I was, originally going to wrap this story around chapter 15, but then I got more ideas and it's still going strong.

So, here's where you come in. Do you want this to keep going indefinitely, (well as much as one can write something indefinitely) or do you want me to start a series – Fine Art of Dating, Fine Art Of Courting, Fine Art Of Marriage? I can do one of two things, combine them all together, change the name of this story to "The Fine Art Of Love" and instead of splitting the three, just keep it going as one? Up to you! ;)

Enjoy!
Jackie

Thanks to: e-dog, Macaroon, BeachChick, Dessler, dansingwolf, Maria, blueangel, Vrbinka, BiteBeccy, SarahRabb, my.evian, anna, Jaggie107, snugglebug, Manda, Lisa, cbw, Xblue, froggy, aserene, crazybum, VrbinkaCZE, sally, trooper, starryeyes, Martini, NavyBabe, jaggurl, Nix, joanoa, jagdreamer, Kinga, JAGChic, Jagfan 724, littlemaccyd, ninjaturtle, blueangel, Kinga, JK, zoomie, myevian, CathyF, CBW, jagdreamer, joanoa, alix33, arian, Lurkz, LiseGirardi, Beach chickJASSNL, Tracy, Lisa, roz, Peggy, Elizabeth Ayers, Disaster Child, trooper, LtCmdrFlygirl, Roz, Peggy, KJFlygirl, Roxie, ltcolonelnijgagrl, hellen, Jill, and mizukimar for the feedback :)

PART 16 – Aftercare

"Mac, I need the cream please! Hurry!" With a sigh, I lean against my kitchen counter, placing the knife which I was using to cut tomatoes with down next to the cutting board. I am slightly tempted to grab said knife and hack off Harm's tattoo! The man is driving me absolutely, positively INSANE! "MAAAC!"

Okay, that does it! "I AM COMING DAMNIT!" Jesus, you would think the man has gone through major surgery! Taking a few, very much needed, deep breaths, I take the cream (I literally have a small bottle of fragrance free cream at every room in the apartment. Harm keeps losing the bottle, so he winds up just buying another one and then, miraculously, the original bottle shows up somewhere. Safe to say, I won't have dry hands in a very long time.) and head over to my boyfriend who has his arm propped up on a pillow which is propped up on the armrest of my sofa. You would figure he broke his arm or something! "Here, flyboy." As cheerily as possible, I place the bottle right on his lap, then turn to, attempt to finish dinner. Course I can't even get a foot away from the sofa before Harm starts whining.

"You aren't going to put some on my arm?" Harm does a great impersonation of a little kid who has wrapped their parent around their finger and knows just how to manipulate anything to go their way. So far, I've allowed it, knowing how badly he hated needles, yet had the guts for this. Now, if I hear him whine one more time. . . "It's starting to dry."

I glance down at the goldwings and, I have to say, Razor did a fabulous job on them. They really look good on Harm, now if it would only heal so I could touch it. Really, it might sound sick, but there is something so erotic about tattooed skin. Must be my former bad girl side talking. What amazes me is how quickly Harm's skin has healed. Some people, it can take up to two weeks. My ankle, which I got done about three years after meeting Harm, was fine and dandy in one week, where my other tattoo took about three. I guess it has to do with the location and how much air you get on the skin. Whenever Harm's in his office, he lifts the sleeves of his summer whites up and, at home (mine or his) he either goes without a shirt or with a tank top.

Frowning, I look up at Harm who is giving me this innocent look that I just ain't buying. "You picked at it!" I accuse, knowing, full well that, though scabs will form, it's not supposed to look like you have eraser shavings over your skin. (AN: Hehehe, I did that once. If you get a tat – DON'T pick on the scabs!)

He gives me that 'how dare you!' look of his and I am tempted to just smack him over the head with the pillow. "I did not pick at it. And, even if I did, how would you know?"

