4
Catherine let her hands rest on the edge of pool and allowed her feet to drop to the bottom, and turning towards the side waded slowly towards the steps. "Oh, God," she half-moaned, "just look at that bow wave! I feel like I'm the size of the Titanic!"
Harm crouched at the top of the steps and extended a hand to help her out of the water, and protectively draped a large, fluffy towel over her shoulders. "Nonsense," he told her with a smile, "you look fantastic!" and he really did think so. She wore a one-piece black bathing costume that fitted her closely, and unlike the majority of the other pregnant women at the Yorktown Swimming Club closed session had chosen to dispense with the frilly skirt that so many pregnancy swim-suit designers seemed to think de rigeur.
"Well, how did I do?" she demanded.
"Not bad, not bad at all," he told her, "if they had a pregnancy Olympics, you'd definitely make the cut for the swim team!"
"What, no medal?" she teased him.
"Definitely gold," he answered with a smile and gently laying his hands on her shoulders as she turned towards the locker room, dropping a light kiss on the top of her hair.
"Ugh! Chlorine!" he complained as Catherine turned a surprised face towards him. That touch had been the first intimate gesture he had made in public since they had decided to carry out what she still thought of as his crazy plan.
"Serves you right," she told him over her shoulder, her smile contradicting her words as she headed for the sanctuary of the women's showers. Truth be told, she mused as she stood under the warm jet, shampooing the offending chlorine out of her hair, although his gesture hadn't been expected, it wasn't unwelcome. She had been surprised last night though, when she'd told him about her daily early morning swimming sessions.
"Swimming? Uh… not my favourite pastime," he admitted with a grimace.
"Oh?" she'd turned on the couch to look at him more squarely.
"Oh, come on Catherine, you've read my SRB," he reminded her.
"Well, yes, but there is nothing in there about you not liking swimming… Oh, you mean when you had to eject over the Atlantic?"
"Yeah, it kinda put me off water in large quantities," he seemed strangely embarrassed by his admission.
"Well, Yorktown Pool is much smaller than the ocean," she reminded him gently, "and nobody's asking you to join in. In fact you wouldn't be allowed in the water with us, none of you would."
"Uh… None of us?" He seemed strangely diffident, "Do… do the other women's partners go with them?"
"Yes… well… some do, some don't. They sit on the bleachers, hold towels, keep an eye on purses, you know, the kind of things expectant dads do."
Harm smiled abstractedly, clearly thinking of something else. Catherine cocked her head at him, and for a moment she was so like her mother that his smile grew warmer.
"What?" she demanded suspiciously.
"Oh, the way you just looked at me then, the way you tilted your head. Do you know how very much like your mother you are at times?"
"Oooh! That's a terrible thing to say to a pregnant woman!" she mock-scolded him, but was secretly pleased that he had been observing both her and her mother closely enough to pick up on little tricks of behaviour.
"But until you distracted me, I was wondering about all this swimming. Do you go every day?"
"Monday to Friday, before I head on up to Langley. Don't look so worried; it's only for half an hour, and it helps keep me fit. Call me vain if you want, but I'd kinda like to get my figure back after the birth - well most of it anyway."
"Yeah, I can understand that, but aren't you worried that you might be overdoing things?"
"Harm. I'm pregnant - not dying. Besides it's a good form of exercise that uses every muscle group in the body. It's good aerobically, and it is negative impact. And," she added mischievously, "displacing as much water as I do right now, I'm never going to drown!"
Harm was forced to laugh along with her. Catherine had always struck him as somewhat earnest and solemn and controlled, and he found he was enjoying her rare little flashes of humour as much as he enjoyed it when she was fired up over something.
"So… should I pick you up at your place in the morning, or should I just meet you at the pool?" He asked her, rather carefully not looking at her.
"No, it's OK, Harm, you don't have to come," she protested.
"No, I know I don't have to, but I want to."
