I wrote this when I was sick and, guess what I am sick again today! I'm
thinking it's the chlorine in the gym's pool!

Anyway...Despite the name of this chapter, I'm not sharing my cooties. ;) And NO you're not sharing Harm. He belongs to ME and Mac. And since, technically speaking, Mac can kick my ass, he's all Mac's! ;)

Jackie
PS: Thanks to V for encouraging me to post this!

Part 43 – Sharing Cooties

"I want to make love to you, Mac." I hear my voice, a combination of husky and nasally tell my gorgeous fiancé who is laying beneath me on her bed.

Mac trails a line of kisses across my jaw, then stops and chuckles. "Uh huh, so what's stopping you?"

Well, that's an easy enough thing to answer. See, I have no idea what the hell happened between yesterday and today, but we're sick. Both of us are sick and no, it's not an excuse to play hooky! Yesterday after the whole care wash adventure, I arrived home with a sore throat and failed to stop making from kissing me. I mean, I told her that I felt sick, but Mac was confident that it was just a chill and she wouldn't catch whatever had been trying to creep its way into my body. Hah! This thing is like The Black Plauge! It'll get you!

So, around six in the evening, yesterday, her throat started hurting. It was then that I realized I'd shared my cooties with her. By midnight, we were both hacking up lungs, sitting with a roll of toilet paper each to stop the running faucets that our noses had become. All night long it seemed we were gripped in the hands of death. The moment my fever would die off, Mac's temperature would spike up. If Mac's headache went away, then I would pick up where she left off. Taking care of each other took on a new meaning when each of us were tempted to toss the other off the bed. Every time I would get comfy, she'd start coughing. If she was starting to fall asleep, I'd start sneezing. All in all, I think we each got a good two hours of sleep. Yup, we definitely have the plague, make no bones about that!

It is, for these reasons that my want to make love to Mac causes a bit of a concern. "Babe, I feel like shit, so do you. . .I don't think that's an awesome combination for great sex." Not that it matters, I mean, I don't really think that Mac and I could have bad sex if we tried. It's one of life's great pleasures!

Mac's chocolate brown eyes say otherwise though. Her nose is chaffed and red, her eyes are puffy and her hair is a mess. But, why is it that she still looks sexy? "And your point is?" Her hand slides down my back, nails raking my skin gently. "We'll take it nice and slow."

Nice and slow? "I like the sound of that." We kiss slowly and passionately, all the while laughing as she tries to remove my t-shirt without breaking body contact. It's a little more difficult than one would think. I lean to the side, resting on my elbow and help her remove my shirt which flies across the bed onto a lamp on the nightstand.

Mac's legs wrap around my waist as she tugs me to her. Her fingers caress my scalp as she lowers my head down to hers for another series of kisses. Somewhere between removing her underwear and kissing her neck, I hear, what has got to be a knock on the door. "Ignore it." She says, turning my head so that I am facing her again. "Don't stop."

"Okay." Ignore. Don't stop. Yes, I can do that! I kiss Mac's cheeks, the tip of her nose, then start to work my way down to her neck. She does this little, sexy growl and I try to ignore the incessant knocking, but it's just not going away.

Sighing, she pushes me back slightly. "Must be important." Mac attempts to roll out from under me, but I pin her down.

"I'll get it." It makes logical sense that I be the one to attend to the door. I am more dressed than she is - wearing black sweatpants and no shirt, to her only wearing underwear. "Just, don't move. . .I'll be back in a flash." I kiss her goodbye, then hop off the bed. "Woah." A feeling of vertigo hits me and it's then that I realize, again, just how sick we both are – no pun intended.

"You alright?"

I nod. "Yea, just a little dizzy. . .And I am blaming you for it." I wink at her, then make my way to the living room. Without looking through the peephole, I throw the door open to find Harriet, in the uniform of the day, standing on the other side.

"Harm! You look like shi. . .hell." Harriet says with a gentle smile, I notice she's carrying a grocery bag I assume it's, "I brought some soup." She's glancing at me with a bewildered expression, her eyes darting up to my head. Self-consciously, I brush my hand over my hair, knowing full well that it's probably sticking up all over the place.

Opening the door wider, I allow her to step in. "Not sure if you want to come in here, I'm sure Mac and I have the plague." Self-consciously, I try to smooth down my hair again only to feel it spike up again. Mac running her fingers through it doubtfully made much of an improvement.

Harriet waves me off. "AJ and Bud were sick last week, whatever it is, I'm immune." She grins impishly, then stares me down. "You know, if you want to get better, you may want to put on a shirt."

