| Subject: At Last -- Parts 1-4 |
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TT2
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Date Posted: 22:26:26 07/21/02 Sun
At Last
Rating: PG-13 (mostly for language, but also for a few sexual situations—nothing too steamy, though)
Summary: A sequel to my version of Odd Man Out, as promised.
Disclaimer: Please don’t sue. I have no $$$; obviously no life, and still even more obvious, no Harm/DJE, because if I did, that would negate my previous statement of having no life (and possibly the $$$ one, too).
Spoilers: I’m not really sure what all eps, but certainly those in the seventh season, and especially from Odd Man Out.
*********************************************
1308 ZULU
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
I shuffle off the elevator and into the bullpen, running a little late, and the first sight I am greeted with is Mac’s smiling face. If I didn’t know better, I would think that she has been lying in wait for me. I return her grin, unable to keep a straight face even if I wanted to in the light of that beautiful smile.
“Morning, Sailor,” she says nudging her shoulder against mine. I nudge her back.
I missed her.
“Morning, Mac,” I reply. She follows me into my office and shuts the door behind her.
“So, how was the big game?” she asks.
“You didn’t watch?” With her Rams playing I can’t imagine Mac not tuning in. Then again, given how I heard they played, I can see why she might have tuned out early.
“Yeah, I watched it,” she whines disconsolately. “It’s the worst game the Rams ever played.”
I chuckle. “Well, I told you…”
“You did not. You were rooting for the Steelers and they didn’t even win their division.”
“I was rooting for the Patriots, too.” She gives me a Look. Okay, truthfully, I was hoping the Rams would win it, but I think the Pats deserved the win. They worked really hard for it, but no need to get into all that with Mac. She’s no doubt still sore about the outcome of the game.
“Well see, you wouldn’t have enjoyed the Superbowl anyway if I had had real seats.”
She brushes her fingers along my sleeve. “I don’t know…” she murmurs. I will myself not to react.
I missed…us. This new “us” that we seem to have evolved to. All I thought about while I was in the air during the game was her in my arms, her lips on mine, that black negligee she was wearing when I went to see her. Wow. Her letting me take in the beauty of her figure as she stood before me. I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t pulled away from her.
And now I’m back in Washington, and Mac’s behavior appears to indicate she has no objection to the current progression of our relationship, which seems to be drifting carefully into uncharted waters for us—lovers.
I find myself yearning for that to be the case, and hesitant if it is. I want to kick myself sometimes.
I’m sure if I screw this thing up with Mac, there will be plenty of people in line to do just that.
*********
Harm arrives as per his usual i.e. late, but looking more refreshed than he did when he arrived at work this morning. I stand aside to allow him entry, and before I close the door he’s swept me up in his arms and plants those warm lips on top of mine. I grip his shoulders tightly, unsure of my footing as I return his kiss. After a moment he breaks away and grins.
“I missed you, Marine.”
“I can tell,” I reply, trying to catch my breath. I like this side of Harm. I like this side of our relationship. I think I can handle a real, romantic relationship with Harm. I hope. I don’t think I can handle it if it doesn’t work out, but we can’t keep doing this, this ignoring what’s there anymore. We’ve tried that for too long and we were both miserable.
He pulls away and takes a seat on the couch. He watches me as I try to regain my composure. I don’t know what’s with me lately, but I find myself once again in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body as he trails kisses down the side of my face and neck. Somehow I’m sandwiched between the cushions and Harm’s body, tracing my fingers along the gold buttons of his uniform, trying to think of all the reasons we should take this slow, but I can’t get my mind to function beyond the buzz that is being created by Harm’s soft ministrations. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of his body on mine, the barest hint of stubble on his face as it scratches my cheek when he presses a kiss onto my temple and ear. I relish the fact I am able to experience—to know—Harm this way. I’m already committing to memory that feel of very fine sandpaper that his face has at…19:37 and 22 seconds.
It’s very faint, but I can distinguish his aftershave as well, something I’ve already committed to memory. I pull him closer to me, and Harm returns his attention to my lips. He runs his tongue along the seam of my mouth. I part my lips and his warm tongue slips in, gently sweeping across my teeth into my mouth.
I groan in disappointment when he pulls away. He gives me a half-smile. “Time to pack it in.”
“Huh?” I whisper dreamily. What is he talking about?
“Mac?” I open my eyes to find Harm staring curiously at me. We’re still at the office, my office, and it’s well after seven. In fact, it’s almost 19:38. Most of the other offices I can see, and the bullpen, are dark.
“You ready to call it a day, Marine?”
Ugh. Why did that have to be another dream? I stare at my favorite sailor in disappointment. Perhaps it’s for the best. We really don’t need to be getting ahead of ourselves before we figure out where we’re going with…us.
“You okay?” He asks, his black eyebrows narrowing in concern. The eyes, I notice, are not nearly as red, and he seems a little more alive now then what he did earlier this morning.
“Yeah,” I say, managing to find my voice. “Yeah. Just…daydreaming.”
“I can tell.”
I blush. Can he really? Does he know who—or what—about?
“And that lovely flush confirms what about. Or dare I say whom?”