"Why?" she asked him in a tone of gentle curiosity.
"Uh… because," he looked down at his hands, "I'm finding out that…" he looked up and straight into her eyes, "I like spending time with you, I like finding out about you, I like…"
"Oh… OK, OK, I get the picture!"Catherine protested, not quite sure if this was good thing or not. Yes, Harm was being caring and concerned and she appreciated him wanting to be fully involved in her life, and although she enjoyed his company, she didn't want him getting over-protective, at least not this early in their relationship.
"Umm… I'll tell you what," she suggested, "come over to my place, and then follow me down to Arlington. If we travel in the same vehicle, one of us is going to end up stranded all day. You've got to get on with your new job, so it'll be me stuck all day at Langley without any wheels, and that's not something I'd enjoy too much!"
"OK, what time?"
"Seven o'clock. That'll get us to Arlington for half past, and I'll be finished by about eight-fifteen. Will that allow you to get to your airplane on time?"
"It'll have to," he grinned, "They can't start the job without me, and I don't get hourly paid, so as long as I finish the job, I'm pretty much on flexible hours!"
Now having showered and changed into her first maternity dress - well the secret was out now, why try to hide it - she met Harm as he stood leaning against his Corvette in the parking lot. "See, she teased him, "Here I am, all in one piece and perfectly fit, healthy and happy, and," she paused significantly, "squeaky clean!"
Harm gave her a puzzled look, and she sighed with exasperation. Honestly, he could be so… so… oblivious! "I mean," she said slowly, "that there's no more chlorine!", and even as she said it, she realised that she was being unfair. Even from her limited knowledge of him, she had realised that he was not someone who indulged in open and public romantic displays, and cursing herself for her stupidity she braced himself for his emotional withdrawal. She was consequently taken completely by surprise, when he repeated his poolside action of placing his hands on her shoulder and kissing her hair.
"Ummm… Vanilla, that's much better than chlorine," he smiled, "So, dinner at my place again this evening, then. Seven o'clock?"
Catherine nodded wordlessly and smiled. She was still smiling as she edged in behind the steering wheel of her Malibu Max, and headed towards Langley.
x-x-x-x-x
Mac had arrived at JAG HQ early, as had Sturgis turner and Bud Roberts. With Loren Singer deployed at sea, Carolyn Imes relieved of duty and Harm's resignation, the three remaining senior attorneys were not only struggling to keep abreast of their current case load, but also had the additional pressure of reviewing the more than two hundred cases that Carolyn had prosecuted while masquerading as a bar-qualified attorney. The added stress that Sturgis felt found its expression in hostile comments about his ex-colleague, and his expressed intention to seek the maximum penalty allowed under the UCMJ: seven years at hard labour. Although Mac and Bud also felt a sense of betrayal, Mac was concerned that for once Sturgis was allowing his personal feelings to impinge on his professional life; something of which when it had happened to Harm or Mac in the past, he had been fiercely critical.
Mac had toyed with the idea of asking Sturgis to recuse himself on the grounds of bias, but an inner voice had told her this once to keep her peace. Besides, if Sturgis did recuse himself, who the hell else was there left to prosecute the case, other than the Admiral? And that Mac thought might not be a bad thing from the defence point of view. A counter accusation of undue command influence probably wouldn't get Carolyn acquitted, but it wouldn't do the former SEAL much good either. And that, Mac thought, would at the moment, suit her temper just fine. But… it could also be a career a killer for her. And although she had told Coates that she was considering resigning, unconsciously she was so strongly defined by what she was rather than who she was, that without being aware of the difference between the two concepts, the idea of not being a Marine left her hugely unsettled. But now, she really needed to concentrate on Carolyn's defence. She hesitated for a moment before dialing a familiar number. She could hear the phone at the other end of the line ringing until the voice mail cut in, and the warm, well remembered tones sent a shiver down her spine…
"Hello, Harm, it's Mac. If you're there, please pick up," she paused to allow him to do so but sighed and added, "Harm, call me back, please, it's important. Thanks."