I sigh, this is turning out to be an adventure. "Harm, I have two tattoos. . . Friends of mine, back in Arizona, also had tattoos. Trust me, I know." Choosing not to tell him about another fracas with Mr. Ragle and myself, I skip entirely a story about when Chris got his fifth tattoo and, while drunk started to pick at the scabs. In the end he was supposed to tattoo my name and ended up with something that looked like the word 'RAH.' Of course, he blamed it on me for not taking care of him. Like I was supposed to know that could happen? Well, now I know!

Harm relents, grabs the cream and starts to lather a hefty amount over the area. "I know the card Razor gave me says to use a small amount, but if I do, my skin gets itchy." He is right about that. A tattoo, is, basically a wound. Unlike other wounds, you really want this one to leave a mark, so you need to keep it moist so that, when it does scab, the ink doesn't scab off. And, like any true wound, it will, periodically itch. He glances up at me, flyboy grin up to full wattage and then gazes at his arm. "So, you like it huh?"

"Nope, not at all." I tease and try to make my way back to the kitchen, when Harm pulls me onto his lap. He wraps an arm around me (the tattooed one stays on the arm rest) and starts to kiss me slowly. No doubt, he still feels the need to make 'tattoo night' up to me. See, the night he got tattooed, we came directly home, waited the two hours and then went through all of the aftercare process. . . . .

. . . .I would love to say that it was uneventful, but nothing between us ever is. Harm was walking around with his arm held up at an odd angle, almost as if he'd recently been shot and was trying to stop the blood from leaking. Oh, and the blood. Yea, you bleed when you are getting a tattoo, but it's not like guts are gushing out or anything. I mean, it's a little amount of blood that bubbles up, just like when you get an injection. Well, the moment, I take off the bandage to pear at the freshly tattooed skin, Harm almost faints. The rest of the cleaning process is spent with him sitting on the head, while I cleansed his skin.

Then came bedtime. And this day will, for sure, live in Rabb/MacKenzie infamy. He was laying on his back on my bed as I went through my usual, nocturnal routines (brushing hair, brushing teeth, using the restroom, etc.). I hadn't anticipated that he wanted to be intimate, I mean, the whole inking process seemed to take a lot out of him. Settling in next to him, somehow, we wound up getting playful – kissing, nibbling, etc. Next thing I know, Harm grabs me, trying to flip me onto the mattress and under him. Well, that just didn't work out as well as he'd hoped. And, okay, yes, I was, sort of, my fault. In his swift, sneaky movement, I grab onto him, worried that we'd fall off the bed. Somehow, I manage to scrape what little nails I have across his freshly inked skin. Harm literally kicks me off the bed and I wind up, on the floor with a bruised six and a cut on my forehead, just under the hairline, from where my head hit the corner of the night table.

A trip to the emergency room, six stitches and three days later, the trauma continued. We were at Ops, in the break room having our morning cup of Java with Bud and Sturgis when the General, followed by Lieutenant Slime (Harm and mine's pet name for Vukovic) and an overly enthusiastic Petty Officer Coates come in. "Colonel, what happened to your head?" Bud and Sturgis had just, simultaneously, asked me the same thing. I stood there for a moment, trying to formulate some sort of answer (like the one Harm and I made up since we still haven't told people about us.) and all I could come up with was a lame. . .

"Oh, I fell off the bed, hit my head on the bedside table." Which wasn't too unfathomable, plenty of people still fall off beds right?

However, the General levels his gaze at Harm, who then starts to choke on his bran muffin. I give him a good whacks on the back and, swallowing some coffee, he manages to mutter out a strangled, "I'm fine, thanks."

The General glances at me as well and I am slightly curious if I should even be seen in the same room with Harm. I am not sure if the General knows that the others don't know, well, save for Lt. Slime which is grinning his ass off. But this isn't really the place and time that I want to tell our friends. "Commander Rabb, please keep your eye on the Colonel today. I know she sometimes likes to have us believe she is alright, when it's just the opposite." And with that, he grabs his coffee and heads out of the break room.