Well, that answers that question.
“What? Like you’ve never dreamed about me before?” I retort. Now it’s his turn to blush. Harmon Rabb blushing. Obviously, those are some interesting dreams he’s had. He fidgets a little as he tries to think of a way to change the subject.
“You want to grab dinner?” Good method. I’m starving. Food is most likely to throw me off his trail. However, sitting down to dinner with him will give me the opportunity to grill him for some details of these dreams.
“Sure.”
“Okay. Maybe we…maybe we can talk about us.” I don’t want to seem oxymoronic, but my guard goes up when he says that. Maybe it’s because every time either of us has tried to broach the subject of “us”, the results have been a)nonexistent; or b)tragic.
At this point, I think it’s best to just let things be as they may, and not question, and not fight, the way our relationship is developing.
“Okay,” I agree warily. He looks as confident as I feel.
**********
Mac manages to sucker me into Beltway Burgers while I am distracted with how to make my opening statement on the subject of “us.” At this point, I think it’s almost the best thing to just let the chips fall where they may and see how our relationship develops. No more hiding, or running, or denying. Try and be like normal people in a relationship.
I wonder if that’s even remotely possible with us.
Mac chatters nonstop, from when we first entered the restaurant, to where we are now, seated in a booth in Hamburger Hell. She pauses to take a bite of her ¼ lb. meat patty, and I jump in.
“Mac, look, about us,” I say, wishing I had thought this conversation through. Maybe practiced a little. Wrote a script. Adlibbing is not a wise move with Mac on this topic.
“Harm—“ she says, although it sounds like “Hrmpf” with her mouth full. She almost chokes on her sandwich. I plunge ahead.
“I just wanted to say that, you know, things have been good between us lately—really good. We’re getting back to our friendship, you know?”
She coughs spasmodically, a few bits of hamburger lodging in the wrong place of her throat, and nods. I told her this stuff would probably kill her.
“And then, a couple of weeks ago, things…things really got interesting.” I stare down at my greasy, unappetizing fries. “I mean, you and I teasing—which is nothing new—“ I add quickly, before she can say anything. Out of the corner of my eye I see her nod, and the hint of smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “But, the flirting—I guess that’s nothing new, either—but…even though I feel bad about misleading you about the seats, I really liked…you know, all the attention…and us…flirting, and stuff, and…” God, this is terrible. Think, Rabb, think.
“I think I know what you mean,” Mac says, saving me from certain serious-conversation death.
“It was nice to—well, to act like, maybe two people who could be a couple,” she says the last with a question in her inflection.
“Yeah. Exactly. I liked that, Mac.” I look into her eyes for a moment, and then stare back down at my fries. I pick a small one out of the box and pop it into my mouth. Ugh. How can Mac stand this place?
“It was nice not to have to think all the time about what we were doing and saying and…and all that other crap that’s always—it was nice just to go on impulse. Feel.”
Okay, Rabb. Now that really sounded stupid. I look at Mac helplessly, hoping I can make her understand what exactly I mean, but she’s watching me closely, a soft smile lighting up her features. Maybe she does understand.
“Yes, it was. It was very nice,” she agrees. “That’s something I want to talk to you about, Harm.” I’m not sure what I should say, so I wait for her to continue. She dusts the salt off her fingers with a napkin, and takes a sip of her cola before she elaborates.
“Maybe…maybe it would be a good idea to not—not do so much thinking with “us,” and maybe just see where our hearts…our feelings take us. Let things be as they may without fighting our feelings, or each other. If it’s meant to be--” she pauses for a deep breath. “it’s meant to be.”
I let out a sigh of relief. I personally believe it’s meant to be. She’s the only woman I’ve ever felt this way about before. Not even Diane.
“That’s what I was thinking,” I tell her. She smiles. I smile. We sit there, grinning like two idiots at each other, in the middle of a Beltway Burgers restaurant.
********
1217 ZULU
Harm’s Apartment
North of Union Station
“It’s a beautiful morning,’” the Rascals playing on the radio and I sing together. Actually, the sky is rather overcast, and the weather report I just heard claims the D.C. area will be blanketed with 6-8 inches of snow by Thursday afternoon. However, none of that really matters as I concentrate on getting ready for work. Mac and I came to several agreements last night—those of which are responsible for my good mood this otherwise particularly average day.
The first, and most significant, is we agreed to give “us” a chance. The second is we also decided to keep that fact quiet in case--in what wasn’t mentioned, but I think was pretty clear nonetheless—“us” doesn’t work out as we hoped. We’d really like the peace and quiet of getting to know one another in a romantic way for as long as humanly possible, rather than having the entire office scrutinize our every word, behavior, and fight. They do that already, and they think we’re just friends. Mac and I both really don’t want to send the scuttlebutt flying just yet—or at least confirm any scuttlebutt just yet. Not too mention, there are still some other details to work out with us being in the same chain of command, etc.
The third thing, and also of importance, is we agreed not to rush things.
The fourth, which I think is equal in rank to the first, is to be honest and communicate with one another, and not assume the other knows what we’re talking about. Maybe we’ll get that right this time around. Something to aspire to at least.