Hanging up, she dialed his cell 'phone number, and again was forced to listen to ringing unanswered, but unlike his house 'phone his voice mail didn't cut in, and eventually she was forced to break the connection. "Dammit, Harm! she exclaimed in frustration, "Speak to me!"
"Is there something wrong, ma'am?" Bud Roberts stood at her open door, a look of concern on his round face.
Mac smiled, despite the loss of his daughter, and the injuries he had sustained in Afghanistan, there was, despite the extra lines on his face, and the grey in his hair, still something quintessentially innocent about Bud. He had become a fine attorney, and Mac had no doubt that had it not been for his injury he would have won his bronze oak leaves months ago.
"No, Bud, I'm just trying to get an answer from one of the most stubborn jerks, I've ever met!"
Bud frowned, "Ma'am, the Commander has moved on… he's flying again, for some small outfit down in Charlottesville," he said diffidently.
"Oh, I realise he's moved on Bud!" And Mac couldn't help the edge of bitterness in her voice, "he's made that perfectly clear. "But this isn't personal; I want to summon him as witness for Carolyn Imes' defence." A sudden thought struck her. "Bud, how do you know what Harm's doing?" she asked conversationally, as if it didn't really matter to her.
Bud winced, once again he could feel himself getting caught up in whatever game his two friends were playing, "Uh… he stopped by the house the other afternoon, just for few minutes, to say hi to Harriett and to drop off a little gift for Jimmy… and we had a coffee and he sort of told us what he was doing."
"And what is that, exactly, Bud?"
"He's…uh… crop dusting."
Mac looked at him in utter disbelief, "Crop dusting?" she repeated in despairing accents, after a good thirty seconds' silence. "Crop dusting?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Bud blessed Jennifer Coates as she walked across the bull-pen to Mac's office and rapped on the doorjamb, enabling him to make an unobtrusive withdrawal before Mac gave him the third degree. "Good morning, ma'am, sir. Ma'am, I have some personnel papers for your attention…"
Mac grimaced, this was the down side of being Chief of Staff. While Harriett was still out on maternity leave, even routine personnel matters ended up on her desk. She held out her hand and Jennifer passed her a file folder. Mac took a quick glance at the top folio, and then with increasing speed through the rest of the sheets of paper. "Coates," she said in disbelief, "is this a joke? Is there anyone in Ops who hasn't filled in one of these?"
"One or two of us ma'am, and as far as I can tell, they're not joking ma'am."
"You haven't completed one?"
"No ma'am."
"I'd have thought that you would have been one of the first, Coates."
"No ma'am. Two reasons, first the Admiral's my boss, right or wrong, I owe him some loyalty. Secondly, if I bail, who else is there to step up to the plate for the Commander?"
Damn! Mac thought, she's throwing loyalty back in my face again! "I see. You do realise Coates, and I hope that these people realise, that there isn't a hope in hell of any of these being approved?"
"Yes, ma'am, but they will be on record as having applied."
"Coates, if I put these on the Admiral's desk, what do you think will happen?"
"He'll have a stroke, ma'am?" Jen responded brightly.
"He may well have a stroke, Coates," Mac responded dryly, "but he's more than likely to have them all thrown into the brig. Alright, pass the word. I'll speak to all hands in the Conference Room at twelve-hundred hours!"
"Aye, aye, ma'am!"
x-x-x-x-x
Mac returned to her office a state approaching shock. The lunch time meeting with the twenty-three enlisted members of staff who had requested immediate re-assignment had brought home several unpleasant truths, paramount among which was the totally unfair one that they blamed her for Harm's resignation and the Admiral's subsequent expediting of his paper-work and refusal to allow him to rescind his resignation. As Petty Officer Personnel Specialist First Class Ryman had said, "Ma'am, we knew the mission you went on was dangerous. Hell, anyone could tell that as soon as they knew that Webb was involved."
