very core. No, Mac and . . . it couldn't be. It absolutely couldn't. And I was almost beginning to believe that, that the noises never could be Mac when suddenly her voice broke out again.
"Well at least one of us has the energy to keep their eyes open. Neither one of us got much sleep last night."
NO!
I dash forward through the steam and the fog, my arms drawn out in front of me. It's boiling in here but all I can think about is the thought of Mac with some other guy . . . with Vukovic. But she said there was nothing there! She said she didn't love him! These thoughts fly through my mind at an alarming speed. Mac wouldn't lie to me . . . she wouldn't . . . would she?
You haven't seen the woman in a year, my nasty little mind-voice has returned once more. Who knows how much she's changed . . . you don't need to be in love to do . . . that . . .
SHUT UP!
I ram head first into the door, falling flat against the floor, my hand very briefly grazing the now swelling bump on my head. Voices swirl around me, filling my ears and resounding a hundred times more.
"Alright, Sweetie, let's get you dressed and then we'll go down for breakfast."
SHE'S BRINGING HIM TO BREAKFAST?
"Everyone's waiting on us."
OTHER PEOPLE KNOW?
My eyes snap open, my vision immediately engulfed in white smoke. Other people know about Mac and . . . this guy? How long has it been going on? AND WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME? And then another revolting thought strikes me. She was doing THAT with our GODSON in the ROOM?
More intimate noises filter in through the walls of the room. No . . . oh God, no . . . Mac . . . I lay there with my back to the floor, the heat intense, steam swirling like clouds all around me, noises resounding within the room through the flimsy walls and all I can think is 'Why did she do this to me?'
Which is perfectly illogical, I mean. Mac would never do anything to INTENTIONALLY hurt me. I know that. But then why did she keep this all hushed up? And why didn't she tell me before? Besides, who the hell IS this guy? For all she knows he could be the transvestite killer! Or worse he could be another Vukopuke. IS HE VUKOPUKE?
Get up, my voice tells me. Get off the floor, this is just sad.
Shut up.
It's none of your business who Mac spends her nights with.
I told you to shut up.
Mitchell's just a baby, he won't remember a thing.
That's besides the point – we're talking about ETHICS here, but you wouldn't understand that – you don't have any.
You do know that I'm you, right?
Shut up.
Same Time
Room 204
Mac's POV
I sit Mitchell up on the dresser as I struggle to put a shirt on him. It's a good thing that Harriet left one of the baby bags in my room or Mitch would be stuck going to breakfast in pajamas. But unfortunately for me, I'm dealing with an extremely defiant child. Either he just WANTS me to be teased by Harm for all eternity for being THIS late to breakfast, or he just doesn't like the shirt I'm trying to put on him because he refuses to raise his arms.
"Come on, sweetie," I coax tickling him a little to get him to raise his arms. "You need to put a shirt on. One of the rules of the restaurant is they won't accept customers without shirts."
But it's useless talking to the kid. Sure, maybe he DOESN'T understand me, but he could at least give me the illusion that he's listening. But nope, Mitch stares up at the ceiling as though immeasurably fascinated by the dull beige paint color.
I roll my eyes at Mitch as the telephone rings. My money's on either Harm calling to taunt me, or two very worried parents wondering about the absence of their son. I pick up the phone and walk into the bathroom, turning on the tap to wash my hands. "Hello."
"Mac?"
"Hey, Harriet," I sigh, adding a little soap to my hands as I hold the telephone between my ear and my shoulder. "Don't worry, Mitch is fine. We just woke up really late this morning. Look, can we talk about Operation Depants during the General's seminar? We'll email, okay? Look, I'll be down in like three minutes if your son would only get his shirt on . . ."
"Just get Harm to put it on," Harriet's voice rattles off. "Harm's good with Mitch."
"Well, I wouldn't want to bother him," I said, frowning slightly as I rinsed my hands off. "He's down there with you."
A long pause and then, "No, he's not. He's up there with you – he left to get you about five minutes ago."
"Well, he never reached here."
A long puzzled pause and then, though muffled by the fact that Harriet was not actually speaking into the phone, I could hear, "You told him room 205? THAT'S THE SAUNA, BUD!" and then turning back to me she goes, "Um, maybe you'd best check –"
"Yeah, I got it," I replied shortly, wondering how on earth Harm could have detoured to the sauna. I finished rinsing my hands. "Okay, we're going. Bye."
And I hung up, picking Mitchell up while swinging the shirt over his head. So what if his arms aren't in the sleeves? He'll probably cause less trouble like this anyway. Opening up the door, I walked out, shutting it firmly behind me while walking to the next room. 205 – Sauna . . . and then I heard it.