Woops, I'd forgotten about that. "Oh, yea. . .I'll be right back. . .Just a minute." I raise up my index finger, turn on my heel, hoping that she doesn't see Mac's kitty cat scratches. Not that it really matters, but, we're supposed to be sick, not at home, in bed, trying to. . .

"Hey, Harriet's. . ." My thoughts trail off as I spot Mac, completely naked and in a sexy pose in the middle of the bed. "Damn."

"See something you like, sailo. . .ATCHOOO!" A series of sneezes manages to tame my Marine's wild streak. With a pout, she reaches over to the nightstand, grabs the roll of toilet paper, takes out a wad and starts to blow her nose.

I chuckle. "So much for that. . .Why don't you toss some clothes on? Harriet's here."

Mac sniffles, then sneezes again. "Ugh! I'll be out in a sex. . .uh, sec." She smiles sheepishly at me and then points over to my shirt on the lampshade. "You might want atchooo! To put. . .atchooooo! that on." She says, then mutters a series of curses that would make a sailor blush.

I take my shirt, then head out of the room to find some sort of smell coming from the kitchen. Seeing as one of my nostrils is clogged, I can't exactly figure out if the smell is good or bad. On the kitchen table, I spot two bowls, a bottle of ginger ale and some bread. Yup, Harriet's motherly instincts go into hyper drive whenever one of us gets sick. "Hey, Harriet, you didn't have to do all of this."

She has her jacket removed and is only wearing the white blouse, with sleeves rolled up. "Course I did. . .I'm pretty sure it's Bud's bug that you caught. Not to mention that little water fight yesterday. . .Besides, I'll be out of your hair in no time." She winks conspiringly, then grabs a ladle and spins it around in the soup.

"Hey Harriet." Mac, who looks worse now that she is on her feet, stumbles into the kitchen wearing her ratty PJs and bathrobe. Did I mention how cute she looks? "You shouldn't be here. . .Harm and I are. . ."

"Dying. . .We have the plague." I supply for her, leaning up against a cabinet when standing on my own two feet manages to become a chore.

Reaching up, Mac presses the back of her hand onto my forehead. "You feel warm."

"You do too." I counter, using the same 'hand on the forehead' method on her.

Harriet's standing there, watching us, with a comical expression, then begins, sarcastically, "Rather than using that, oh so helpful, hand on forehead method, why don't one of you get me a thermometer?" When neither Mac nor I move a muscle, she places her hand on her hips. Oh shit, she means business. "That wasn't a request."

"Yes, ma'am." Mac and I mumble at the same time, both of us heading out of the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, we've both been thermometerized and drugged – Harriet made us each take two aspirins to lower the fever. Now, Mac and I sit, alone eating some soup that I can't quite taste. "My taste buds are shot to hell." Mac mumbles and this makes me feel marginally better.

I chew on a piece of bread and sigh. "You think that this is some sort of punishment?"

"Ugh, I don't know, but keep your cooties to yourself next time, mister."

"Hey, I told you not to kiss me and you did anyway!"

Mac stares at my coyly, then sighs. "Like I can resist kissing you?" To make her point, she leans in and places a chaste kiss on my lips. "Could be worse. . .We could be sick and alone." She stands up, takes my hand and tugs gently. Like a puppy, I follow her towards the sofa. Mac places a hand on my chest, then pushes me down, an act that is quite easy in my weakened state. Awww, hell, okay, so I let her do it. "Where were we?" She purrs, then straddles my lap.

We begin another marathon make out session combined with post nasal drip, coughing and wheezing, when there's another knock on the door. "Shit." I curse as I stand up quickly, the action causing Mac to slide off of my lap and hit her six on the floor. "Oooh, damn, I'm sorry."

She staring at me with a look that would kill as I help her up. "Jesus, Harm. . .a warning would have been nice." I try not to stare as she heads towards the kitchen rubbing her six.

Opening the door, I am surprised to find General Cresswell on the other side. "Commander." He says with a perplexed expression on his face.

"Sir, did you come to check on us too?"

His eyes, for some reason, keep going to the tip of my head before he points up. "Interesting place for a t-shirt."

"For a what?" Touching my head I feel the fabric underneath my fingers. How in the world did she manage to take my shirt off without me noticing? Damn, I really am sick! "Oh! Excuse me." I make a project out of lowering my shirt and nearly ended up sticking my head through one of the holes for the arms. Cresswell, who I am sure is not finding this amusing, helps out, then straightens the shirt for me. For a moment I feel like I am ten again with my mother straightening my Boy Scout uniform. "Ah, Thank you, sir."

We stand there for a moment, staring at each other when it dawns on him that I haven't let him in. "Can I come in, Commander?"