"That's Mr Webb, to you Ryman" she had reprimanded him.
"With all due respect ma'am, no it isn't. Webb isn't in our chain of command, he isn't even in the Navy. He is a civilian, and we owe him nothing in the form of respect. Nothing whatsoever."
Mac looked at him dumbfounded. Ryman was coming up to his sixteenth year of service, yet he had just laid himself wide open to a charge of insubordination and risked losing his entire career. This whole affair was snowballing out of control - fast! But Ryman hadn't finished.
"We knew it was dangerous work, ma'am and when it went belly up, we trusted the Commander to find you and bring you home in one piece. We trusted that you and the Commander would walk through that door the same as you've always done, together. We trusted that the Admiral had known that the Commander would be back and not process his resignation. We trusted that things would return to normal. We trusted the Command. We were right trusting the Commander, but we wrong to trust the Command. If the Command can treat senior officers so badly, what hope have we got of anyone having our backs, ma'am? We want out to an outfit where somebody knows the meaning of loyalty!"
"Ma'am," the account was picked up by Seaman Julia Stewart, "The Commander got you back in one piece, but we saw when you and the Commander came back that you'd been fighting, but we figured that once things had settled down again, you'd end up being friends, like always. But that didn't happen. When the Commander came out of the Admiral's office, and the look on his face... well we'd heard some of what the Admiral yelled at him, and he looked... beaten, he just picked up his stuff, tossed his cover to Tiner, and he just walked out... and ma'am, you just stood there and said nothing... and you didn't even try to stop him! It's like no-one cared anymore, no-one was looking out for anybody else's back, not even their best friends. Ma'am, I can't..." she gestured at the crowded room, "we can't just put that feeling behind us and carry on."
Mac spent the afternoon in daze, what little work she did, she did on auto-pilot, always conscious of the file folder sitting in her in-box. The file folder that contained twenty-three requests for re-assignment. Requests that she was duty bound to forward to the Admiral. And that was not something to which she was looking forward. She had hoped to talk sense into the men and women making the requests, but their reaction had not only been a slap in the face to the JAG command, but also to her personally. OK, it was only Stewart who had more or less openly accused her of disloyalty to Harm, but there had been enough heads nodding in agreement with her to make it plain that she was voicing a majority opinion. She had been judged by her subordinates and had come up short, and that was neither a feeling she liked nor one she could shake off easily.
To make matters worse, Rabb still hadn't returned any of her calls, which meant that as little as she felt like it, she would have to go across town to his apartment this evening and try and speak with him face to face.
x-x-x-x-x
Harm was feeling pretty good, he had enjoyed watching Catherine's enjoyment of her swim, and she had definitely encouraged his approach when she'd told him she'd washed the chlorine out of her hair, although, and he grinned to himself, if the look of surprise on her face was anything to go by, she hadn't really expected him to act.
Now, there was fifteen minutes left before she was due to arrive, just enough time to lightly brown the top of the vegetable Moussaka he'd got in the oven, and for him to decant the alcohol-free white wine. One day, he promised himself, with yet another smile, he'd actually find himself sitting down to dinner with a woman who could enjoy a glass of wine with him, but in the meantime it didn't matter. He enjoyed his evenings with Catherine, and was looking forward to finding a house so they would both be living under the same roof.
The knock at the door disturbed his musings, and a quick glance at his watch told that she'd arrived early; now that was flattering! He crossed to the door and pulled it open, as he did so, his face assumed an expressionless mask-like quality. "Mac," he acknowledged her presence.
"Good evening, Harm, aren't you going to invite me in?" She spoke pleasantly enough, but for those who knew her there was a tight edge to her voice.
Wordlessly he stood back to allow her to enter his home. Mac automatically took her oat off and turned to hang it on the coat rack next to the door when she saw his raised eyebrow, and instead draped it over her arm.