Noises. Very . . . romantic noises. For a minute, I'm terrified. Harm . . .? But in a sauna . . .? My mind is trying to grasp at the straws. But he came to find ME! How does one get so detoured? I contemplate opening up the door, but I have Mitch with me. And the poor child does not need such visual trauma at his young age. And then I hear another thing . . . a groan. Not an . . . intimate groan, but a groan you get when you've got a pounding headache. And it's Harm. I know his voice anywhere.
"Harm?" I ask, and upon receiving no answer, I open the door a little and take a peak in. But all I can see is steam swirling around thickly, fogging my sight and destroying any visual chances I have at all. Setting Mitch down on the ground, I open the door a little more, taking one step forward and then –
I fall.
I scream as I trip over something, or rather someone, and am sent hurtling to the ground. But luckily for me, there's already someone on the floor to break my fall.
"Oof!" Harm let's out a painful groan as I fall on top of him, entangling limb and limb while I try my best to roll off of him. Pain shoots up my left leg whereas my right leg has definitely squashed some part of Harm's body and in the pained groan that he uttered as I tried to move it but only ended up sinking my knee in further, I had a pretty good idea of which body part it was.
"Harm?" I exclaim in surprise, groping around in an attempt to disentangle our colliding bodies but nothing's giving. The steam is thick, the heat intense, and I can't see a damned thing.
"Mac?" he groans from beside me, moving a little to give me space.
"Did I hurt you?" I ask, touching what I hope to god is his shoulder.
"I'll live again," Harm mutters though admittedly through wheezy. And we just lay there for a minute, drowned in steam, sweating our asses off, aching in pain from our various falls, and then sure enough – the next step. The delusional laughter.
"Harm," I say as my partner is suddenly overcome by a fit of nervous laughs. "Harm, we've got to get out of here. They'll be looking for us."
"Let 'em look," Harm replied carelessly, laughing in the out-of-breath way once more. The seriousness in his voice was gone."This is fun."
"How hard did you hit your head?" I asked him, amusement clearly noted in my voice. It was ruddy unbelievable. I was in a steam room with Harmon Rabb Jr., in a hotel teeming with uniformed officers, we were lying on the FLOOR, and in full military attire. Can someone please pinch me?
I struggle to get up, groping my way through thick smog. "Okay, Harm, you gotta get up now."
"No, don't leave," Harm laughs, pulling my arm back down. "This is too much fun."
"Sorry, Harm," I replied, hoping to God that my voice concealed the grin that was lighting my face, "lying on the floor in a steam room with you is not on my priority list. Breakfast, however, is."
I move to get up once more but then –
"Mac," Harm says, his tone suddenly turning serious.
I turn around, trying to see him but to no avail. "Yeah?"
"How . . ." Harm begins but then suddenly stops, already mulling over his unsaid words. "Who . . ." He's having a hard time finding his words, fumbling over syllables.
I sighed, sitting back on the floor with him. "Just spit it out, Harm."
Harm hesitates for a minute and then, "did you have a guy in your room last night?"
I pause, wondering where he's going with this. In a very serious manner I reply, "yes, Harm."
A long silence and then . . . "Why, Mac?"
"Huh?" I said, my eyes still searching for Harm through the indoor cloud.
"Why do you need some guy for one night?" Harm snaps suddenly, his voice both anguished and wrenched at the same time. "A real relationship is so much better. I know you haven't had a lot of luck in the past, but that could change, Mac, if you met the right guy . . ."
What the hell is he talking about?
"And maybe you don't realize that right now but it would be terrible if you ruined your future over some stupid stunt like this," Harm carried on, oblivious to my confusion. "I mean, he's in your command, Mac. It's different than just some . . . guy! I mean, you said –"
"Are we talking about Vukovic?" I interrupted, grasping at straws upon the topic of our conversation.
A pause and then, "Yeah."
I don't understand anything that's going on. Guy in the bedroom – my godson. Stupid stunt . . . Vukovic? I'm sure on some planet, in someone's frame of mind (read: Harm's) it all makes sense, but to a normal person (read: me) it's absolute gibberish. "Harm, I have no idea what you're talking about."
And then, "wasn't Vukovic the guy in your room last night?"
To say I'm blown is an understatement. "No!"
An embarrassed silence and then, "oh . . ."
I grab onto one of his limbs (don't care much about which one at the moment) and scream (yes, SCREAM), "Harm, get it through your HEAD. There is NOTHING going on between ME and VUKOVIC! The guy that was in my room last night is MITCHELL ROBERTS. Yes, our godson, Mitch. He couldn't sleep because of AJ snoring, so I took him. And I'll repeat once more: NO VUKOVIC!"