"Something funny Lieutenant?"

I immediately attack Vukovic who wipes that smirk away with a quick, "No, ma'am. . .nothing at all." Knowing better than to stick around for this one, he grabs his coffee and bids his goodbyes. Thankfully, the most of our break room adventure is, non-eventful though I do get some good natured ribbing from Sturgis and Bud. Harm, wisely keeps his mouth shut, until Sturgis is about to head out to his office. In one of his friendly, 'whack your buddy!' type of ways, Sturgis slaps Harm's tattooed arm.

"AHHHHHHHH! SON OF A. . ." Harm yelled, a bit too loudly and unbecoming for a Naval officer and, soon, not only do Creswell, Vukovic and Jen head in, but so does half the bullpen. My eyes widened as I try to process how a man like Harm could have been beat up, cut up, had his legs broken, and yet, he can't take the pain of a measly tattoo. Maybe it's all part of the façade we put up behind the uniform? Wait, he WAS behind his uniform. He glances around, pulling up the shirt sleeve to take a look at the cream that is smeared all over the place. "Jesus, Sturgis!"

Turning to everyone but us, Creswell barks out a, "Back to work people." Then walks in and studies Harm's tattoo. "Ah, goldwings, very nice Commander." Grinning, he leans in a bit more. "I've always wanted one, but I am too chicken to get one done. . . You're a brave man, Commander."

I really could not help and snort at that one. Oh yea, I should have had a camera to tape the blessed tattoo event. "Not really, sir. . .I am not a fan of needles and. . .well it was interesting." Wow, Harm admitting a fear? We really have come along! The boys spend a few extra minutes going over Harm's tattoo story as I quietly slipped on out giving Harm a knowing look. . . . . .

. . . . Now, sitting on his lap, being smothered with kisses, I don't feel as pissed off at him as I was for wanting me to baby him. "Mmm, Harm, maybe we should wait until it really heals. . .You and I tend to be accident prone." His objection comes in the form of a long, smoldering kiss.

He moves me slightly, in a way that he is able to push me onto the sofa, his body covering mine. "I don't want to wait." Oh yea, waiting is totally overrated! I wrap my arms around him, bringing him close and mentally reminding myself not to touch his inked skin which is such a temptation. Sigh, eventually I'll get to have my fun with him though. Coming up for air, he hovers over me, cocky grin in place. "So you think that guys have a tattoo are sexy?"

Uh, I plead the fifth. Though, if memory serves, it's exactly what I told him the night he had one done. "Some are." I tease.

"Am I?" He teases right back and, really, isn't that a stupid question? Is he sexy? If Harm were anymore sexy, I'd have to beat the women away with baseball bats. Wait, I almost have to already. I grin up at him, and try to bring my head up to kiss him, but Harm moves away with a grin of his own. "So? Am I?"

Oh, I just can't help it, so what if I inflate his ego just a bit more. "You are the hottest, sexiest, most mind-blowing man on the planet, Harmon Rabb Junior." For good measure, I wrap my legs around his waist, tugging him down slightly.

Instead of Harm getting his famous, cocky grin, he just stares down at me as if I am the only thing in the world that he sees. "I love you, Sarah." And my heart melts just a little bit more making me wonder just how much more in love someone could be. "And I know I drive you crazy sometimes, but I do appreciate you putting up with me."

I force the little tears of happiness not to well up, but they do anyway. "Though you drive me crazy, I love you anyway." With that, I pull him down, kissing Harm soundly on his lips. . . .

PS: If you have a tattoo question - radiorox(at)bellsouth(dot)net - I'll vill answer it. I have, like I said somewhere, 8, so yea, I know the ropes. LOL! And BTW - Some men really are that bad, I've seen a few pass out just as Joe, my tattoo artist, pulled out the ink. Hehehe.

Ink65 - LOL! Yea, it was dedicated to yer name, dood. ;)