Mac breathed in the aroma of the meal in the oven and took in the formally laid dining table set for two. "H'mm, something smells good," she complimented him.
"Vegetarian Moussaka." He said shortly, "What do you want, Mac? I'm expecting company, so whatever it is, don't beat around the bush, just say what you've got to say and leave."
Mac was taken aback, she had never heard Harm sound so... hostile, but so passionless at the same time. He had seemed so much angrier in Paraguay, but at least there had still been a sense of caring even in his anger, but now that sense of caring had gone. Coming on top of his refusal to help with the Imes cases Mac was suddenly made aware that the man now standing in front of her was no longer the same man that she had worked with for nearly nine years.
"Harm, I know you're mad at me..."
"You don't know anything about the way I feel."
"I would if you'd talk to me! I left seventeen messages on your answer-phone," she snapped.
"One, I've been busy - I haven't been in town much the last few months. And two, I thought we'd done talking - you seemed to make that pretty clear in Paraguay. Do 'never' and 'there is no us' ring a bell Mac?"
"Harm I was mad at you, I said things I didn't mean. You know that!"
"No Mac, I don't know that. How many charges of sexual assault, rape or even sexual harassment have you investigated and prosecuted? How many times have you heard the accused plead, 'I didn't think she meant it'? What would ever make you think that when you said 'never' that I wouldn't respect that decision?"
Mac stared at him. Had she really said those words? Had she really said, 'never'? She made one more try, "I was trying to get a reaction of some sort out of you, I was trying to get you to fight me on that!"
"Mac, when have I ever fought you on the decisions you made in your personal life? When you went after Dalton, I disapproved because I knew he wasn't good enough for you, but I respected your decision. I knew Brumby wasn't good enough for you either, but I didn't interfere then, either. I once asked you, did you love him, and you shut me down. So when I saw you kissing Webb, what was I supposed to think, or do? Mac, I gave up my career to pull you out of yet another of Webb's FUBAR'd ops, and you threw yourself right at him, right at the man whose half-assed planning got you into danger in the first place. That hurt Mac, but do you know what hurt more than that, after all I had given up? You never even said 'thank you'.
"I did!" she protested indignantly.
"When? When exactly, was it after I cut you free from that table with the battery and the red hot steel wool? Or was it after we got back to that ratty hotel? Or while we were waiting for the taxi? Or maybe it was on the flight back to DC? Just when did you say thank you, Mac?" His voice was loaded with both sarcasm and contempt.
Mac frantically searched her memory, she remembered Harm bursting into the torture chamber and gunning down the man who had been about to burn her, he had been so business-like, like a robot, emotionless as he cut her free and helped her out of the room so quickly that there hadn't been time for words. Then he had gone to fix the car for Gunny and Webb, and when he had done that he had bundled them into it, and then she and Harm had trekked off to find that plane. They'd blown up the Stingers, and then he'd crashed the plane and she'd yelled at him for that, then they had shot at each other when she found the truck and they had been so pissed off that they had taken verbal shots at each other all the way back to Ciudad del Este. And then that fiasco in the hotel and by the time the morning had come round they had fought so much they were barely on speaking terms. Then that final argument at the taxi stand and that awful, silent flight back to DC. Oh, God. She closed her eyes in anguish. Harm was right, she hadn't said a single word that might indicate she was grateful to him for saving her life, let alone for the sacrifices he had made to do it.
Mac gulped and looked up at him standing impassively over her, "Harm, I am so sorry. You are right. I thought I had said thank you, but looking back, it seems I never did. So, once again, I am sorry, and I do thank you."
Harm shrugged, "That's just about a day late and a dollar short, Mac," he replied in a bored voice.