I'd love to say what happened next was really sweet and touching, and there was a lot of apologizing and laughing and smiling and generally happy gestures – and there was for about a millisecond where I tried in vain to hug Harm, but bearing in mind the fact that Big Foot could have hidden in this room undetected if he'd just been silent, I probably just wound up hugging his waist or something. And it was then, in mid-embrace, that the – ahem, "noises" started.
I looked up at Harm with an expression of absolute horror. And had I been able to see his face, I have no doubt that our expressions would have been identical.
"What the hell?" Harm articulated the thought running through my mind.
"It's coming through the wall," I replied, sitting up a little but still leaning on Harm.
"But I thought you're the room beside the sauna," Harm argues.
"Traditionally two sides – two rooms," I replied rolling my eyes, though it was pointless considering he could not see me.
A long breath and then, "OH!"
"What 'Oh'?" I asked, shooting up an eyebrow.
"I heard you talking to Mitch and . . . and then the noises from the other . . ." And even though Harm hasn't managed to finish one sentence I am beginning to piece together all the conversation I had with Mitchell. I never called him by his name, only 'sweetie' or 'honey'. And the only time I DID talk normally I had the water running. And I feel a beautiful wild grin spread across my face.
"You were worried about me."
"What?"
"Yeah," I grinned wildly, leaning against him more. "You were worried that me and Vukovic were going at it."
And then the most fearsome, terrifying sound there ever was shafts through the room. A clearing of the throat. A very specific clearing of the throat. "And please, Colonel, define 'going at it.'"
I attempt to straighten myself before the door opens but I can see nothing and therefore can not do anything. Light shafts in and being right at the foot of the door, all I can see is the General's bulky figure standing as a shadow as light flooded in. And dammit, he looks scary.
"Commander, Colonel, on your feet!"
We scramble upwards, grabbing onto each other for support. And yes, I'm fully aware that as the General dragged us out of the steam room we looked like an utter mess. Our uniforms were crumpled, our faces were sweaty, our hair was a general mess, and as soon as we DID enter the hallway, we were immediately greeted by the entire Roberts clan, Sturgis, and –
"Well, what have we here?" The Admiral's voice is almost . . . amused.
"Sir, we didn't mean to –" I begin at the same time Harm spits out, "Sir, this is just a mis –"
We both stare at each other.
"Let 'em look, huh?" I whispered as the General began to say something to the Admiral but all four of us were interrupted by AJ running down the hall, bright eyed and bushy tailed, a boy baring important news. "Uncle Harm, Uncle Harm!" he calls, running up to Harm and grinning in a very Roberst way. "Aunt Pants told me to tell you she's here!"
Instantly, reaction flies across the room. Harriet gasps, "AJ!"
My face contorts into restrained laughter.
The Admiral and the General just don't get it.
Harm has an expression of amused shock on his face.
And none of us can help what comes next –
"HARMY!" Jean cries, running down the hallway and doing a terrible job of it in her four-inch heels. She takes an absolutely mortified glance at Harm's disheveled appearance, and his facial ruddiness from the heat and the steam, scans me for I of course look no better, and draws what I can only presume as the completely wrong conclusion. So she does what any jealous stricken woman would have done.
"Oh, Harmy, if you wanted to have a trip in the sauna you could have just told me," Jean stretches, batting her eyelashes in the very cute but poisonous way she always does, "Because I guarantee you – with me, you will definitely have no use for uniform."
Harriet bites her lower lip.
My jaw hangs open.
The General and the Admiral are now catching themselves up to speed.
Harm looks absolutely mortified.
But somewhere in that split second of utter verbal atrocity, I realized something; a rule was set down on the table that had never been etched in stone. Theoffers were laid out on the table. I unconsciously submit Harm andI in a steam room in uniform, she puts down her and Harm in a steam room with no clothes. Well, that's just dandy then. Round one goes to Jean.
But she's forgetting who I have on my side. I have the mastermind of all dating competition, the Einstein of romance. And we have a whole seminar to sketch it all out. This afternoon in seminar-free. This afternoon also happens to be Jean-free. Thank the lord someone out there needs to buy a pair of pants (ahem, no pun intended).
But, I grinned to myself as I sat down for the seminar, my blackberry already poised in my lap and turned on, one thing was already working for me. Jean was threatened by me.
And she had every right to be.
A/N: Alright, back to the polls. 1 - 10, how much did you LOVE that HM moment in the Sauna?