"Oh, yes, please." I step aside, holding the door open for him and that's when I remember one little, teeny, tiny detail. This is MAC'S APARTMENT. I mean, I know that he knows that we're together, but maybe this is a bit. . .odd. God, it does look like we're playing hooky!

"Here's some files for you. . .Commander Roberts got held up in court today and asked me to swing them by."

"Thank you, sir." I say, taking the file and leafing through it.

Mac chooses this moment in time to emerge from the kitchen holding a Ziploc full of ice to her six. "General." The ice slips from her hands, crashing to the floor and leaving one big, wet, mess.

Cresswell immediately starts to help. "It's alright, Colonel, I've got it. . .You and the Commander should be resting. . I need you two at 110 percent ASAP. Don't forget, you two are prosecuting at the Newton court martial." He collects the ice, placing it back into the bag, then takes a cloth from the table to wipe the floor. This has got to be the most surreal thing I'll ever see – a CO mopping up his officer's floor. Wow! Wish I had a camera. When he's done, Cresswell straightens and then pins us with a glare. I swear, the man, sometimes, scares me. "So how are the two of you feeling?"

"Atchoooo." Mac sneezes out violently, causing the General to, literally, take cover. "Better, sir."

He's not too convinced. "If that's better. . . then."

I feel a tickling sensation in my throat and try to hold it back as much as possible, but it's no use. The cough comes out sounding like I swallowed a small fury animal and it takes me a good minute to stop it. "Sorry, sir." I wheeze out. "This is like the plague."

"That's awfully dramatic, Commander." Cresswell points out, arms across his chest in that macho pose he likes to use.

"It's true, sir." Mac counters with a heavy sigh. "I've never felt this sick in my life."

For some reason, Cresswell loses the macho pose and takes a few steps back. "Uh, whatever it is. . .make sure you two keep it out of the office, the last thing I need is for everyone to be out sick." He doesn't wait for us to answer and instead flies out the door. That was odd.

I feel Mac's hand slip into mind as she tugs me towards the bedroom this time. Oh, please, please, please, I am in no shape to do anything other than sleep. "Just sleep this time." She says to my surprise. "This whole trying to make love while sick thing is just. . .just too. . ."

"Tiring? I know." Happily, I settle in to bed with my Marine nestled in my arms. . .until the next round of sneezing, wheezing and coughing start up.

Two Days Later.

I step into the bullpen and find that the normal hustle and bustle is. . .quiet. All of our staff members are there, but there just isn't that normal clatter. What gives? "Commander? General Cresswell wishes to see you, the Colonel is already in there." Yup, course she is. Mac left her place before I did and didn't get stuck in the traffic jam from hell.

"Thank you, Petty Officer." I tell Coates, handing her my cover and briefcase.

I weave my way through the bull pen and step into the outer office to find Mac sitting, nervously, in one of the wooden chairs. "Hey, took you long enough."

"Traffic. . .What did we do now?" I say, nodding towards the door.

Mac just shrugs. "Dunno, but it's serious if he doesn't want me going inside without you."

I just got a thought and it's not a particularly good one. "Maybe he knows?" Though Mac's done a good job at hiding the engagement ring, scuttlebutt usually prevails. No, we haven't told anyone yet. Sue me if we want to keep it a secret for a little while. Knocking firmly on the door, we wait for Cresswell's command before stepping in. "Sir?" He's not sitting behind his desk, but rather is laying across the sofa with a white rag over his forehead.

"Commander, Colonel. . ." He says, his voice sounding quite nasally. Oh shit, we got him sick didn't we? "Has an officer ever been court-martialed for giving their commanding officer the plague?" He groans as he tries to sit up. It seems to take a valiant effort, but, Cresswell fails. "Aww, hell, I'm the JAG. I'll lay down if I want to."

Mac's frowning. "Is there something we can do, sir?"

Cresswell nods, his appearance suddenly changing into something less volatile and more childlike. "Shoot me."

I chuckle at his remark. "That's awfully dramatic, sir."

That little joke didn't sway him one bit. "Commander, drop and give me fifty." Now, I've pissed off plenty of people, but I've never had my commanding officer make me do PT! "Do I need to make it one hundred, Commander?"

"No, sir!" I yell out and then drop, still wearing my sports jacket and start to count off loudly as we've been trained to do.

Hearing Cresswell grimace, it takes a lot of discipline for me not to look up at him. "Commander, keep it down. . .Colonel, go get me some aspirin and next time, please don't share your cooties."

It seems to me that in life, we're always learning lessons. So what did I learn this time? 1. Don't share your cooties with anyone! 2. If you do share your cooties make sure you do not piss off a Marine General.