Mac was stunned. Harm had yelled at her, he had been sarcastic with her; he had disagreed with her violently both professionally and personally, but never, until now, had he ever sounded indifferent to her, and that stung worse even than his anger or his contempt. She searched around for her purse, but before she could find it, Harm spoke again, "But you didn't come here to talk about the non-existent 'us', did you Mac? Just what did you want?"
"I want you to testify for the defence for Carolyn Imes," she told him as she made an attempt to recover her poise.
"What? What do you think I can say?" His voice was again flattened by displeasure
"You worked with her and against her, you can testify as to her abilities as an attorney and to her character."
"Mac, I don't have time for this, I have a living to make - remember?" he jibed bitterly
"I can subpoena you," she reminded him.
"Fine, OK, when do you want me?"
"Tomorrow morning, Court Room 3, oh-nine hundred hours. You'll be there?."
"OK, I'll be there!" She eyed him askance, but he'd said he'd be there, and short of slapping cuffs on him and dragging him away by force there was nothing else she could do.
She got to her feet and stared at him for a moment, but as she turned towards the door, his voice stopped her again, as he asked her quietly, "Mac, why are you doing this?"
"Why am I doing what?" she asked him, confused by his apparent non-sequitur.
"Why are you still at JAG? Why are you still working for Chegwidden?" For the first time she heard the stirrings of passion in his voice, "How can you do it? How can you stand working for the man who left you behind to be tortured and killed! The same man who forced me into resigning so I could pull you out of a mission that was totally goat-roped, and that he'd approved! Mac, if it had been up to him you would be rotting in an unmarked grave somewhere in Paraguay right now! How can you be sure the next time that an investigation gets FUBAR'd that he won't cut you loose again? Honest to God, Mac, I just don't understand you! What the hell are you thinking?"
Mac was left speechless, all she could do was to start to shrug herself into her coat, and was surprised, although she told herself that she ought not to be, when he helped ease it up over her arms. "Thank you," she said simply, and opened the apartment door to let herself out, only to stop as she came face to face with Harm's intended guest, "Good evening, Miss Gale," she managed to greet the other woman civilly.
"Colonel MacKenzie. An unexpected pleasure," Catherine returned coolly, and stood aside to let the Marine leave the apartment. As Catherine stepped in through the door, she was met by Harm, who without saying a word helped her off with her coat and hung it on the rack for her, unconsciously choosing a peg that Mac hadn't used.
"I wasn't sure if I shouldn't keep my coat on," Catherine remarked innocently.
"Oh, why?"
"Well the atmosphere in here is still a little icy," she tried to quip.
"It'll be fine, Catherine!" he retorted, trying to respond light-heartedly, but even after so short a time of knowing him, Catherine could tell that his guard was up and he was in the process of shutting others, shutting her, out. Catherine gently bit her bottom lip, and walked up to him, laying a hand on his forearm.
"Don't do it, Harm - don't close down. It's obvious that whatever Mac was doing here has upset you, but we made a deal, remember, to be open and honest with each other - thought it was all a part of the care package!"
Harm forced himself to relax, "I'm sorry Catherine, you're right." He drew a deep, shuddering breath and ran his hands through his hair. "Mac came to ask me to testify for the defence in the Imes case. But as always, we ended up fighting, digging into the past and throwing old scores in each other's faces."
"Are you going to testify?" Catherine decided to stay with the current question rather than ask Harm to go delving back into the past again.
"I don't have much option: it was agree or be subpoena'd!"
"Ouch!"
"Yeah. A hell of a way to treat a friend... but the hell with her, let's eat!"
Catherine let Harm seat her at the table, and wisely decided to confine her conversation to a flow of inconsequential chatter until she saw that at last he was beginning to recover his normal even temper. She put her fork down on the side of her plate, and poured herself a second glass of the alcohol free wine, and cocked her head to one side in bird-like imitation of her mother, and with such an innocent expression on her face that Harm was forced to smile.
"Go on, then," he invited her.
"Did you really enjoy watching me swim this morning?" she wanted to know.
