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McRose - the writing team of highplainswoman and janlaw
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Date Posted: 06:46:21 04/18/07 Wed
In reply to:
McRose
's message, "Doppelgänger" on 19:52:35 04/06/07 Fri
Doppelgänger Chapter Six
James Conlon’s Residence
Thursday, March 29, 2007/10 pm
He found himself back in his study, another scotch in hand, sitting in the same place as he had the night before, with cat in lap, curled up contentedly purring and slowly, ever so slowly sinking into a deep sleep. Unlike the other night, the small lamp on the desk was turned on low, while there was a small fire going in the fireplace—mostly for “decoration” as opposed to the need for heat this night. His long fingers caressed the soft fur as he once again contemplated what had happened.
Captain Rabb had won, fair and square. He shook his head. The man was good. He wondered briefly if he was as good an investigator as he was an attorney. The brief thought crossed his mind—maybe, just maybe, he could lure him out of the military into a position on his staff. He discarded that notion almost as fast as it occurred—the man was obviously career-military—no shaking his conviction in the career path he had chosen for himself.
He could have been, nay, should have been more disconcerted about the loss, but he found that he couldn’t be. In some ways, it was easier to shake off this loss than others — primarily because he knew justice would be served — and with a greater ferocity than would otherwise be available through the civilian court system. Yeah, he could rest easy with this one.
His eyebrows crinkled in concentration. Why did he feel so convinced that justice would be served better with his loss in this case? Was it the length of sentence Morrison would receive for his crimes? He shook his head. Relatively speaking, especially in terms of the crimes Juice O’Malley had committed, Morrison’s crimes were minor in nature. No, it had to come down to the strength of integrity and conviction coming from opposing counsel, which was, he admitted wryly, a rather unfair reflection on defense counsel everywhere – not that Rabb had been functioning as a defense counsel, of course. He might tussle with defense counsel because he was convinced the parties he prosecuted were guilty—but defense counsel were an essential part of the judicial system and were, for the most part, fair and honorable people in themselves. No, it had a LOT to do with the strength of conviction that just emanated from the Naval officer. It had been a long, long time since he encountered an opposing attorney who believed as firmly as Rabb had in doing what he was doing. In a strange sort of way, it matched his own convictions.
He sighed. Locki was once again on his lap. He ruffled the fur a little. “Come on, Locki. Enough reflection—let’s hit the sack.” He pushed the reluctant feline off his lap and together they made their way upstairs to his bedroom.
*********
Burnett’s Guest Cottage
La Jolla, CA
Thursday, March 29, 2007/10 pm
Sex with Mac, he decided, would never be a routine part of married life. Not that he would have wanted it to become that, of course, but tonight. . .
Shortly after putting Mahara to bed, they had continued into their own bedroom, where he proceeded to make love to her with what for him was an almost desperate intensity -- unusual for him. Mac at first had been taken by surprise but then, true to both form and her character, had quickly recovered and gave as good as she had received. Now, she was in the bathroom, answering “nature’s call,” while he straightened out the bed sheets and thought about what had just happened.
She came out, clad in a deep burgundy colored nightgown he’d given her on Valentine’s Day and flopped down beside him after crawling under the sheets he had just straightened. “That was some performance, flyboy. You want to tell me what was going on?”
He glanced at her and just for a moment, he was taken back to that hotel room in Paraguay when it had just been him and her and a whole lot of unanswered questions. He had been taken with both how beautiful and spicy she looked. The moment faded and he glanced away from her and scooted further down in the bed. He tossed a brief and shy glance at her and opened up his left arm. “Want to get settled, first?”
She didn’t just “creep” over to his side, she swooped in and claimed a spot that had been hers for as long as they had been married. Then she glanced up at him. “Well?”
His right hand and fingers fiddled with the top hem of the sheet while his left arm drew her closer to him, as if he would lose something without the closer contact. Or perhaps gain something—that thought burst across his mind in a mini-flash and he had the sense of gaining both courage and comfort from that contact.
For her part, she let him pull her closer—she had learned something about this man early in their marriage—he was much more apt to open up to her after a vigorous round of love-making that any “crowbar” she could use otherwise. There was something really bothering him tonight, and over the last two years, she had learned a fair degree of patience—learning from him, she grinned wryly to herself—patience had never, ever been a really strong suit of hers. She waited, but while she waited she snuggled in ever closer, as if to lend him the courage or strength—or whatever it was he needed from her, at the same time.
“Mac,” he started, and she was instantly alerted to the softness and tentativeness of his tone of voice. “What did you feel like when you found out about how you look just like Diane?”