I pick up my bottle of aftershave and chuckle. It’s about ¾ full, but I bought another one, just in case I run out unexpectedly, or misplace the other bottle. I don’t know what Mac’s thing is about it, but I’m not about to switch to another brand. Not if she likes it. And judging by the reaction I get any time she detects it, she really likes it.
As I look into the mirror I realize I’m grinning like a fool. I’ve seen that smile a lot these last couple of weeks. I hope it never goes away.
Better tone it down, though, before someone—namely Sturgis or Harriet, who both are a little too damned perceptive for my taste—notices.
*********
1311 ZULU
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
“Good morning Sturgis!” I say cheerily, snatching a mug off the rack and flipping it in the air before catching it right-side up in my palm. I whisk the carafe off the burner and splash some coffee into my mug.
“Are you sure you need that?” Sturgis asks, eyeing me warily.
“Nothing like a good cup of coffee in the morning,” I return brightly. I take a sip and gag. Yech. I know who made the coffee.
“Mac made that pot, I think,” Sturgis tells me, confirming it. Marines. I notice Sturgis has a tea bag in his hand. Smart man. He reaches behind him and shakes the box at me. I take one.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. So, you want to tell me why yesterday you looked like something from The Evil Dead and today somebody from The Love Boat ?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Sturgis. I met up with some old flight school buddies of mine Sunday night. We had quite a little get-together. In fact, I just arrived in D.C. a few hours before work, so pardon me if I wasn’t dancing a jig yesterday.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Okay. I just wondered if you and Mac worked something out.”
I splutter into my tea. “What makes you say that?” Sheesh, is Mac’s psychic sense rubbing off onto him?
“I don’t know…you two were the last ones here when I left, just thought that maybe, I don’t know…you two have been pretty…chummy…the past couple of weeks.”
“We’re friends, Sturgis. Chummy is what we do.”
He sighs tiredly.
Mac steps into the break room. She’s heard my comment. I hope she remembers our agreement to keep things quiet, and doesn’t misconstrue my remark. I turn my back to Sturgis and face her. She pours a cup of her coffee and looks questioningly at Sturgis and I. I wink at her. She uses her cup to hide her smile.
“Morning, Colonel,” I say, not too enthusiastic, not too cool.
“Commander. You’re looking much better than yesterday.” She grins, knowing quite well the reason for my freshened appearance.
“I had a good night’s sleep. Was all I needed.”
“Mm-hmm.” She replies, once again disguising her amusement behind her mug. Then she notices our teabags.
“What’s the matter, Harm? Don’t like my coffee? I made it especially for you. I know how you squids can use that extra kick in the morning.” She grins wickedly.
“Kick is one thing. Brain-numbing jolt is another.”
“Flying off carriers I should think that would be nothing new to you.”
“That would certainly kickstart my heart.” I flash a grin at her. “Your coffee is more likely to kill it—and me.”
“Live dangerously, Hammer.”
“I do. I work with you.”
She playfully punches me on the arm.
“See, physical abuse? Only one of the many crosses I must bear with you as a partner.”
“Oh? And just what are some of the others?” She’s blocking my retreat, but I fully intend on answering her question.
“Your shameless addiction to Beltway Burgers and all things unhealthy—which puts my health at risk even thinking about it, much less being around it—“she shakes her head—“and let’s not forget your stubborn streak and that Irish temper of yours.”
This time she snorts and stares impudently at me.
“My stubborn streak? My temper?” She gives me a look full of meaning. I ignore it.
“Yeah, exciting either of those is like going into a dogfight unarmed. I’m just lucky I’m a good pilot.”
She scoffs loudly. “Well, like many an ego-driven jet-jock, you often go looking for a fight. You get what you deserve.” She takes a defiant step towards me.
I take a step forward also. “Maybe I just enjoy a good battle with a worthy opponent.”
She tries to hold her glare, but I can see her lips twitch and finally she gives in and breaks into an inviting smile.
“And, like many a-good pilot, you know how to charm your way out of a disagreement.”
“Yes ma’am.” I grin triumphantly.
She leans in close to me and whispers conspiratorially, “You’ve got a long way to go before you charm me, Commander.” She smirks. “You still owe me on those Superbowl seats.”
Ha. I don’t think I have that far to charm her at all. I think history has proven that Sarah MacKenzie isn’t immune to the Rabb charm. However, I do believe there will be some retribution for leading her on…I hope there will be. It’ll give me a chance to prove the effectiveness of said charms. Hell, the opportunity to try should be enjoyable enough.
Success in the endeavor would just be icing on the cake.
“Well, I look forward to the challenge, marine.” We’re standing nearly nose-to-nose now, and I think one of us might even close that distance if the sound of someone clearing his throat hadn’t interrupted us.
We both look for the source. Sturgis is leaning against the counter, watching us carefully. “Sorry. Can I just get to the sugar?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah, here,” Mac hands him a couple of sugar packets and takes her leave. “Later, commanders.”
“Yeah.” I answer. Sturgis raises his mug in reply. He casts a critical glance at me.
“So, was that just the two of you being ‘chummy’?”
TBC
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