It suddenly seemed so long ago that Harm had to think back to try and recapture what he had felt as he'd watched her power seemingly with effort, through the water. As he thought, Catherine's face started to cloud over, "I thought not..." she started to say.
"No, you're wrong there," he corrected her before she could finish a sentence. "The thing is, with all that's happened today, that although I remember you swimming, I had to try and recapture the feelings I had while I watched you."
"H'mm." she replied non-committally, "And what were those oh so suddenly elusive feelings?"
"Well, first off, I enjoyed watching you enjoying yourself. Then I saw just how strong a swimmer you were, it is always good to see a demonstration of mastery of a skill - you looked so at home in the water - and so I started to clock your times, and I was impressed, and I was proud of you."
Catherine blinked, she wasn't really sure what she had expected to hear from him, but she certainly hadn't expected him to say that! Suddenly shy, she dropped her eyes to her plate and for a few seconds concentrated on gathering together enough the fragments that remained to make a respectable mouthful, before raising the fork to her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she looked at Harm again, "So you don't mind coming with me each morning?"
He flashed a full-blown flyboy grin at her and his eyes crinkled in pleased anticipation, "You just try and stop me!" he stated.
"Oh! I know what it is!" she exclaimed in accents of pretended shock, "it's that little brunette, the one who was almost wearing that bronze bikini!"
Harm who had just take a mouthful of wine gasped and nearly choked as some of the wine went down his trachea instead of his gullet, and forcing his lips shut to prevent from spraying the table was subjected to the uncomfortable feeling of having some of his drink forced up and into his nostrils. Spluttering and dabbing at his tearing eyes, he glared down the length of the table at Catherine who seemed unable to control the giggles that were convulsing her.
When he could finally string together a coherent sentence he rapped his knuckles sharply on the table, causing Catherine to look up at him. By this time her own tears, but of laughter, had left their tracks on her face. "You, young lady," he rebuked her in disapproving accents, "are far too fond of that trick... and too damn' good at!" he finished with his own grin.
"Would... would you believe that it was entirely accidental?" she excused herself hopefully.
"H'mm, I don't know..." he reflected gravely, but with a gleam of laughter in his eye, "the old saying has it that once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but a third time it's enemy action!"
Catherine smiled happily, whatever hangover from Mac's visit had been bothering him throughout dinner, now seemed to have been banished away. "So, darling," she said with a saccharine smile, "apart from your skirmish with the USMC, how was your day?"
Harm grinned delightedly, "Oh, put a cork in it Catherine!" he scolded her, recognising her tone and the form of address from their confessional visit to Catherine's mother, as he parroted Esther Gale's words..
Catherine wheezed hard a couple of times and intoned, "Harm, you are not my mother!"
Harm laughed outright as he stood up and checked momentarily as he wondered why he didn't mind when Catherine had an instant come-back, while when Mac did the same thing, he so often felt irritated. Oh, well, it didn't really matter why it was so, it just was.
"Let me get the cushions sorted for you, and then madam, you can go and sit down, while I clear the table and make the tea. Raspberry and rosehip still OK, or would you prefer something else?"
"Oh no, that's fine," Catherine said as she gingerly lowered herself to the couch and kicked off her moccasins with a groan of relief. "But those," she complained with a look of loathing at the offending footwear, "used to be my most comfortable pair of shoes, but ever since I put them on this evening, they've been killing my feet!"
Harm busy with kettle, teapot and mugs grinned across the room at her, "And that would be your idea of asking for a foot rub?"
"Oh, no, I'd forgotten you mentioned them... but Oooh, yes, please. Pretty please?"
"We'll have our tea first, then move you around so your feet are up on my lap, and then Miss Gale, have you ever had a foot massage before?"
"Uh, no... why?" she demanded suspiciously as she cuddled her tea mug,
"Then prepare yourself for unbridled ecstasy! This will be almost as good as chocolate!"