Of all the questions she might have been expecting, that one was not one she could have anticipated. She lifted her head to look at his face—and, for once, it wasn’t nearly shielded as much as it could have been. She paused, thinking. He must have had a good reason for asking—in the short two years they’d been together, she’d learned that he had to “process”—for lack of a better word—what he was feeling before expressing the words or articulating the emotions he felt. So, she had learned to answer his questions as directly as she could before questioning him and his reasons for the questions he asked. She shifted a little so she could look up at him and watch his face, his beautiful expressive eyes which were, at this moment, troubled and uncertain.
“Well, I was shocked, to begin with.” She looked down, both to give him a modicum of privacy and to gather her memories. “It’s a bit unnerving to discover one has a twin, a virtual double, out there.” Then, and only then, did she lift her head up again, this time eyebrows raised. He only gestured for her to continue. She lowered her head again, this time eyebrows pursed as tightly together as they could get in pursuit of certain, long-time gone memories. “Then I was uncertain and just a tiny bit jealous, I think.”
He appreciated her efforts to be as honest and forthcoming as she could get concerning a sensitive subject. Even after all these years …He wouldn’t ask for any more—and he resisted the temptation to tease her. He shifted so he could look her in the face this time. “Would you be surprised if I told you I met my ‘twin’ in Indianapolis?”
She managed not to say ‘You’re kidding!’ and looked at him thoughtfully. “Before tonight’s ‘command performance,’ yes.” She shook her head, letting her longer hair flow around her face and tickle her shoulders. “But now—is that what happened in Indy?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to look at her and stared down at his fingers playing with the hem of the sheet, pleating it between his fingers. He tossed a really quick, shy glance over at his wife. “The D.A., Jimmy Conlon, is the spittin’ image of me!! It’s like looking in a mirror.” He shifted. “There are little differences, of course—his hair is a bit longer and the color is, I think, a bit darker—but, same height, eyes the same color... Mac, our faces are the same! If I didn’t know differently, we could have the same mother, be twin brothers.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know. . .”
Mac took advantage of his temporary befuddlement and shifted to bring her eyes at the same level as his. “Same cocky attitude?”
He snorted. “Brash New Yorker, I think.”
“I’m assuming you ‘got a charge’ out of going up against someone like that?”
He got the sheepish look she had learned to love a long time ago. “Yeah---maybe a little too much, I’m afraid.”
“You know, at some point, you’re going to have to ‘make nice’ with him?”
“Yeah, I know.” He glanced at her. “So what do you suggest??”
Her eyebrows arched. “You mean since neither one of us really likes to apologize?”
He gulped. They had both learned to say “I’m sorry” to each other in the intervening years since their wedding—but it hadn’t been easy, AND that change in personal style didn’t necessarily mean the change extended to others outside of their marriage. “Ya caught me, didn’t you??”
She only grinned and then turned serious. “I have a suggestion.”
He paused in his fingering of the sheet. “I’m listening.”
“Why don’t you call him and invite him to come out to San Diego and observe the trial—as a courtesy?”
The nervous fiddling with the bedclothes stopped, and she could tell he was processing that idea at top speed. She loved the way his face broke out in the “flyboy” smile that had been missing for so long the last two years they were stationed together at Headquarters. “That’s a good idea.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on top of her head.
“Y’know, there’s just one thing that really bothers me.” Mac meant it, but she also wanted to go to sleep on a lighter note.
“Only one?” He tried for a teasing tone.
“Yeah; you said he has eyes like yours.” Mac shook her head decisively. “Not allowed. Denied! No one can have your eyes but you!”
She leaned back and settled against the headboard. “So he’s got the same cocky attitude.” She looked at him. “So, what are you afraid of?”
He looked at her, startled. “What makes you think I’m afraid?”
She leaned towards him. “Harm, this is me—Mac. I know you, remember?” Her eyebrows arched upward.
He shifted. “I don’t know.” He sighed, glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s getting late—will you let me ‘sleep’ on it?”
He hated the troubled look that came on her face. “As long as we talk about it—at some point in the not-too-far future.”
He leaned over to turn off the light and they both shifted, spooning in preparation to actually getting some sleep this night. “That’s a promise, Mac.”
Her grin was wry, bittersweet. “Yeah—and Harmon Rabb never makes a promise he can’t keep.”
He wasn’t sure what her response meant, but that, too, was an issue they were going to have to talk about. He promised himself—after this case was all over, he was going to make good on that promise. And then he let sleep claim him until the next morning.
End Chapter Six
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