"You do realise, Mr Rabb, that you are raising my expectations to an astronomical level?" she asked archly, but with a smile on her face.
"Expectations that I have every intention of fulfilling," he assured her. "Now sit up for a second while I move your cushions to the end of the couch, that's it. Now, scoot back against the arm and let me lift your legs up here... so. Ah, you do realise, that by the time I finish, you're probably going to smell good enough to eat?"
"Oh, why's that?" she asked him as she salvaged her half-mug of tea from the coffee table.
"Because, the only oil I've got to hand this evening is Olive Oil!" he told her, "Is that acceptable?"
"As long as it's not extra virgin!" she giggled.
Harm raised his eyes heavenwards, and sitting on his end of the couch spread a tea towel over his thighs and lifted her feet so they rested on the towel. He poured a little oil on the palm of one hand and briskly rubbed his hands together, before taking one her feet in his hands.
Catherine spent the next twenty minutes in heaven as he gently but firmly eased the pains in her feet and as his skilful fingers found the pressure points that eased her discomfort.
"Oooh," she breathed as he gently put down her second foot. "That was way better than chocolate, and almost certainly better than..." she suddenly realised what she was about to say, and blushed pink.
Harm chuckled gently, enjoying watching her confusion, "Better than?" he prompted her.
"H'mm" she murmured, ignoring the challenge he'd just thrown out, "Maybe you should start a new career as a masseur..."
"Yeah... I could..." he pretended to consider his options, "I could open a little shop. Right on the outskirts of Pimmit Hills, handy for Langley, and Arlington, and McLean..."
"Huh, over my dead body!" she snorted.
"Well, that could be arranged," he told her with a wink.
"Careful what you say, Mr Rabb. Remember I am a lawyer, and anything you say may be taken down, twisted around and used in evidence against you!"
Harm lay back against the squabs, Catherine's feet still resting on his thighs and extended his right hand to Catherine, who laid her own left hand in his, and they both smiled at each other, perfectly happy in their nonsense.
After a while, Catherine murmured, "Harm?"
"H'mm?"
"Do we have to go house hunting on Saturday?"
"Do you have any particular reason why we shouldn't?"
"Yes... I thought we might be able to spend the whole day with you just rubbing my feet!"
"That's just being greedy!" he admonished her, "and decadent!"
"Oh, I know," she sighed dreamily, "but it would be fantastic!"
"House hunting first, my girl, and then a foot rub, if you're very good!"
And what if I'm very bad? Catherine wondered, what would that get me? And although the urge to ask the question out loud was compelling she managed to keep the lid on that one for the time being. Even if she was ready to handle the consequences of that question, and she wasn't entirely sure that she was ready; she was damn' sure that Harm wasn't. Not yet, but maybe someday, in the not too distant future.
"Oh, well if that's the best offer I'm going to get," she grumbled, with a mock-pout, and swinging her feet down onto the floor before fiddling them into her moccasins, "I'm going home!"
Harm stood and gave her his hands as she hauled herself out of the couch's embrace, and as she stood, she rose on tip toe and gently brushed her lips against his cheek. "Thank you Harm. Thank you for dinner, for the foot rub, for the tea, for everything." And again she kissed him gently on the cheek.
As Harm helped her on with her coat, carefully lifting her hair away from the collar, she reminded him, "Meet me at Linsey's bar on Tyson's Corner Road at five. We're due to visit mom, and then it's back to my place, and it's my turn to cook!"
"Catherine, you'll have been at work all day, you don't have to do that. Why don't we visit your mom as planned - and I'm looking forward to that - but we can just order in, it won't hurt us if we do that once or twice a week!"
She looked at him doubtfully. "OK, just think about, please. If it really means that much to you, why don't you save your energy, and you can cook either Saturday or Sunday?" he urged her.
"OK, I'll think about it," she promised.
"Good. Now I'll walk you down to your car," he told her with a smile.